Date: Mon, 24 May 2010 15:05:38 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION   Chapter 8   (bye bye Wildwood)  By Donny Mumford

			 DYLAN'S SUMMER  VACATION

	       Chapter 8 (Bye bye Wildwood) by Donny Mumford


Instead of dropping me off at the beach, Gary's dropping me off at my
summer condo because cum is leaking from my ass wetting the back of my
boardies. Sure it's a nuisance, but what an awesome double fuck Gary laid
on me! Uber hot and as a result it's a little sore - and wet - back there.
During the ride I'm sitting right up against Gary on the scooter seat with
my arms around his slim waist and my dick against his buttocks which
probably has something to do with the sexy sensations I continue to
experience. Ya know, I feel lucky to have been born so naturally receptive
to sexual activities and to be able to appreciate them to their fullest. I
feel ultra-sexy at the moment; my sore, wet ass is a small price to pay for
feeling this good. Still, I need to clean up and change my bathing suit
before joining the moms and Chubby on the beach. Dried cum streaks on the
back of my swimsuit and legs isn't the fashion statement I'm looking
for. That has me shaking my head and chuckling 'cause I feel so satisfied,
so pleased with myself; getting the proper amount of sex is a beautiful
thing. But damn, it's Tuesday already so that leaves only three more days
in Wildwood and then it's back to Framingham with college days on the
horizon. That's both bad and good, by the way. Bad because this is an
awesome vacation and I'd like it to continue, and good because I'll be
seeing my boyfriend, Robby, soon. That thought caused a shudder of my
shoulders, a good shudder... one of sexy anticipation. I've come to realize
how much I love Robby; I've really missed him during my stay in
Wildwood. And, sure, it's been great having recreational sex, but nothing
compares to sex with a boyfriend; a boyfriend you love. How could I ever
have contemplated dumping him?  That's what jealously can do to you; it can
make you stupid!

Garyroars up next to the curb in front of the condo. Then, in neutral, he
guns the motor of that hot machine and the throaty sound thundering out of
the mufflers is awesome! I'm about to dismount the scooter when he twists
around quickly and gets my head between his hands to give me a wicked, wild
and wet goodbye kiss. I kiss him back figuring I might as well: Anyone
watching us won't know if I'm kissing back or not. Anyway, I want to make
Gary feel good 'cause he deserves it. We wind-up doing a thirty-second
sloppy kiss that has both of us grunting and breathing hard; my hands at
his sides squeezing his taut body, my crotch against the side of his
thigh... wow! I'm taking a deep breath as Gary exclaims, "What a great
kiss! Huh, Dylan? I'm learning, ain't I?" Hopping off the scooter, I
concur, "Awesome, Gary !" He holds onto my hand and says, "I can't ever
remember being this happy. It's a very special feeling having a real
friend... especially one as wonderful as you and I can't wait for college
when I can see you again." He said it quietly with a very sincere look in
those puppy dog eyes of his; he's always trying to please. Jeez, sweet!
What do ya say to something like that? Actually, I had a quick thought of
lightening things up with a flip remark 'cause it's getting a bit too
dramatic, but Gary 's eyes are getting that moist look and he's biting his
bottom lip trying to control his emotions so I don't do that, just nod my
head and grin at him instead. Ya know what I'd like to do though? I'd
really like to kick his mother in the ass for all the parts of a normal
boy's social life she's deprived Gary of. And what's her motivation for
doing that? Selfishness, that's what. Exerting selfish control over Gary to
insure he concentrates mostly on his music, that's her sole motivation. The
kooky bitch! To Gary , I quietly say, "You're a good friend, Gary. I'm real
glad we accidentally ran into each other," and then I chuckle, adding, "And
I'm glad you took the lead getting us to know one another so intimately."
He frowned at that, as if he isn't following what I'm saying, so I
continue, "You know, you led us to that sexy time in the lavatory
stall... on the beach that first day." He brightens-up and says, "Oh, that
was a natural and mutual thing to do, Dylan... you deserve as much credit
as me." I hesitantly say, "Thanks," while thinking how I really need to
explain to Gary that friendship isn't just about having sex together. Not
enough time to go into all that now though, he's gotta catch a plane.

Yeah, he's got to take off so why can't I come up with just the right
parting comment? Its times like this I wish I could be clever and
insightful, but I usually think of what I should have said when it's too
late to say it.  Gary squeezes my hand and I squeeze his back, then he lets
go, nods at me and then nods again like he wants to say something, but his
eyes are filling up so he squints, tries to smile and then just roars off
on that muscle scooter with a little wave 'goodbye' and without me thinking
of a special parting comment. That was touching though.  And, not only
touching, it's left me squeezing my dick and thinking about how sexy my new
friend is. He certainly was a quick study as far as making-out goes. That
was an awesome goodbye kiss... sexy as hell! Guess I'm still revved up from
the fucking he laid on my rear end... oh man! Looking around now I snap out
of my daze realizing how exposed I am, how exposed we both were during that
goodbye scene. And, ah Jesus, I can see there are people sitting on their
deck two doors down looking over here... and more people walking by on the
other side of the street gawking over their shoulder at me. They're all
adults, thank God! Teenagers would have some smart-ass embarrassing things
to yell my way. Naturally my face gets red as I look away from all their
stares. You'd think I'd be used to this by now, as ever since I met Gary,
I've been stared at. First because of Gary 's long Mohawk hairdo and the
way he insists on walking with his arm around my neck and after that
because of my own Mohawk haircut.

Trying unsuccessfully to ignore the random gawkers, I get the house key
from the hiding place and let myself into the condo wondering if I'll ever
be as blase as Gary is about awkward situations. I've no clue how to go
about that. Maybe you're born that way and if you're not you're just out of
luck. I flop on the sofa trying to calm down from things. From that hot
sexual encounter with Gary and the goodbye kiss as well as the attention
and embarrassment brought on by our overly affectionate goodbye.  The urge
to see what Chubby's up to gets me moving again. I do a quick clean-up, put
on a clean pair of boardies and a white sleeveless t-shirt, sunglasses, and
the cap Charlie gave me and I'm ready to go. Wait, I need some money so I
grab a ten dollar bill and zip it into my back pocket; I've got everything
now.  Before opening the door I make a vow to forget about people staring
at me, and anything else that's negative; I need to think positive thoughts
and move on to other matters 'cause there's still three days of vacation
left to be lived. Then I think of something else and grab two ice cold
ginger ales from the refrigerator and now, with totally everything I need,
I head for the beach. At the top of the beach there's a vendor selling
frozen lemonade on a stick. I should bring something for the moms so I buy
two of the frozen treats for them. Then, taking off my sandals, I head out
onto the sand and halfway down Tris sees me juggling the sodas, sandals and
frozen lemonade sticks and comes up to help; she says, "Thanks,
Dylan... you're so sweet! And, oh, Chubby asked me to tell you that he's
down a block or two playing football with some kids from school." I'm like,
"Okay, thanks! I'll go see what's up with him." I'm waving "Hi!" to my mom
as I wade through the sand feeling real good about everything, everything
except I forgot my damn cigarettes... it's always something!

I walk down the beach quite a ways before seeing six guys and two girls
playing football. This is much more than a block or two away so I'm not
positive it's Chubby's game, although it probably is. Running in sand is
difficult and the two girls participating in this game are gonna fuck up
any real competitiveness anyway, so I'm not interested in playing even if
it is Chubby's game. I'll watch for a while and then see what Chubby wants
to do tonight. As I get closer Chubby sees me before I see him and he gets
my attention shouting to me and waving as he's going out for a pass.  The
football is way under-thrown and Chubby pretends diving for it in a comical
way; everyone thinks he's funny because the ball is so poorly thrown
there's no way it could be caught. The girl who threw the pass is the only
one not laughing. By the way, do we really need girls playing boy's games?
I mean, is there no fucking common sense in the world any more? Not that I
really care... I'm just saying.

In checking out the football game's participants I realize that besides
Chubby I only know one other guy, Art Pictario, who was in my Chemistry
class last year. He's patting Chubby on the back at the moment, still
chuckling about that dumb pass. Three of the other guys look older while
the other is a kid about twelve years old. I don't know either of the
girls; one of them has tits as big as my head.  She looks very Italian, if
it's still okay to describe someone that way and be considered somewhat
politically correct. Her tits are barely being held in check by a small
halter top. Oh, and naturally she has a pierced bellybutton! The other girl
is swarthy-complected too, but she has normal size tits covered by a modest
one-piece bathing suit. Now that I'm noticing the whole group, everyone,
including Chubby, looks Italian. Of course, how else would Chubby look? His
dad is Hispanic and his mom is Italian. Chubby's skin is creamier and
smoother looking than that of these other guys though. He has just about
the most perfect complexion I've ever seen, although Robby's is awesome
too, but in a different way. To summarize their complexions, Robby has the
rosy blush in each cheek and Chubby has a small round brown spot on his
cheekbone; it'd be called a beauty mark on a girl. Chubby comes right over
to me, takes the ginger ale I'm holding out, squeezes my hand, and says,
"Nice to see ya, bro," then drinks half the soda in one long swallow; he's
one of those guys who can let liquids roll down his throat without
swallowing.  One of the really nice things about Chubby is the way he
greets me; there's no doubt in my mind he's happy to see me. It's reflected
in his eyes and the way he stares at me grinning, like he's doing now while
drinking the soda. Handing me the half empty can, he says, "Thanks, Dylan!
We'll be done with this game soon. Save that for me, okay?" He squeezes my
hand again and jogs back to the game. I say, "Sure, see ya in a little
bit," and then watch him run in his graceful, effortless way. Chubby has
the world's best looking boy's legs.

Finished with my soda I sit on an overturned trash barrel and check-out the
guys in the game trying to find something interesting about them. No matter
how hard I try, it's just isn't happening for me. All three older guys are
darkly tanned with way too much dark body hair. Chubby's nothing like that
at all, thank God he's been spared that indignation... me too!  A couple of
the guys have that unfortunate shoulder and back hair, sorta like they're
wearing black alpaca sweaters. Chubby looks like a little kid next to them
and the twelve-year old boy looks like a baby. Artie's appearance fits
somewhere between Chubby's and the Neanderthal men. He's dark-complected
but with only modest chest hair. The twelve-year old sort of looks like
Artie, but as of yet has no body hair at all that I can see. Unfortunately
he has too much nose though. That eliminates him from qualifying as cute,
although he is young enough with a nicely developed body, so, ya know,
maybe there's some potential for "cute" in his future.  There's a chance
the rest of him grows into his nose size, for example; it could happen. The
main thing about the two girls is they like to scream; lots of shrill
screams followed by giggling about nothing. Holy shit, it's enough to drive
me off the beach. The game is two-hand touch meaning no tackling, but when
either of the girls iscarrying the football there's lots of inappropriate
touching, and even a little tackling. The girls pretend to get angry when
their tits or ass gets grabbed accidentally on purpose, but they don't
appear sincere about their anger.

After a number of successful plays that moves the game down the beach
towards me, one of the men catches a pass running right by where I'm
sitting and steps on my foot. I drop Chubby's ginger ale cursing the oaf
silently while retrieving the can before a lot of soda spills. Ignoring me,
the man walks back with his arms in the air victoriously and then does a
lame touchdown dance. Chubby, Artie, and one of the Neanderthal men come
running down arguing that the guy was out of the end zone when he caught
the ball; not that I saw any indication where the end zone might be. Since
they're all being so emphatic about their arguments I assume this is the
winning touchdown which means Chubby's side lost. I hear some f-bombs and
then friendly ball-busting, but the hubbub winds down quickly and Chubby
comes over to me, asking, "Where ya been all day, bro?" I hand him his half
a soda and say, "Oh, I ran into Gary and hung-out with him for a while. He
won the piano contest in New York City so now he's flying out to Dallas,
texas. Gary lives a very similar life to our own, don't ya think?" Chubby's
like, "Ahh, no, not quite. Hey, there's a keg party at Artie's place down
the street; you game?" I shrug, indicating that I guess I'm game. A few
seconds later Artie's walking towards us saying, "Newman?" like he's not
sure it's me although we were in class together all year. Then he asks that
silly question so many kids ask when they unexpectedly see someone they
know, "What are you doing here?" Obviously I'm doing the same thing here
he's doing so I ignore the question. We do a one-pump hand shake, half a
hug, and pat once on the back while asking each other, "Yo, wassup?" just
like we're tight buds. In reality we rarely talked to each other in school,
but at least we weren't enemies. Artie makes that questioning motion of
opening both hands in front of him, like he's stuck on that stupid question
of "what am I doing here?" Instead of being rude and saying, "What the fuck
ya think I'm doing here?" I politely say, "Chubby and I are best buds;
we're here on vacation of course." He's like, "Chubby? Who the fuck's
that?" I tool a deep breath, and then patiently explained to Artie about
the childhood nickname I still call Jeff. Artie doesn't get irony
apparently 'cause he laughs without humor, then sarcastically states,
"Chubby? Jesus, dude, he's a long way from being chubby!" I'm like, "No
shit, that's the point of the nickname, numbnuts!" Chubby's like, "Yo,
chill!" and with him in between Artie and me we start walking towards
Artie's house with me thinking, "This party's gonna suck!"

As we walk Chubby tells me about running into Artie on the beach and how
Artie recruited him because his group was one person short for a
four-on-four two-hand touch game. I give a bored, "Uh huh."  Artie's saying
nothing so Chubby blathers on about how the little kid in the game is Art's
younger brother, and how two of the other three older guys are relatives, a
cousin and an uncle. The girl with the tits ass big as my head is the
cousin's girlfriend and the other girl's another cousin. My heads spinning
and I want to say, "Who gives a shit about all this!" but what I say
instead, in a slightly sarcastic manner, is, "Oh, so it's a family affair,
huh? I get it!" Chubby pinches my side and says, "Duh!" I smirk at him and
he grins back at me. Artie's oblivious but seems over his bout with
stupidity, and says, "Jesus, we have too many relatives in our family! At
family parties I can't remember the names of some of them." I say nothing
'cause, while I welcome the truce between Artie and me, I'm never gonna be
buddies with him. Artie is plain looking with maybe a little too much nose,
like his little brother. On the positive side, nothing about him is
grotesque although he does wear a weird thin short beard just along his jaw
that coincidentally looks like the chin strap of a football helmet. It must
be a pain in the ass shaving around it every day. God! I hope I never get
whiskers!

To be honest, I can't imagine why Chubby wants to hook up with this group
although obviously I can't ask him about it with Artie right here. Artie's
telling us about some teacher Chubby and he had last year for study hall;
the teacher's in jail for drug trafficking now and blah, blah,
blah. Apparently Chubby and Artie have been in a number of classes together
during the four years of high school. Chubby's more outgoing than I am so
he makes a lot of friends, but to be honest, most of the friends he makes I
wouldn't even want to be friends with, like Artie, but Chubby's more or
less indiscriminate when it comes to that. Hell, I wasn't even aware these
two knew each other. Part of the reason for that is I don't take much
notice of guys like Artie. He's too big boned and mature looking and not
cute and not gay and not real interested in me so, ya know, he doesn't
register on my radar screen. There are a lot of kids like Artie who I'm
acquainted with, but never mention or think about because they don't
interest me. I'm not saying they're necessarily assholes or that I think
I'm better than them or anything like that; they just don't do it for
me. Another way that Chubby's different than me is he doesn't seem to
notice a boy's looks all that much. I mean, if a guy's got scurvy or
something he'll notice that, but generally speaking he never mentions a
guy's looks. I can think back any number of years and realize I've been
observing the way boys look since puberty.  Back then I didn't know why I
was doing it, but now I know it's because I'm gay and I just didn't realize
that basic fact of life back then. A boy doesn't need to be wicked cute in
my opinion, but he must have something cute about him, even if it's just
his personality or else I'll have very little interaction with him beyond
being cordial. I recognize that the vast majority of kids couldn't care
less if I'm interested in them or not, so it's not like I'm being conceited
about all this... I'm just saying.

Anyway, this Artie kid's family rented a whole house one block from the
beach and they apparently know the people renting next door to them as
well, as both back yards are being utilized for the party. Picnic tables
are set-up, charcoal grills are lit and smoking, big coolers filled with
drinks, a quarter keg of beer sits in a plastic container filled with ice,
bowls of popcorn, pretzels and peanuts, tables laden with casseroles, the
whole works. The food looks awesome; the people, not so much. There are two
families sharing Artie's place and I don't know about the other house, but
there sure are a lot of loud people milling around the area. It quickly
becomes apparent to me that all these guys are loud mouths and boisterous
and not at all funny with their boisterousness; they laugh riotously over
the most inane comments. Mostly rude and crude comments made in an
annoyingly jovial manner. God only knows how they'll be acting when they're
drunk. To me there's nothing humorous or even clever about the
f-bomb-filled comments and it has me rolling my eyes at Chubby who seems to
be enjoying himself so, in response to my eye rolling, he asks me, "What?"
Like he can't imagine why I'd roll my eyes at this group. I'm annoyed now
which Chubby picks-up on immediately so he squeezes my hand, leans close to
me, and says, "Aw, come on, Dylan! Get a beer and loosen up. These guys
aren't the coolest maybe, but who else is going to invite the two of us to
a beer party? Oh, and they're doing a barbecue later on too, so we'll get a
free dinner." I sarcastically remark, "Oh, so that's what the charcoal
grills are for!" Chubby makes a face and I reluctantly grab a can of beer
from a tub of icy water. I'm not crazy about the taste of beer but what the
hell, maybe I can get a little buzz on and make it through this delightful
affair.

A half hour later I'm still on the first beer, which is warm by now,
wishing I had a cigarette. I'm sticking close to Chubby because everyone
else is freaking me out.  Being this close to him I recall something I've
known about Chubby, but sometimes forgets. He can carry on a conversation
with anyone, even when it's boring. Chub always has a little grin on his
cute face with lots of enthusiastic energy; it's easy to see why he's so
popular. As for me, I can't make small talk for more than a minute or two
without getting a headache. This very well might be the reason I'm
inaccurately accused of pouting so often when it's simply a matter of me
being bored. Okay, that may be a mild rationalization 'cause a really cute
guy can talk small-talk with me for hours and I enjoy that because he's
good to look at.  Artie's off talking to a couple of new arrivals, so
Chubby asks me, "You okay, Dylan? Can ya hang in here with me and get some
barbecue later?" I go, "I guess," and he blurts out laughingly, "You're the
best pouter ever!" Then, taking his cell phone out of the back pocket of
his boardie bathing suit, he's dialing as he leans in close again to
whisper, "I love your pouting. Do some more!" then talks to his mom,
telling her we're eating dinner here. The phone call finished, he grins at
me and energetically says, "Come on, Dylan! Get happy, meet some new
people." Instead of hanging with Artie, Chubby takes the warm can of beer
from my hand and I follow him to the tap from which he gets me a cold draft
beer. He says, "Try this and then let's find someone who has a cigarette. I
can't believe you forgot to bring ours." I'm taking a gulp of beer thinking
how this draft beer's real cold at least and that it doesn't taste all that
bad.

Chubby heads towards a group of kids but I can't follow immediately because
a woman carrying a tray of hot dogs accidentally bumps into me almost
knocking my hat off.  She apologizes and offers me a hotdog so I take it as
she asks, "Are you one of Artie's friends?" I go, "Yes, ma'am, Framingham
High School." She has a pleasant, smiley way about her, "Well aren't you
the most attractive thing! I've got to admonish Artie for not bringing you
around before this! What's your name, honey?" I tell her and she yells over
to a bunch of people, "Diana! Come over here quick." Taking a bite of the
hot dog I watch a nice looking girl saunter over. The woman says, "Diana,
this is Dylan, a friend of your cousin's. Dylan, meet Diana." Oh shit!
Holding a cup of beer in one hand and the last half of the hot dog between
my teeth, I shake her fingers and mumble around the hot dog, "Nice to meet
ya," which makes the lady and Diana laugh. Then the lady moves on with the
tray of hot dogs leaving me and Diana in an awkward silence. I clear my
throat, smile, and take another bite of hot dog. Diana swills down some
beer, then states, "I hate beer." I go, "Me too," and the conversation
bumbles along like that with both of us gurgling down the beer we hate
because we're uncomfortable. I ask, "You want another beer, Diana?" She
says, "Sure," and we walk over to the keg where the older uncle is now
acting as bartender. He pours beers for us, asking, "You two having fun?"
Diana's like, "Yes, daddy... this is Dylan, he's a friend of Artie's." We
shake hands and I drink half the cup of beer feeling sick to my
stomach. I'm also feeling dizzy being stuck making small talk to a girl I
don't know and now her father's asking a lot of personal questions like:
"You have a girlfriend back home, Dylan? A good looking guy like you
probably has more than one. Huh, Diana?" or, "You play on any sports team
in high school? You look like you might be a wrestler," squeezing my biceps
and then asks some more probing questions as if I'm here asking permission
for his daughter's hand in marriage. I give short, polite answers while
glancing around to give Chubby a dirty look, but find him talking a blue
streak to a group of guys and girls so he doesn't see me. Someone's lent
him a t-shirt that reads, "I hear voices... and they don't like you!" Oh
brother! What saves me is one of the Italian cousins from the football game
who apparently has a crush on Diana comes over to say, "Hey, sup, Lady Di?"
Then some small talk between them before he and Diana excuse themselves and
drift over to say "Hi!" to a couple of kids they know who've just arrived.

With my third full cup of beer I escape from the uncle just as Chubby grabs
my arm and drags me to his group so I'll verify that he, Chubby, almost got
killed in a fight with the Chavez brothers. The Chavez brothers are
notorious at school, almost an urban legend. By now the beers are having an
effect on me allowing me to be more relaxed. One of the guys Chubby's
telling the exaggerated details of the Chavez fight to has cigarettes and
he's willing to share. He's one of the Italian relatives, but not one from
the football game. This guy tells us he graduated high school five years
ago; he's smoking Marlboro reds and I bum one. I'd never ask a stranger for
a cigarette without the assistance of a banned substance reducing my
natural inhibitions. This Marlboro guy's very nice about sharing his
cigarettes and he's very nice looking too. In addition, there's even a
certain sexiness to him; that is, unless the banned substance is screwing
with my evaluation process. Chubby and some of the others in the group
wander over to the keg for refills leaving just me and the Marlboro
stranger smoking and drinking, and talking sports and cars. I know about
sports but very little about cars; still, it's okay, I'm not bored anymore
because this guy looks good. Great dimples when he grins which he does
often; his dimples makes him look younger than someone who graduated high
school five long years ago. He has sexy lips that he puckers when
exhaling. I learn that his name is Anthony, not Tony, Anthony. He's in the
Navy, home on two weeks leave. I like that he gives me his full attention
rather than talking while looking around for some way to escape my company

Being in the Navy explains his clean-cut appearance. Swarthy olive
complexion with thick dark brown hair cut real short. Clean shaven, but
with a five o'clock shadow; he's a macho man, but boyishly cute. About as
tall as me which is five feet, ten inches, but not as slim as me although
he's not husky either. He's wearing a button up the front Tommy Bahama
short sleeve shirt, which I'm not crazy about, but looks okay on him
somehow. Tan shorts cover the thighs of Anthony's hairy legs, which I'm
also not crazy about. His face is what I'll concentrate on. I'm rarely
interested in someone older than twenty, but this in an unusual situation;
that is, I'm trapped at a party where I don't know anyone so a twenty-two
year old with hairy legs, but a cute face, will have to do. Anthony tells
me he enlisted in the Navy right out of high school so that's how I'm sure
he's twenty-two. He's been to Iraq as a gunner on a helicopter flying off
the aircraft carrier he's assigned to. It's really fascinating hearing
about his combat duty, kind of scary too.  Soon we're sitting together at a
picnic table; I'm smoking my third cigarette and my forth beer is just
about finished so I'm feeling more than a little relaxed.

Various members of Artie's family come over to hang out with Anthony. He
introduces me to all and they're nice enough. None of them hang out for
very long though, as Anthony's only been away for the last six
months. Mostly they're just coming by to say, "Yo, Anthony! Sup?" and they
all hug too. Some of them kiss each other on the cheek, maybe it's
tradition and maybe it's the booze. Bottles of hard liquor appeared out of
nowhere a little while ago and a bar has been set up at the end of a picnic
table. It's about seven-thirty and the day's cooling down nicely; a very
pleasant night. There's maybe fifty people at the party so far and more
relatives from another section of Wildwood are still expected, and some
other friends too. Music, shouting, drinking and even some dancing. The
smells from the two grilles wafting over our table has my mouth watering:
barbecue chicken, burgers, hot dogs, Italian sausages with green peppers
and onion blending together to create unmistakable barbecue grill
smells. After a while Anthony encourages me to get a plate of food with
him, and as I haven't eaten since this morning, the idea appeals to me big
time! I'm feeling kind of special because Anthony's spending so much time
with me; after all, he knows a lot of these people, but he chose me. I spot
Chubby at a table with four girls and two guys from the football game;
Chubby's always hanging where there's girls. Maybe I'll take a picture and
send it to Mary Jo.  Nah! I wouldn't do that. It would be a hell of a
picture though because the girl with tits as big as my head is sitting next
to Chubby feeding him potato salad from a plastic spoon and everyone is
giggling; that's just plain embarrassing. Chubby's probably drunk, but come
on! Guess I'm jealous Chubby's there, instead of with me. Oh well, I'll
make do with Anthony.

In addition to the grilled foods, there's the pot-luck buffet laid out on a
long aluminum table covered with a paper tablecloth. Anthony encourages me
to try everything, but chooses very little for himself. I pile my plate
from the dishes I recognize like potato salad, baked beans and such, but
stay clear of various seafood selections and unknown raw looking fish
dishes and those kinds of weird things. Anthony chuckles at all the food on
my plate and thinks it's a riot there are so many dishes I won't try. He
claims the stuff I'm passing on are the best items on the buffet. I shrug
'cause I don't like exotic foods, just basic meat and potatoes and
cheeseburgers and pizza. The basic food groups, in other words. He gets a
big kick out of that, then hands me his plate telling me which table to
take the plates to while he gets us another beer. I carry the plates to a
table with three people, none of whom I know so I introduce myself before
sitting down and everyone smiles, but looks questioning at one another,
like, "who's he?" A youngish looking kid with a missing front tooth asks
who the other plate is for and when I tell him, they're now all happy that
it's Anthony who will be joining us. Anthony arrives with our beers and
gets a big hello followed by a lot of chatter; he's obviously popular. I
quietly eat until my plate is clean and then, swilling down half the beer,
I burp embarrassingly which makes everyone laugh. While laughing, Anthony
pulls my hat, Charlie's hat actually, down over my eyebrows, saying,
"That's gross, Dylan!" but he's kidding me... he rubs my shoulders and
squeezes them giving me chills. While eating Anthony seems especially fond
of the kid with the missing tooth who acts like maybe Anthony's his hero or
something. The kid's name is Joe, he's probably a year or two younger than
me; he'd informed me he got his tooth knocked out in a fight a few weeks
ago. In addition to the missing tooth, his lips are unfortunately large and
so are his ears so there's no way this kid can be considered especially
cute, still it did seem he and Anthony have some kind of
connection. Finished eating, Anthony asks if anyone would like a
cigarette. Joe says, "I would, but I can't, Anthony, my old man's watching
me."  No one else wants a smoke so Anthony nods his head at me and the two
of us move away from the table before lighting up. Everyone was real nice
saying stuff like, "See ya later, Anthony. Nice to meet you, Dylan,"
etc. etc. Joe asks, "Where ya gonna be later on, Anthony?" Anthony says, "I
ain't going nowhere, Joey. I'll be around."  A friendly group! It seems
like I had this whole thing figured wrong from the start, this is an okay
party!

Away from the table Anthony tells me to take our plates to the trash and
then meet him around the side of the house where most of the smokers are
smoking. On the way I give a shout out to Chubby who yells back, "Try a
shot of Sambuca!" I wave at him but never heard of Sam-whoever. Walking
around the side I see Anthony off by himself a little holding two lit
cigarettes; he offers one to me and tells me this funny story about his
experience on a submarine in his early Navy training days. On his first day
ever on a submarine he had the shits, as he called it, and apparently you
don't want to have the shits on a sub. Anthony has a lot of stories and
he's got a funny way of telling them too. I'd probably enjoy hearing the
stories sober, but being a little drunk like I am makes the stories seem
fabulous and even though I know I'm probably overreacting to them, I can't
help myself. He's getting real touchy/feely with me too and the thought he
might be gay or bi passes through my head for a second, although he sure
isn't acting gay. His touchy/feelyness is more rough-house play than
anything else, which naturally I like and maybe I do lean into him a second
too long when he's jostling me around, laughing at his own story. If I am
leaning against him an inappropriate length of time, he says nothing about
it. Truth of the matter is, like Joe, I've developed this sort of beery,
hero-worship crush on Anthony myself. He's real good looking, he's a
hot-shit Navy guy, everyone at the party likes him, he's funny and most of
all, he's interested in me. And, there's this little tingle of sexiness
sneaking in which is creating a buzzing in my balls 'cause Anthony, while
very nice, also has a dominant type personality. He sends me here and there
on errands for him, getting beers or going down the block with his ten
dollar bill in my hand to get us another pack of cigarettes at the
convenience store and then later on ordering me to try a raw cherry stone
clam on the half shell.  "Ewww, it's raw, Anthony!" "Take another one,
Dylan! Go ahead, don't make me force it down your throat!" said with a
smile and laughter in his voice. Anyway, I like a little dominance from a
cute guy.

We're walking around with Anthony pointing out what he considers
delicacies, but which I judge as inedible food stuff, like octopus or
squid. He insists I eat cold shrimp which is good with the hot cocktail
sauce and lemon, but raw oysters almost make me barf.  I gagged down that
fucking slimy live sea creature with my throat constricting and my stomach
almost heaving.  Anthony's face was bright red from laughing so hard at my
exaggerated antics. Lots of squeezes on the back of my neck and,
eventually, what amounts to a two-arm hug from Anthony. It all got me going
with more hammed-up reaction to each new disgusting food, like strong
tasting cheeses smelling rotten; stuff Anthony insists I try. Later he sent
me over to get shots of Sambuca in plastic cups and I found out what it was
Chubby had shouted to me earlier. It's an Italian liqueur.  "Flash it down
in one gulp, Dylan!" The first taste was licorice but the heat followed to
burn my throat and I'm gagging again with Anthony in stitches hugging me
around my shoulders. He insists I get us two more and the second one burned
too but I did what he told me and followed the shot of Sambuca with beer to
cool my throat. "Holy shit, am I ever getting drunk, Anthony!" He's like,
"You're doing great, Dylan!" and he pulled me against him and held me there
tight for a couple seconds... the gay possibility flew around in my head
again, but I'm pretty hammered so I could be wrong. Anthony let go of me
when we were joined by some guys and girls who wanted to smoke a couple of
joints. I'd met two of the guys earlier and it's the same old thing we
always say, "yo, sup?"followed by a couple of quick introductions of those
I hadn't met; pot smokers are all buds even if ya don't know each
other. While Anthony flirted with a girl who wasn't cute and who has big
wrists and thick ankles, I kept quiet and listened to everyone bullshit
each other. There were a couple of joints being passed around which I
politely declined. Anthony smoked some weed but didn't insist I do it,
maybe because these other kids were here. I say kids, but they were late
teens to early twenties and all from South Philly. Their accents were kind
of noticeable: instead of asking, "Did you eat yet?" they say "Jeet yet?"
and the response of "No. Jew?" means, "No, did you?" Their football team is
the Philadelphia Eagles pronounced by them as "Iggles." Ha ha! Lots of
things like that, but I resisted commenting on any of it because there are
folks around New England who fuck up the English language pretty badly
themselves, although I'm not one of them.

It's dark now and lights have been turned on creating shadows that change
everyone's appearance and now Anthony's looking uber sexy and cute; I can
just imagine myself jumping his bones if I'd smoked the pot. I guess the
booze has something to do with the changes too, but nothing compared to how
pot changes things.  A half hour into the pot, except for Anthony, the
pot-smoking Philly crowd were acting absurd, acting giggly and, frankly,
stupid. Their accent can be a challenge under normal conditions, but when
they're speaking gibberish it becomes impossible to understand them except
for the word fuck which they say every third word. Anthony caught my eye
and did another nod of his head, with a grin on his lips, like, "Let's
split!"  He's in a very good mood and I'm thinking he's pretty high too
although he'd passed up a lot of the pot. We wandered away to grab another
beer and unfortunately some of my first swallow went down my windpipe and I
coughed a mouthful of beer onto the front of Anthony's shirt. He's like,
"Oh fuck, dude! This is my Tommy Bahama... fuck!" and he slapped my head
kind of hard. He's pissed, jeez... what a quick temper. I say, "I'm really
sorry, Anthony. I couldn't stop the cough." He smacks me on the side of my
head again causing a ringing in my ear, and yells, "How does it change
things by you saying you're sorry? Huh? You're supposed to cough away from
people, not towards them." I mumble again, "Sorry," and now he's tapping
his fingers against his thigh and making a face like maybe he's feeling bad
he lost his temper. He reaches over to squeeze the back of my neck and I
flinch so he pulls his hand back, and says, "Sorry I smacked you,
Dylan. Damn, my fucking temper! Really, I apologize!" He reaches toward be
again and this time I don't flinch so he hugs around my neck pulling the
sides of our faces together, and says, "Forgive me, man. I lost it for a
second there. Sorry 'bout that." It was a nice gesture on his part and
sounded sincere, and goddammit if my dick didn't start stirring too. It was
the side of Anthony's face against mine, and our bodies too; they're
together all up and down our sides and it caused my dick to move, but how
can this be? Didn't Gary take care of my sex drive very nicely earlier
today? I blew out a quiet exhale, then murmur, "It's okay, Anthony. Sorry
about the shirt." A tight squeeze around my neck and he lets go,
saying. "The hell with it, it's only my favorite shirt. Come on, walk down
to my motel with me so I can change." I go, "Sure... um, how far is it?" He
says, "It's the fucking Beachcomber, right down the street for Christ
sakes." He'd regressed right back into that mean-sounding voice he'd used
when he smacked me. I go, "Oh, I don't know that motel." We're walking out
from behind the house to the sidewalk as he lights a cigarette, passes it
to me, lights one for himself and takes a big drag before muttering, "Hell,
what am I thinking? Dylan, there isn't any reason you should know where the
Beachcomber is. There's only about six-fucking-thousand motels in Wildwood,
ya know?" I've heard of mean drunks but never ran into one; well, maybe my
mom's boyfriend, Jake, qualifies as a mean drunk... and that didn't turn
out too good for me. Something's telling me that Anthony's not being mean
though, just drunk and a little high from the grass.

I can't be sure he's not a mean drunk though, so as we silently walked I
pumped myself up about handling any kind of additional rough stuff from
Anthony, as we're pretty much the same size.  My motto is, "If I'm gonna
take a beating, someone else is too!"  That is, when I have anything to say
about it; Jake didn't give me a chance, but that won't happen again. As we
walk along I'm not feeling any tension between us, which I'm grateful for
and it relaxes me. The Beachcomber turns out to be kind of a dive; it's old
and needs a coat of paint at the very least. Anthony's room is on the
second floor so we walk up an open staircase to an open hallway overlooking
the parking lot; his room's the second door down. Anthony says, "It's a
dump, but it's just sixty bucks a night and I only sleep here. It's too
crowded back at the house for me." Trying to be funny, I say, "All those
people stuffed in the rental house is sorta like being in a submarine with
the shits, huh?" He laughs and goes, "Something like that, yeah," and then
he pulls my hat down over my forehead like Charlie did that time. He hasn't
mentioned my Mohawk but he has to know I have one because it extends below
the hat in the back. I wish I never got this damn thing. Anthony's fumbling
with the key while I stare at his attractive face. Then we're inside a
smallish room with a smallish bathroom, its door wide open. The room
consists of a double bed that's made-up, a chair in front of a small desk,
an open suitcase on a stand, and an old-fashioned-looking television on a
small chest of drawers... that's it. Anthony isn't neat, his stuff's all
over the place and he'd left the light on from the last time he was here.
All he needs to do is find a shirt to wear so I stand near the door as he
goes through his suitcase, then through various piles of clothes stacked or
thrown here and there. When he finally comes up with a sleeveless
sweatshirt, he tosses it on the bed and turns to look at me; his face is
flushed and he's chewing on his bottom lip. Unbuttoning his shirt he
continues staring at me so I do a small nervous grin in return. Taking off
his Tommy Bahama shirt reveals a tattoo on his shoulder that looks like a
Navy insignia of some kind. He has a nice build with just that little strip
of chest hair between his pecs that ya see on a lot of guys. He quietly
asks, "Umm, ya ever been blown, Dylan?" I slowly nod my head that I have
been and then he's shaking his head with his eyes closed, moaning, "Oh
shit! I got no willpower, I hate myself for asking that, but I'm
drunk. And, ahh, it's mostly that fucking pot. I was doing okay before that
fucking pot!" and he sits down hard on his bed next to the sweatshirt
holding the Tommy Bahama shirt in his hand. I do a fake cough and look
away.

Silence. Then Anthony quietly says, "Sit with me, Dylan. I need to tell ya
something." I don't move. He wipes his hand across his mouth and calmly
says, "Please. I won't hurt ya and I probably couldn't if I wanted to which
I most certainly don't want to anyways..." I walk over and try to lighten
it up by asking, "Anyways? You say, anyways?" He smiles and says, "I'm
fucked up! It's that fucking pot, I can't handle pot." Sitting down, I add,
"Do ya think it might also be the two dozen beers and ten shots of Sambuca
you had? Could they have contributed to you being fucked up?" He slurs his
words a little, saying, "I didn't have that much! Don't make it sound wrose
than it is." He put his arm across my shoulders and says, "I don't know if
you're gay or not and I don't want to know 'cause it's none of my
business. Hell, I don't even care if you are or not. But, the fact is I'm a
disgusting homosexual. I'm in denial most of the time, deep in the closet
most of the time too, and then when I drink sometimes I let myself see the
truth. Something about you brought it out in me tonight." I quietly say,
"Its okay, I'm not homophobic." He tries to say something, squints,
scrunches-up his face a little as tears begin running down his cheeks and
his shoulders shake as he cries silently. Not having a clue what to do or
say, I look at the side of his face; his eyes are closed and his lips
pressed tightly together, but he still looks very handsome. Very nice
profile with well- proportioned features. Thinking, "This poor guy is
fucked up, and I don't mean just from the booze and pot!"  I quietly
murmur, "There's no need to think of yourself as disgusting just because
you're gay. You're born that way, Anthony... you don't get to choose." He's
taking deep breaths trying to get himself under control, then he says,
"This crying jag came on me unexpectedly, I'm sorry!" I go, "That's
alright. I don't mind, I cry sometimes too." His face scrunches up again
and he cries some more, then he settles down enough to say, "I have no
right to ask this of you, but I'm still going to beg you not to tell anyone
about me acting this way?" I go, "I promise, Anthony, I won't tell anyone."
He's nodding his head biting his lip again and I think he said "Thank you,"
but I'm not sure. As we sit there side by side at the end of his bed, his
right arm across my shoulders, he continuously wipes tears off his face
with his free hand. We sit like that for another minute or so until his
crying is mostly under control. He seems so young and vulnerable now, but
even so I don't move a muscle for fear I'll give the wrong signal to him.

When he's under control he looks at me and says, "I got no fucking
willpower, Dylan. I'm a fucking disgrace and even though you'll think I'm a
piece of shit for doing it, I can't help myself, I gotta ask if I can blow
you?  Please, can I suck your cock? Please!" He's back to crying again and
I'm thinking, "How can someone beat himself up like this?"  I ask, "Why do
you think it's so bad to follow your sexual nature? Do you hate gay
people?" He nods his head "Yes!" but he says, "No! It's not them, it's me I
hate. I hate myself for being weak! I should be heterosexual or at least
abstinent, but I got no fucking willpower over my urge to suck a young
guy's cock!" His arm slipped off my shoulder to go up around the side of
head pulling it over to his head like he did earlier at the party, as he
adds, "And no will power to keep me from wanting to do this too." Our heads
are together with me turning sideways to rest a hand loosely on his chest
and his back. I prepared myself for something rough, but he wasn't thinking
rough, he was thinking cuddle as he nestled the side of his face against
mine. His five o'clock shadow isn't scratchy like I thought it would be and
the little strip of hair between his pecs is very soft. After five seconds
he moves him head around to kiss my cheek near my mouth, then rub his face
against mine, his nose rubbing across my cheek with him murmuring, "Mmmm,
ooh, mmm," then mumbling, "Oh my God, you feel so wonderful," and another
kiss on my cheek. I felt his tears now as he began crying again. His other
hand slowly comes over so he is hugging my head against his with both hands
now, then his hand moved up the back of my head and knocked off my hat
which sort of broke the spell. Anthony let go of me after rubbing my Mohawk
and, with tears on his face, he says, "Oh yeah, your Mohawk, huh? You're
too cute for a Mohawk, Dylan... hasn't anyone told you that?" We both sat
up and he seemed to get himself together pretty quickly. I shrugged in
response to his question as he hands me my hat, mumbling, "I'm sorry I
fondled you like that. I can't help myself when I'm drunk, but if you'd
have said 'Don't!' I would have stopped. Anyway, I'm okay now." I said,
"It's okay, I don't mind. I like you." He looked at me funny then, like
maybe he wanted to ask if I'm gay except he'd just said he didn't care if I
was or not a few minutes ago.

Puffing out his cheeks to do a big exhale through closed lips, Anthony gets
up and slips the sweatshirt over his head saying, "Cigarette! That's what I
need! That and another drink," but he's swaying on his feet, so after he
pulled his pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, he sat down
again. I took the pack from him and lit two cigarettes, handed him one and
asked again why he hated himself for being gay. He took a drag on the
cigarette, wiped his eyes with his hand again, and said, "Are you kidding,
Dylan? I'm a freak; a gay Navy man? I'm not supposed to like other men,
it's sick! It's dirty, it's perverted!" I say, "It's none of those things,
it's part of nature. Don't you know that a percentage of the animal
population is gay too, and I'm talking about dogs and rabbits and horses."
He chuckles and says, "Gay horses! Ha! No, I didn't know that." We smoked
as he told me how his homophobic parents have ranted against gays as long
as he can remember. That's probably why he denied his sexuality to himself
until he joined the Navy where he met some other guys who were gay, some so
openly gay they were in danger of being thrown out of the Navy. He said it
made him accept the fact he's gay, but on the other hand he swore to
himself he'd be celibate and work toward being straight and not act like
the gay guys he'd met. I almost blurted out a laugh at the foolishness of
the "work toward being straight" comment, but Anthony was very serious so I
held back the laugh. He goes on, "But when I get drunk and someone
attractive and nice like you is in the vicinity my urges take over my brain
and I have no fucking willpower." I go, "As you've mentioned." He looks at
me and grins a cute grin, then says, "I'm repeating myself, aren't I?" I
nod and say, "Only a little." He stares at me for ten seconds and says, "It
hurts so much, Dylan. I want so much to be at peace with myself, but my
brain is messed-up.  I don't want my parents and relatives to know what I
am, but I need to hug someone, hug another guy so badly!" I told him, "Hug
me then, Anthony. It's okay." He sobbed and hugged me with one arm, the
other arm held away with his burning cigarette between his fingers.  Mostly
he wanted to rub his face against mine again, his tears spreading equally
on both our faces. I feel very sad for him.

Shortly he got control of himself once more and leaned away mumbling,
"Thanks," then half chuckling he adds, "You're a great guy to hug and your
face is... um, it's a great face to rub against too. It's a great face,
period, actually." I murmur, "Thanks," wondering how we can break this
up. Like I said, Gary has pretty much taken care of my personal sexual
urges earlier today and my ass is still slightly sore so I have no desire
to get fucked and, for some reason, I have no desire to fuck Anthony
either. Believe me, I know how unusual that is, but there it is! The fact
my dick moved when he pulled our faces together earlier at the party was
more a reflex reaction than anything else. All his self-hatred about being
gay overrides that now and I've no urge for sex with him. Wiping some of
Anthony's tears off my face with my forearm, I got up to grab an ashtray
off the top of the television to stub my cigarette butt in, then held the
ashtray so that Anthony could stub his out. He stubs it out looking down,
then quietly asks, "Ah, ya know... you didn't answer my pathetic question
earlier, the one about me sucking your dick." I'm thinking, "AWKWARD!" and,
not really wanting to do it, I say, "Wouldn't another time be better when
we're not so, ah... well, drunk?" He says, "I need to be drunk to do it and
I bet you wouldn't let me do it unless you're drunk." Should I tell him I'm
gay? Is that the right thing to do or will it humiliate him somehow? I'll
save that for now 'cause I don't know what's right and what's wrong at the
moment. As usual, I take the easy way out and say, "Okay, if you really
want to, you can suck my dick," but I tried to make it sound like a funny
kooky, crazy thing to do, but, "Okay, go ahead!" not those words, just the
goofy way I said it. He wasn't interested in the humor though, he's serious
when he goes, "Oooohhh, man, thanks!" and he rubs my shoulder, then up the
back of my head as he adds, "I don't know why I love to do this, but I do."
I was back sitting on the end of the bed again so he gets right up and
kneels down between my legs. Maybe he's quick about it so I don't get a
chance to change my mind. With a hand at each side of my boardies he pulls
them down. My arms go behind me on the bed for support, then I lift my ass
and the swimsuit is pulled down to my ankles. My shaved pubes take him by
surprise and he looked up at me in wonder. I say, "It's a long story," he
nods and feels around my bare pubic area, then turns his attention to my
soft penis.

Anthony lifts my limp dick with one hand and caressed my nuts with the
other. He very slowly lowers his head and licks up the shaft of my cock,
then kisses the inside of my thighs, both sides, as I control my squirming
and resist running my fingers through his short, soft-looking hair. No
matter what my brain says, apparently my dick does want to get blown.
After the wet kisses he presses his face against my crotch and I begin
feeling tiny licks which increase to full tongue laps with him lifting his
eyes to mine as if he's asking if this is alright. It feels good to me of
course so I do a little smile and his eyes go back to devouring my cock
with the intensity of his stare. It appears that Anthony really loves
cock... me too. He does the wet gushing kisses all around my cock and balls
until my legs and belly are wet with his spit. Then he lifts my nuts and
licks under them pulling me off the bed a little with gentle tugs until he
can get to my asshole and then long laps cover my anus as he spreads my
cheeks apart. I lie back on the bed now, biting my lip to keep from
moaning. My ass cheeks are spread apart so tightly that my hole is opened
and his tongue goes up my ass. It feels so good, but oddly enough it's
making me yearn to rim Robby again. That thought flickers through my brain
and then is replaced quickly by the real live sensations tingling all over
my ass.

Anthony has abandoned any pretenses of being cool with this, he's letting
himself go for it and my asshole is alive and not hurting at all now. He
must have done this quite a few times 'cause he's very good at it and he's
got me biting my lip making quiet squeaky sounds. Then, just when I'm about
to moan out loud, Anthony's licking back up under my nuts and around the
sides of my scrotum causing my dick to firm-up even harder. More long licks
on the inside of my legs, then he pushes up my t-shirt and does some wet
sucking kisses on my belly in different spots which causes shivers to run
all over my torso and my back to arch off the bed. Long licks on my belly
and around my pubic area, then my t-shirt's pushed up even further and he's
sucking my nipples into hard points, then licking his way down to my crotch
again and finally sucking my now hard cock into his mouth. A throaty moan
escapes from Anthony as his tongue slowly encircles my cock head with a
twirling motion. By now I've got my mouth covered with both hands trying to
keep my pleasure sounds to myself; this feels awesome and to hell with not
wanting to have my cock sucked.  Anthony strokes my cock then laps the
length of it with his excellent tongue; my penis is hard as a poker and
when he takes it in his throat bobbing his head up and down on it a half
dozen times I squeal out a long girlie sound and piss a long stream of cum
into his mouth. I gush my cum out like Chubby did into my mouth the other
night, flowing out in one long current instead of four or five quick shots
and spurt.  Anthony's lightly squeezing my nuts helping to keep the flow
going. Nothing escapes his tongue and sucking lips, not a drop! He swallows
it all, sucking out the last few drops with sexy small sucking
sounds. Holding my wet hard boner against his face then, with his eyes
closed and breathing deeply for maybe ten seconds like he's in ecstasy, he
slowly lays my wet boner against my belly and stands up. There a big dark
blotch at the crotch of his shorts where he'd climaxed in his pants, he
quietly grunts out a breathless, "Thank you, Dylan. That's a great cock you
got there." I'm still lying on my back looking at his cum splattered
shorts, muttering, "Ah, yeah, thanks, Anthony." He takes a huge inhale and
blows out the exhale looking unsteady on his feet, then says so low I can
barely hear him, "I need to change my shorts now too," and like a man in a
trance he starts going through the piles of clothes again. I'm in a daze
trying to think if I've ever been sucked off this good before; it was
fairly fast, but uber hot. As I pull my boardie swimsuit up, Anthony finds
clean cargo shorts and a pair of boxer underwear and goes into the bathroom
with the door closed to change. He sucks me off, but won't change in front
of me.

A minute later he's back out but he doesn't look happy. Sitting in the
chair at the small desk, he's real subdued, "I'm grateful to you, Dylan,
but now I'll need to deal with a guilty conscience. I'll probably spend the
next two days calling myself every disgusting name I can think of. I'm a
sicko! The urge is gone now so the guilty conscience takes it place. It's a
living hell." I'm sitting up at the end of the bed again wanting to help
him, but kinda drunk; even when I'm sober I can't come up with poignant
things to say at the drop of a hat. Hell, I couldn't do it this afternoon
with Gary so I sure can't think of anything now that I'm half
plastered. Anthony looks pathetic sitting there with his head hanging, his
shoulders slumped, his handsome face tear-streaked as he lets out a long
sigh. He says, "You should leave, Dylan, I'll just bring you down now,
dude." I get off the bed and walk over to him to put my hand on his
shoulder and ask, "Do you get depressed like this often?" Anthony takes a
deep breath and mumbles, "I shouldn't drink, Dylan! Drinking makes me feel
good at first 'cause it pushes my worries away, but in the end I do
something stupid like begging you to let me... you know, and then I hate
myself afterwards." I totally surprise myself by coming up with something
to say. With surprising confidence in myself, I declare, "Forgive me for
saying this, but you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get some
help, some counseling or something. Take some positive steps for help
because you're whipping yourself unmercifully for no reason; you're not
doing anything wrong! Wanting to do gay sexual things with willing adult
partners isn't sick! There's nothing wrong or sick or perverse about being
gay either, and you need to get somebody to help you see that. If not the
Navy, then fuck them! You're an attractive young guy who's got his head up
his ass about this because your parents taught you to be a homophobe and
then irony steps in and you discover you're gay and so you hate yourself."
Gary started crying again and I found myself mad at him because he's weak
and because he's not helping himself, but I also may be making it worse, so
I feel bad about that too.

I waited quietly until he stopped crying, and then, hoping it doesn't come
out like nagging, I repeat, "You need to get help, Anthony. You know,
before you get more depressed and you hurt yourself... or, you know, do
something even worse." He turned in the chair and hugged around my waist,
gasping, "Thank you, Dylan, that's good advice." I pat his back while he
says, "Ya know, I've been trying to work up the courage to discuss it with
a psychologist on the carrier, but I'm afraid it might get me tossed out,
and I love the Navy." Jesus, this guy's in way over his head... what a
fucking shame! I get another idea, for once, and excitedly say, "Maybe you
can get an appointment with a psychologist under the general symptom of,
say, depression... and then, ya know, during your appointments you can test
the waters, so to speak. Ya know, sneak in questions about confidentiality,
and hint around asking about someone you know who you think might be gay,
but who also loves the Navy, you know... ask the doctor what should your
gay friend do for counseling?" Gary let go of my waist and wipes his face
on his sweatshirt, then as he's looking around the room for something, he
mutters, "Yeah, that sounds good now, Dylan, and I've thought about doing
that before and I'd surely like to do it, but when I'm sober I don't have
the guts." Actually, I'm not surprised he said that, I figured that might
be the case, but what can I say? I'm not walking in Anthony's shoes, it's
easy to give advice, the hard part is following it.

Anthony gets up and finds some tissues to blow his nose with and then we
lay back on the bed and talk about things we've already talked about, like
how there's nothing wrong with being gay and how that fact doesn't change
just because there are ignorant people who think differently, and we talk
some more about him approaching his depression head-on and about how
there's nothing wrong with going for some counseling and then we repeated
these same things using different words. He was trying to talk himself into
believing all of it and I wanted sincerely to help him do that, but we were
both out of new ideas, so we repeated the old ones. I didn't tell him I was
gay because rightly or wrongly I felt my help would be more encouraging to
him if it came from someone who he thinks is probably straight or perhaps
bi. Eventually Anthony seemed secure with himself enough to hear something
slightly humorous and I told him about something I'd read on line last
week.  It's about a survey some university was conducting involving gay
men. One of the participants, a gay guy about Anthony's age, responded to a
survey question about if he was given the choice of taking a hypothetical
pill that would render gay men totally heterosexual, would he take it? The
answer this guy gave was,"Let's see, would I take a pill that means I'd be
giving up cocksucking forever? Hahahahahahaha, riiiiight!"  Anthony
actually had a little laugh, saying, "I think I might give the same answer
if I can get the right counseling." I felt good he'd come around enough to
laugh at himself. He really is a nice guy even if he is confused.

We needed a change of scenery so we went outside to talk and smoke a couple
of cigarettes on the open walkway that runs the length of the motel's
second floor. There's a deck chair on either side of each room's door
allowing guests to sit outside and enjoy the view of the parking lot. With
cigarette smoke drifting from my mouth, I say, "I need something to drink;
something cold that has no alcohol in it, ya wanna come back to the party
with me?" He thought for a few seconds then shook his head "No," saying,
"I'm drunk enough and I'm afraid if I went back I'd get another
beer. Anyway, I have a lot to think about, Dylan. You're a smart little
dude, ya know that?" I'm shaking my head with a grin on my face, saying,
"Little dude, what? Hey, I'm the same size as you. Why does everybody refer
to me as little?" He takes a drag of his smoke shrugging his shoulders like
he doesn't get what I'm saying.  I chuckle, "It ain't worth discussing,
actually," and get up holding my hand out to shake hands with him. He looks
surprised, stands and hugs me instead of shaking hands, saying, "You said I
could hug you, and you feel good, so I'm hugging you for all I'm worth!"
After the hug, I ask what he's doing tomorrow and discover he's going to
Atlantic City with a group of people from the barbecue, so I say, "Maybe
I'll see ya Thursday or Friday," and he says, "Yeah, that'd be great; we
can get drunk again and, you know." I must have looked startled because
Anthony laughed like his old self, "That was a joke, Dylan." Then one last
hug with a whispered, "Thank you so much, Dylan!" I replied that I hadn't
done anything, but that he's welcome. Then a wave goodbye and I start down
the steps looking back every couple of steps to see Anthony watching my
every move until I'm out of sight, and then around the front of the motel
on the sidewalk. I'm still too fucked up with booze to know what to make of
everything. Truth is, I had no idea that there were people, like Anthony,
suffering like that just because they're born homosexual. Guess I never
thought it possible that being gay would be considered such a burden 'cause
I feel blessed to be gay. There's probably millions of things troubling
people that I've no idea about, and that's both scary and sad. I feel
really bad for Anthony and hope he'll actually seek some help for himself,
although I'm not optimistic that he will.

On the sidewalk now, I'm surprised to find lots of activity there: people
going this way and that. I guess it's mostly the time of night families
with young children are coming off the boardwalk heading to their rented
rooms or condos to get the kids to bed, then maybe the parents can enjoy
themselves for a few minutes with an adult beverage or just an hour of
peace and quiet before they turn-in. Half the kids passing me are bitching
to their parents about something or other; lots of bickering from
over-tired children and parents. Vacations at the shore with young kids can
wear ya out I guess. On the other hand, I'm having an awesome time myself
which makes the contrast of Anthony's pain and my joy seem all the more
startling. Poor Anthony. Man oh man, he's awfully good looking though and
what a great talent he has for sucking cock. Lots of gay guys would be
happy to have him as a boyfriend. Will Anthony ever find happiness himself
though? I feel for him, really feel for him, but I shouldn't let it bring
me totally down because I have more vacation time to enjoy and I did do my
best consoling and encouraging him to get help. Mostly it's Anthony that
has to help Anthony. Thinking these thoughts, I all of a sudden realize I'm
near the house party and can hear the music and muffled noise, lots of
energy. Forcing myself to stop dwelling on Anthony's problems and
reinforcing my resolve to not drink anything containing Sambuca or beer I
checked my watch and see I've been away from the party about an hour; it's
ten o'clock already. Approaching the party house I find I'm playing a
little pocket ball, enjoying the feeling in my dick with two things in my
head at once: one is reliving the excellent blow job Anthony gave me and
the other is wondering what Chubby's been up to all this time.

>From somewhere I hear, "Yo, Newman! Over here!" It came from behind the
party house so I step through someone's back yard and in the moonlight make
out Artie standing by himself. I walk towards him, asking, "Whassup,
Artie?" He's motioning with his hand for me to come closer and then I see
Chubby passed out in a lawn chair, his chin on his chest. "WTF, dude?" I
ask, and Artie says, "I'll tell ya what the fuck, he threw-up all over
himself, and me; then when I was changing my clothes he wandered away and I
finally found him out here stumbling around. I got him into a clean t-shirt
and then he passes out on me." I'm like, "Dude, nice job!" He yells, "Oh
yeah?  Then I see this, look at this!" I look where he's pointing and see a
big wet stain on the cushion of a lounge chair. I look back at Artie,
puzzled, shrugging my shoulders, as if to say 'Yeah?' He shouts, "He pissed
on my mother's fucking lounge chair cushion!" Artie's quite drunk himself,
and loud.  Us teens are just learning to drink and occasionally, well
something like ninety percent of the time actually, we overdo it. It's a
learning process. I'm motioning with my hands that Artie needs to keep it
down, so he yells, "Where you been? I'm stuck out here with him and you're
off doing... whatever! He's your best bud, that's what you said! You should
be taking care of him!" I'm like, "Chill, dude! He was hooked up with you
all night, don't give me this shit! I'm not his keeper, ya know." Artie
grumbles, "Some friend you are!" and he stomps around the side of the house
opposite of the way I'd just come and then it was silent, except for the
quietest snore from Chubby. He has both hands at his crotch, which shows
good sense, if ya ask me. I take a deep breath thinking, "What an asshole
that Artie is!" then I see the top of a pack of cigarettes peeking out of
Chubby's side pocket. Ah ha! He obviously scored some smokes somehow. I go
over to him, quietly saying, "Chubby Romero? Is that you, Chub?" but he's
out cold. Pulling the pack of cigarettes out I open the box and, yes!
Chubby and I keep our matches inside the box once enough cigarettes have
been smoked to make room for them. I light up looking at the pee-stained
cushion and chuckling at the large amount of piss necessary to create a
stain that big. Jesus! This situation has me feeling further removed from
the somber mood I'd been in while walking here. Anthony's situation takes a
back seat now and I'm feeling this lighter mood engulf me. A vacation mood,
a much happier feeling. I mean, look at Chubby! Ha ha! But, I can't just
stand here, I need a plan.

There's another lawn chair on the patio which I drag over in front of
Chubby and sit down to enjoy a smoke while I figure out what to do with the
lovable- drunk-best-friend-I'll-ever-have who's sleeping it off right in
front of me. Hee hee. Some wild vacation we're having; two wicked booze
loads in the last few days. Actually, this is rare for us but it'll be a
blast when we're home exaggerating these drunken escapades. Pissing on a
lounge chair! Outrageous! Then I realized, "Don't be so cocky, Dylan!
You're still drunk yourself!"  Yeah, I am, but not like Chub here. Oh boy!
Then I felt tired as the reality of the situation sinks in: Really, what
the hell am I going to do about Chubby? How am I gonna get him home? Get
him home without the moms seeing him... or me. Hmmm? Then I giggle again;
look at that fucking piss stain on the cushion! What a wild child Chubby
is! Finished my cigarette I realize again that I'm dying of
thirst. Tentatively I get up, unsure what I should do. Then I walk around
the side of the house the way Artie had gone and find the party still going
on full force, so what the hell.  Glancing around I see Artie with a group
from the football game sitting around a picnic table playing a drinking
game, and not paying attention to me. Maybe ten couples are dancing in the
driveway and lots of the same boisterousness from before was still in
evidence. Being a little drunk increases the size of my balls by a factor
of ten anyway, so I brazenly walk right past a few groups of people, and
over to the tub full of iced beers and soft drinks. I know hardly any of
these people in the first place so I tell myself just don't make eye
contact with anyone and you won't get into a conversation. The hell with
the beer, I grab two Lipton Ice Teas and saunter back the way I came
thinking, "What a hot shit you are, Dylan!"

Sitting back in the lawn chair right in front of the sleeping Chubby, our
knees touching, I snap open a can and take a wonderful swallow of the cold
liquid. Taking sensible swallows I finish the can in about ninety seconds
and manage to do it without getting a Popsicle headache. Ahhh! Yeah, baby,
that hit the spot. I snap the tab on the second one and smoke another
cigarette while drinking it slowly, staring at Chubby. God almighty, I love
this kid! The moonlight illuminates him; it shines off his brown hair,
which needs cutting. With the cigarette between my lips, I lean over and
run my fingers through his hair, then rub the bangs up off his forehead to
study his face; my favorite face. It's my favorite face except tonight
there's some puke on his cute chin. That won't do. Pulling up the end of
Artie's t-shirt that Chubby's wearing, I spit on a section and wipe the
puke off Chubby's chin. There!  Sitting back down I stare some more and the
next thing I hear is the sound of a can bouncing onto something hard. Seems
I'd dozed off and dropped the soft drink can on the brick patio. Giggling,
I picked it up and drain the remaining tea. Stepping on the cigarette butt
I'd dropped when I dozed off, and chuckling to myself about falling asleep,
I took a few steps over and did a nice long pee right on top of the pee
stain Chubby had made on the cushion! Fuck Artie! Hee hee...

Okay, I'm feeling okay now. Action, that's what I gotta take, some
action. I get my hand under Chubby's chin and lift his head, saying, "It's
the police, son. Wake the fuck up! You're under arrest!" He's like, "Huh?
Barbara Wawa...." I'm yelling, "Barbara Wawa? What the fuck's wrong with
you, dreaming about that old bag?" Chubby's moving his legs, going nowhere,
mumbling, "Who, who's that?" I say, "It's Barbara, baby... I've come to
blow ya!" He starts laughing, then coughing, muttering, "You asshole,
Dylan! I'm resting my eyes for a fucking minute and you try to trick..." He
stops because he's touching his pockets where his pack of cigarettes used
to be, but aren't anymore 'cause they're in my pocket now. Then he's
feeling his other pockets, muttering, "Where? What the fuck happened to my
Marlboros? I've been robbed." He's still very drunk. I ask, "What were you
drinking?" and Chubby looks up and says, "Dylan! Where you been, man?" I
smirk at him and start to say something, but he interrupts to says,
"Drinking? What was I drinking? We played categories and I couldn't think
of enough good answers. I kept giving the answer that had just been given
so I had to drink! Where were you?" I blow out a lot of air thinking, "This
is gonna be a pain in the ass!" then go, "I was resting my eyes. Let's go,
get up." I'm pulling him out of the chair with an hand under his armpits
and between the two of us he gets on his feet and swoons, "Ooohhh, I'm
spinning!" I hug him against me, he's limp for a second, then says, "I
gotta pee." I'm like, "There's the pee cushion," and without hesitation
Chubby whips it out and pees a long pee on the cushion without questioning
the sense of it. While peeing, he says, "Beer, I had to drink a cup of beer
every time someone got the wrong answer." I say, "You mean, every time you
got the wrong answer." He goes, "Huh? Whaddya mean, bro? Answer to what?"
He's not kidding, he's serious. I say, "Forget about it. Let's go." Chubby
shakes his little pecker to get the last drop off, puts it back in his
pants, but doesn't zip up. I zip him up saying, "Hey, I'm drunk too so
don't expect me to be taking care of you." He goes, "Let's sober up in the
ocean." I mutter, "Two drunks swimming in the ocean, in the dark; what
could go wrong?" He's like, "Huh? What's wrong?"

We're on our way to the beach, but already it isn't going well. Chubby's
staggering around and while I'm good with taking care of myself, I'm still
slightly tipsy too, so keeping Chubby on the right track is a
struggle. He's giggling, telling me some convoluted story about the girl
with tits as big as my head. I can't understand half of what he's saying,
but he thinks it's funny. We go the opposite of the way Artie went to avoid
coming into direct contact with party people. It's only a block to the
beach where we find we're not alone in the sand. Chubby and me aren't the
only drunks from the party who think it's a good idea to run around in the
dark. A group was trying to play catch with a football and a few others
were in the ocean splashing around. I almost stepped on another reveler, a
girl about twenty years old, who was down for the count in the sand,
snoring loudly.  I steered Chubby five beach blocks over to where the moms
sit each day; we're the only people on this beach.  Wading out in the water
carrying our sandals I felt pretty good about our progress and feeling
better myself all the time; not yet sober, but getting closer. Chubby was
quiet and moving okay but I kept a hand on his arm just the same. Then,
feeling protective of him, I hug Chubby around his shoulders and when the
water was above my knees, I tell him, "This is far enough, Chubby," which
sort of woke him up. He looks around and goes, "Huh? Oh, Dylan... ah,
someone stole my cigarettes!" I go, "Ya don't say, Chub, that's a bitch!
Some people have no class. Ya want one of mine?" He goes, "Oh, sure. You
got cigarettes?" I lit one and handed it to him. I've noticed that
cigarettes make you drink more booze and that drinking booze makes you
crave more cigarettes; a vicious circle, although it seems like a good idea
when you're doing it. I lit one for myself, and say, "You threw up on
Artie." Chubby sways while taking a drag, I steady him with my arm around
his shoulders. He exhales and says, "Bullshit! I never threw up on
anybody. I mean, I've thrown up before, but not tonight." I say, "Oh! Then
someone threw-up on your chin." He goes, "Chin?"

Man, I'm starting to have fun with this. We wade out a little further in
water that's now above my knees and after a bit a rogue wave drifted into
us so I went up on my toes, but it still wet me almost to my balls. Chubby
remained flatfooted and he's four inches shorter than me so the wave wet
him to his waist, he's like, "Fucken ocean!" I'm laughing and he takes an
awkward step, then his knees buckle and down we both go, the water over our
heads. I drag him up sputtering and spitting; the bizarreness of our
situation gets me on a laughing jag that Chubby joins in on without knowing
what I'm laughing at, just like he does when he's sober. Oh my God, what a
cluster fuck we are at the moment. I managed to get us out of the ocean to
the wet sand where we plop down on our asses. Here the waves just reach us,
then peter out and return with the undertow to join their friends. The
cigarettes we'd been smoking were extinguished and the remaining ones in
the box were ruined when we went under water. Our laughing runs out of
steam and we sit there for a minute. Another wave reaches us but it's only
and inch of water by the time it gets to us. We both watch it surround us
and then return where it came from. "This sucks, Dylan!" I start laughing
again as I'm getting both of us on our feet. We stagger up the beach and
onto the street of our condo. Chubby complains, "There's sand in my pants,
bro, and we're soaking wet." I guess I'm supposed to straighten out
everything. Hmmm, there's a motel two blocks down from our condo with an
unguarded swimming pool. I lead us there telling Chubby we'll jump in the
pool to get the sand and salt water off of us and then I'll think of
something else after that. Chubby's like, "What?" so I go, "Right!" and he
mumbles something unintelligible as we approach the pool. No lights 'cause
it's after eleven now and while there's still a lot of action on the
boardwalk, there isn't any here. I reach over and unlatch the gate,
ignoring the PRIVATE PROPERTY: GUESTS ONLY sign. Like I said, booze
increases the size of my balls, so fuck it! I step out of my sandals, pull
my wet t-shirt over my head, drop my boardies, and jump into the pool
naked.  With a frown on his cute face Chubby watches me swimming in the
pool for ten seconds, then he jumps in with his clothes on. I swim over to
pull his pants off, but I can't get the t-shirt over his head. Then I drag
him over to the steps at the swallow end and we walk up and out of the pool
cleaned of the salt water and sand but reeking of chlorine. I take two
fluffy courtesy towels conveniently piled high in a covered cart for the
motel's paying customers and wrap one around me and one around Chubby who
holds his there, and says, "What now, bro?" almost like he knew what was
going on. I say, "We get the fuck away from here... that's the first
thing."

Fishing Chubby's swimsuit and sandals from the pool, then gathering up my
stuff, we shuffle away from the pool two blocks up to where our condo sits
waiting for us. I say to Chubby, "At this time of night, the moms probably
aren't even home. Lets take a chance of going right in and if they are
there I'll BS us through to our room. You say absolutely nothing! Okay?"
Chubby asks, "About what?" At the condo I'm getting our key from the hiding
spot, the moms carry their key with them. Chubby's looking around, dripping
wet from head to foot, then he says, as if it just occurred to him, "Hey,
my fucking sandals are wet!" I start laughing again, saying, "No shit! They
were only in the ocean and the pool!" He frowns at that and I hug him, my
bare chest against his wet t-shirt for a second, and then open the condo's
main door. Okay, so far... I cross my fingers hoping the moms are still out
partying and then up the steps we go. Inside our unit's front door I notice
there are no purses on the side table where the moms leave them, so the
purses are out with the moms partying. "They're out, Chubby," he says,
"Who?" and I laugh out loud. "Come on, bro, we're taking a shower," as I
lead him to our room. Inside I click the lock on the doorknob and drop my
towel and the wet clothes I've been carrying in a pile on the floor. I'm
naked and when I pull Chubby's towel off him, I say, "Lift your arms," he
asks, "Why?" as he's lifting his arms and I get the wet t-shirt off
him. "Come on, Chubby. Into the tub." Our bathroom is the smaller of the
two here in the condo, but it's in our room so that's convenient, and
private.

The bathtub serves as the shower too. Getting the water flowing from both
the overhead and hand-held shower heads, I motion for Chubby to come on
over. Chubby's watching me, then he mumbles, "I don't want a shower, I
wanna go to sleep." "Get your ass over here!" I tell him, and he does it
then; it could have gone either way. With Chubby you just don't know... he
could have said, "Fuck you," but he didn't. I helped him into the tub,
getting in right behind him so he wouldn't fall. "Wha? Ya don't, I
mean... we're taking a shower together? This is sooooo gay!" I'm like,
"You'd fall and crack your head if I left you here by yourself." He gets
dramatic, saying, "Ooooh, you take care of me, bro. He ain't heavy, he's
not heavy, he's... how's that go?" I'm standing behind Chubby with an arm
around in front of him just below his pecs squeezing shampoo onto his head
with my other hand, then rubbing the shampoo into his hair. I nudge Chubby
forward so that the water stream is hitting him on top of his head, shampoo
suds rolling down all around his head. "Keep your eyes and mouth shut,
Chub, or you'll get soap in them." Chubby must be doing it because he's
quiet. When his hair is rinsed I back up, lowering him to the floor of the
tub in a sitting position because I can now see that I can't wash him using
only one hand. I'm feeling almost sober although I know from past
experiences that it's a false soberness; I'm soberer now than I was two
hours ago, but not as sober as I'll be tomorrow morning. Chubby's not going
to be really sober till sometime tomorrow afternoon at which time his
friend hangover will say a loud, head-splitting "HOW YA DOING, ASSHOLE?"
My hangover will be mild compared to his.

As I'm soaping up a washcloth, Chubby looks up at me and says, "I feel
stupid sitting here like this," I've got a lot of soap on a washcloth by
now so I start washing his back, saying, "I'll make it quick,
Chubby. Tomorrow you'll be so glad we did this tonight." He didn't argue or
fight me, he was docile actually; barely awake. I washed him, lifting each
arm and then washing his face with him closing his eyes real tight like a
six year old might do it. That made me do an exaggerated washing of his
ears which didn't need washing, giggling while saying, "You could grow
potatoes in these ears!" He mumbled, "Wha...?" making me laugh a little
more. See what I mean about not really being sober? I got his chest and a
good portion of his crotch washed, which, by the way, didn't freak out
Chubby; hell, we used to shave each other's pubes so it isn't like we're
not used to touching each other. Stepping around him in the tub I got in
front of him to wash his great looking legs. I chuckled again thinking how
we used to shave each other's legs only to discover when we stopped doing
it that neither of us grew enough leg hair to bother with. Of course, at
eleven years old Chubby didn't want the fuzz that began to appear on his
legs so that's when we started doing the shaving with Chubby rationalizing
it, saying, "This isn't unusual, Dylan, 'cause if we were on the swim team
we'd shave ourselves."  I always replied, "Yeah, but we're not on the swim
team!" and Chubby would counter with something meaningless, like, "I'm just
saying, that's all."  Ha ha ha! Those were the days! I was done with his
legs and working on his feet when I glanced up and see that Chubby is
looking much more alert now, his eyes shinier than the previous glazed
look. What the...? Then I remember his foot fetish; how could I forget
that? I drop the washcloth and work on his feet with soapy hands. My
fingers sliding between his toes and down the slope of the arch in his foot
and cup his heel to scrunch his toes together in the sudsy froth of soap
that I'm creating with all the massaging. It reminds me briefly of the time
Gary washed my feet in the public lavatory. After a bit Chubby lets out a
squeaking sound, then takes a deep stuttering breath.  As I continue
working on his foot I wonder if I'm taking advantage of Chubby in his
drunken condition, so I ask, "You okay, Chubby?" He says, "Yeah, don't
stop, I'm good." I ask, "You sure? Maybe I'm being too gay?" He goes, "Oh
no, this isn't gay at all. You're taking care of me. Remember that time you
got drunk and fell down the stairwell or something? And I took care of
you?" He's making a question out of that because it never happened. He may
be getting things mixed-up with that crazy Joel dropping me into the
stairwell that time. I say, "Tell me if you feel uncomfortable." After
thirty seconds, he answers, "I feel good. The foot massage feels good. My
dick feels good too. Let's do what we used to do before I got a girlfriend;
let's jerk our wieners off. Ya wanna?" The footsie play has him poking at
his dick.  Hmmm?

Okay, he asked for it and we've done it many times before so to hell with
me being a martyr, lets just do it. I drop his foot and say, "Okay, I'll do
you first. Let me help you stand up. I get him under one arm and get him
standing with his assistance this time. As we're standing I'd grabbed the
soapy washcloth from the bottom of the tub which I now use to soap up his
dick. Standing behind him with an arm around his chest I get his slippery
dick and balls loosely in my fist sliding my fist upward until his balls
drop off as I get to the head of his cock, which is already half a
boner. Chubby goes, "Ohh, yeah, that feels good, bro." I do it again and
his head falls back against my shoulder, his great bubble ass is just below
my groin leaning back against the top of my thighs.  Both shower heads are
still flowing and everything is steamy hot, wet and slippery. We're
standing in the back part of the tub so the shower's stream is just getting
the lower part of Chubby's legs. Using my thumb, index, and middle fingers
I stroke the foreskin on and off the head of his cock in a slow steady
manner listening to Chubby take deep breaths, my cock against the top of
his buttocks is firm, but not a boner; if I were sober it'd be a boner by
now. Chubby sighs and then says, "You'd probably be surprised, Dylan, at
how many brothers never, never, never do this, so we're not... Wait... I
mean always, always, always do this." I go, "Oh, Chubby, I already know
that 'cause you've been telling me for years." He says, "Fucking A, you
have."

Being drunk didn't seem to slow Chubby's dick any; drunk or sober, he gets
hard boners fast!  It took only about a minute for his cock to get rock
hard and for Chubby to change from mumbling rationalizations to grunting
and moaning, "Ahh! Ohh! Whoa! Ohh!" as I stroked his soapy cock; his back
arching away from me, his ass and shoulders pushing against me. He's got
both hands behind me holding onto the back of my thighs (some might say my
ass, but I'm sure Chubby considers that the back of my thighs). He's
picking up his verbal responses now, going, "Oh! Oh! Ahh! Ahh! Yeah,
faster! Ohh!" I stroked his boner faster, and then even faster and tighter,
as I see the skin withdrawal completely off his cock's head, which is now
shiny-tight. Precum dripping, drip, drip and then he pulls his head
forward, then bangs it back against my shoulder, squealing "Eeeeee
yeaaaaah!" and shoots a tight string of cum against the front of the
shower's tile wall, then follows that quickly with four more shorter
strings. He pinched both my butt cheeks hard with his thumbs and fingers at
each shot of spunk, his entire body convulsing slightly with each one
too. Grunting and bumping his ass against my thighs, his shoulders
shuddered as his right hand comes around to take over the stroking. Fifteen
seconds of hard stroking and then he's laying back against me moaning,
"Oooh, Dylan, that was good." He's giggling, then stops to say, "We're
closer than brothers, ya know. That's why, I mean all the things we've
been... the early days. Remember?" I'm murmuring, "You bet, Chubby. Let me
get ya with one final rinse off and you can get in bed, okay?" He's already
forgotten the jerk off, "I told you I wanted to get to sleep a long time
ago!"

He's forgotten about jerking my wiener off too, but I didn't need it
anyway; not after that excellent head Anthony gave me. And also, a heavy
tiredness came over me all of a sudden; it covers me like a blanket.  I use
the hand held shower head to direct the water stream all over Chubby, who's
still holding his dick. Then, carefully, I get him out of the tub and onto
the closed toilet lid where he sits slumped over as I dry him. His eyes are
closed and he's probably halfway to dreamland right now, but he's shiny
clean! He continues sitting there after I've thoroughly towel dried him
and, as I'm energetically rubbing his hair dry, his head moves loosely
under my hands. Getting his toothbrush loaded up with toothpaste I move the
Sonic brush around in his mouth the best I can, then, while standing him up
his eyes flutter open and I hand him a cup of water and said, "Rinse your
mouth, Chubby." He did it three times, but I'll bet you a million dollars
he won't remember doing it tomorrow. He might not remember the jerk off
either; it's fifty-fifty. "Come on, Chub," and I lead him to our bed, both
my hands at his waist. He stumbles over, bumping into the side and then
laying across the bed. I turn him around lengthwise and pull his legs up to
push them under the covers. While I'm adjusting the pillow under his head,
he says, "Why was that...?" To hell with trying to get boxers on him; we'll
both sleep naked for once. I lean over and kiss his lips lightly. I'm so
tired myself now I consider climbing into bed with Chubby right now, but I
want my own shower real bad so, mumbling to myself, "Fuck it!" I stagger
back into the bathroom and take a quick shower with the hot water changing
to warm and then barely tepid as I'm rinsing off. It feels so good being
clean! I brush my teeth, gargled, floss, as a tribute to Chubby's latest
hygiene fad, and climb over Chubby, who's on my side of the bed, to sleep
on his side.

Morning came too fast. I woke up with Chubby pinching my arm mumbling,
"How'd we get back to the room last night, Dylan?" I say, "Go back to
sleep, Chubby!" looking at the night stand clock, it's six in the morning!
We've been sleeping only six hours and Chubby's still half drunk. Chubby
says, grinning, "I had a dream about you, Mr. Gay-best-bud." I'm
interested, "What was the dream about?" He rolls over and gets both his
arms around my neck, his lips against my ear. His scent is all around me
and my dick stirs, his arms feel so nice around my neck, he whispers with
his lips against my ear, "You jerked off my wee wee and it spit out lots of
spunk," and he's giggling again. I say, "Chubby, you're still drunk!" My
head aches, so I'm in hangover mode, but Chubby's acting almost as drunk as
last night. Well, not that bad, but he's still smashed. He thinks that my
whacking off his wiener in the tub last night was a dream. With his lips
still against my ear he does a stage whisper, saying, "I'm a little bit
high, but not drunk, bro, and I got a surprise for you." This has my heart
bumping against the ribs in my chest, could it be....? I ask, "What
surprise?" He tightens his hug around my neck and says, "You smell good,
bro!" I ask again, "What's the surprise, Chubby?" He goes, "This..." as he
humps his semi-boner against my right butt cheek, and says, "We're both
naked," as if I didn't know that. I go, "Oh, we are?" He says, "You sooo
want this, but you need to do what I say, okay?" I mumble, "I guess," and
he lets go of my neck telling me to roll over on my stomach and pull my
knees up under me. I do that and he says, "Hug your knees and make yourself
into a ball and stay like that." I don't know how I know this, but I'm sure
this is one of the ways Ricky fucked Chubby. Chubby wouldn't think this up
by himself, and he's still half drunk and half asleep so he's working out a
dream sequence or maybe it's a fantasy; that'd be nice if he has a fantasy
about fucking me.

It's not a real comfortable position though, so after a few seconds I
unwrap my arms and stay in the scrunched up position but lay my forehead on
my forearms. Chubby's scrambling under the covers to get behind me and then
lays his chest on my back with the inside of his thighs tight on the
outside of mine. "You're my sex toy now, Dylan!" I remember hearing this
same cadence in Ricky's speech pattern; Chubby almost sounded like him just
then. I go, "Good, 'cause I'm gay." He says, "Hey, you're not supposed to
say anything, don't you remember?" How could I remember when we've never
done this before? He's lying on my back with his mouth near my ear and his
semi-hard dick between my legs, but because of the size differential, it
feels so different than when Gary had his cock between my legs. Chubby
whispers, "Dylan, listen... do you remember graduation night, and what we
did?" I go, "Uh huh," he says, "Well, we're going to do it again, okay?" I
go, "Uh huh," and he humps his hips moving his dick back and forth along my
ass crack. His dick gets hard pretty fast; Chubby breathes faster the
harder his dick gets. He says, trying to sound demanding, "Tighten your
body into a ball!" so I get a little tighter and, as I'm doing that, I feel
some wetness from Chubby's dick; a touch of precum has appeared to assist
with entry. Chubby says, "He didn't care if it hurts, but I care, Dylan;
tell me if it hurts, okay?" This is fascinating, like living inside one of
Chubby's dreams. I quietly say, "Sure, thanks, Chubby," and he says a
formal sounding, "You're welcome," which struck me as funny and I almost
blurted out a laugh except the contact of Chubby's body draped over mine
has given me a boner and I concentrated on that instead of a
chuckle. Boners rule! Chubby leaned up off of my back, sitting on his
ankles and takes his boner between his fingers to guide it back and forth
on my buttocks and along my crack with the wet head occasionally poking the
back of my balls. His breathing is a wheezing sound now, as he says, "Your
skin is like velvet, Dylan... or maybe silk, I forget which one." That
almost had me blurt out a laugh too, but I didn't. It's not funny of course
the way Ricky dominated Chubby for months; had him brainwashed
actually. That's what Chubby claims anyway and maybe Chubby's working
through something in his head with this; something that will help him deal
with the bad memories. Or, maybe he's just drunk and horny and used to
porking Mary Jo who hasn't been around for days. Maybe this, and maybe
that. Who really knows what's going on inside another person's brain?

Chubby, all of a sudden is raring to go, he asks, "Ready, Dylan?"  I'm
about to answer, but I feel the head of his dick at my anus as he asks the
question and the next second his dick is four inches up my ass and I'm
biting my tongue because it hurt a bit. Chubby grunts and hisses, "That
fucking hurt my dick! Owww!" I was holding my breath looking at stars right
in front of my eyes when he retracts his cock completely and then plugged
it right back up inside me again, then again, and again; pulling it totally
out and then humping it right back in till his crotch smacked my
buttocks. It was going up much smoother now and I had no more thoughts of
laughing. He begins doing full four inch withdrawal and thrust leaving the
head inside with each, murmuring, "Oh, this is better! Oh my God, this
feels good." That comment is followed by heavy breathing as he does a
steady dozen full blown fucking thrusts, then he lays on my back panting
with his boner up inside me doing little humps against my backside. I felt
his heart pounding on my back and the side of his face against my neck. He
moans a little, and says, "Oh wow, I forgot how much different it is to do
it this way." I'm taking deep breaths just this side of blowing my load
because those last strokes felt awesome. Even more than the erotic way it
feels to have a boy's cock up my ass, it's knowing it's Chubby's cock
inside me, and that he initiated getting it there, this is totally a new
and even more awesome experience. The only way it could be better is if he
were sober. He wraps his arms around my neck, pulling my head back next to
the side of his face, tightened his legs against the sides of mine and,
with only hip motion, fucks me for two minutes with both of us making quiet
little squeaks with each thrust. Even though Chubby climaxed about six
hours ago in the bathtub, he shot off first and his spunk got my ass messy
which made me clench my jaw, squeeze my eyes closed, contract every muscle
in my body and shoot four streams of cum onto myself. Because of my
scrunched-up position, most of the cum made it only as far as my lower
belly and it was creamy/slimy between the top of my thighs and my belly.
Now both my front and rear are drooling with cum. Chubby's spunk in the
back and mine in the front, what could be better than that?  My ears were
ringing from the climax sensation and those wonderful buzzing, electrical
sensations were all over and around my groin and rectum; tingling and
erotic and awesome!

Chubby's grunting something, but I don't know what. He's literally lying on
my back and by now we're both sweaty as he grinds his hips pushing his
groin against by ass cheeks. Then, abruptly he pulls out, letting go of my
throat and, at the same time, says, "On your back now, okay?" I roll over
and Chubby, on his knees, scrambles in between my legs. He looks down at me
pulling on his boner. He smiles a half-drunken smug smile and sits back on
his ankles to wrap his hands around each of my ankles, spreading my
legs. He scoots up then, and lines his cock with my hole without benefit of
his fingers and presses his slippery boner back up inside me in one fast
thrust; he'd gotten me opened up nicely with the first fuck and his boner
slides back up like it belongs there. I go, "Ohhhh, man, that feels so
good!" He's grinning now as he spreads my legs wide and begins a new
fuck. Even though it's feeling really good, I don't expect another
climax. It's a great ride though and as we approach the ten minute mark
Chubby's giving no indication he'll be slowing down any time soon. Well
okay, my ass is feeling so fabulous by now I just might get another spurt
or two of spunk... hope so!  It's happening, there a deliciously sexy
feeling coming on me all around my rectum, my balls, and my bouncing
boner. Oh God! This is such an unexpected surprise: Chubby was right, he
did have a surprise for me! My ass is feeling so thrillingly fantastic it
reminds me of something from childhood. I used to get poison ivy on my
hands as a kid and mom would admonish me not to scratch it or it would
spread. She'd put calamine lotion between my fingers and on the back of
them, but the itching was enough to drive me nuts. If I used will power the
lotion would eventually dry up the poison ivy blisters and eliminate the
itching. Me, as a seven year old, ignored that advice though and in bed I'd
drag the end of my sheets between my fingers scratching that itching poison
ivy till the friction made the edge of the sheet warm. The sense of
temporary relief from the unbearable itching that this action provided was
a thrilling treat, it felt so good scratching those blisters that tears of
ecstasy would come to my eyes; nothing ever felt so good. That is until I
discovered getting fucked. Chubby's thrusting his fat-headed four-plus
inches of boner repeatedly up my ass had me tearing up with the same degree
of thrilling sensations in my ass I'd get from scratching my poison ivy!
Some things feel so good they're indescribable!

When Chubby bent over towards me sucking his lips in I knew he was about to
blow his second load up my ass. I had the feeling in my dick too and
started stroking myself and, along with Chubby, I picked up the pace of my
stroking, matching the pace of his boner slamming up my ass. He's going,
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" as his head comes down lower and lower till the top of
his head is touching my nose and his wonderfully subtle boy smell proved to
be the tipping point for me. With my nose bumping the top of his head I
grunted, "Chub! Chub! Ahhh!" and a watery splash flew out the head of my
cock wetting my fingers and thumb followed immediately by a spurt of creamy
cum which plopped out on my belly button. I felt Chubby's squirt of cum
from his second climax wet my hole about thirty seconds later. He collapsed
on top of me after that and I put my arms around him and held him tight to
my body. His cock slipped out of me and cum drooled down to pool on the bed
next to my ass. We were sweaty even though the condo is
air-conditioned. Sweaty or not, it's nice holding Chubby like this, but
after a few minutes I realize that he'd gone back to sleep. I thought,
"Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!  At least he didn't fall asleep while he
was fucking me!" Maybe in his mind this double fuck on my ass is another
dream he had during the night. Then I wondered if this dream scenario is
just another way for Chubby to rationalize away the fact he wanted to fuck
me and, in fact, did fuck me twice this morning. He's a mystery at times,
but I'm not complaining about anything at the moment. No vacation could
have gone better than this one, and we have three more days of it
left. Yum! Now, to be honest, evaluating the sex: It's like the first time
Chubby fucked me four months ago, my expectations then were higher than the
reality of it could possibly match and that's the case today too although I
truly loved every second of it. Probably the anticipation and later the
memory of something desperately desired will always surpass the actual
desired event no matter what that event might be. Reality often falls short
of fantasy.

As much as I like the feel of Chubby's body, now that he's asleep he's dead
weight and it's becoming uncomfortable and there's a lot more perspiration
building up between our bodies so I ease him off of me.  He lays exactly in
the position I put him in. Hey, I guess he really did just fall asleep; it
seems pretty convenient though. Getting up carefully so as not to wake him,
I went in the bathroom to pee and then cleaned Chubby's creamy spunk off
the back of my ass and legs, washed my hands and face, then brushed my
teeth again. I'm really thirsty so I drink two cups of water from the sink
faucet and get back into bed, again climbing over an inert Chubby. It
wasn't long before I was in a deep sleep once again and when I woke this
time it was after ten o'clock. That's a lot better, but still I dozed back
to sleep on and off for another half hour and then lay half asleep
daydreaming for another half hour or so; my daydreaming was about last
night and this morning with Anthony and Chubby. I was under the influence
of booze at times during those episodes, but never too drunk that I can't
remember everything clearly. It was a unique night and morning to say the
least!

Chubby woke up about this time, stared at me, then mumbled, "Did ya like my
surprise this morning?" So, he isn't going to claim he dreamed it! I rolled
my eyes up as if I was thinking about it, then said, "Oh, you mean that!
Jeez, yeah, I almost forgot, but it was good. Yeah, I liked it. I'm gay, ya
know." He shakes his head slowly as he's getting out of bed, muttering,
"There's just no pleasing some people." He goes into the bathroom, leaves
the door open and pees into the toilet water making that pissing sound,
then I hear his tooth brush, then the shower comes on so I get up and
change the sheets on the bed. I've got a little headache, not much. The new
sheets look so inviting that I crawl under the covers and doze off
again. After his shower, Chubby gets back in bed wearing boxer shorts,
mumbling, "This hangover is worse than the one I had the other day. I took
four Tylenol and drank four cups of water; now I need more sleep. Cover for
me, will ya, Dylan. You know, if the moms wonder why I'm in bed all day."
He's very pale. I tell him not to worry, that I'll tell them he's got a
touch of food poising like Marsha had last week. He closes his eyes and in
three minutes is breathing evenly again, making quiet sleeping sounds.

After another ten minutes of laying there awake I get up. Fuck it, I can't
go back to sleep so I take another shower too and think some more about
Chubby fucking me. It was sexy of course but different in some way from
Robby fucking me, which is weird because they both have pretty much
identical cocks. Hmmm, so what's the difference? It could be technique,
it's definitely partly technique and as far as that goes, Willie fucks me
better than either Chubby or Robby, but that doesn't mean I'd rather have
him fuck me than the boys I have a deep love for. No sir-ee, it don't mean
that, although I am looking forward to seeing Willie again. That theme is
to be thought about at another time though. For now I'm thinking how Chubby
being drunk, or partially drunk, during sex detracted from the experience
some and the fact he did it without actually being in love with me detracts
also; he loves me, but he's not in love with me. Both Willie and Robby are
in love with me and that makes a difference. Oh well, enough of this
contemplation, I dry off and get dressed noticing there isn't any movement
in the condo except mine so I guess the moms are already on the beach.  My
hangover isn't real noticeable but I do need coffee so I drive the Jeep to
Dunkin' Donuts for a large regular coffee and bring it back to drink on the
deck. I'd normally get one for Chubby too, but he's gonna be sleeping till
this afternoon and will want a cold drink when he wakes up.

It's a cloudy day with rain in the forecast for this afternoon so that
makes me feel a little better about missing today on the beach. The
coffee's good but drinking coffee makes me think about a cigarette and I
try smoking one only to have it bring on a pounding headache. Fuck! I stub
it out and go back to wondering about Chubby's motivation for his early
morning screwing frenzy. He was still partially drunk and he seemed to be
sliding in and out of various roles while apparently reproducing the way
Ricky fucked him, I'm pretty sure of that. Ya know what, I'm gonna come
right out and ask him as soon as he's recovered enough from his
hangover. The Ricky connection during the sex this morning was weird and a
little disturbing. And, like I said, it detracted from my sexual pleasure
some, but even so it was still very sexy to me simply because it was Chubby
doing the fucking. He's so bi and simply won't admit it, but big deal... so
what? Finished with my coffee and getting hungry, I go into the kitchen and
see a note from the moms taped to the refrigerator door that I'd overlooked
earlier. "HI BOYS!  Since it's going to rain this afternoon we've gone
antiquing in Cape May . We'll eat dinner out so you boys are on you're own
again. What's new, huh? Love you guys!" Signed, as always, "The moms."  So
they're not on the beach after all. The reference to dinner makes me think
"chicken soup!"  That's what Chubby and I need for our hangovers.

A little later I drive to the supermarket and buy two quarts of College Inn
low-sodium chicken broth, a box of dry Lipton Soup Secrets Chicken Soup
mix, two pounds of skinless boneless chicken thighs, a zucchini, a sweet
potato, green onions, and a bunch of carrots, and one ear of white Jersey
corn. Chubby and I like other vegetables in our chicken vegetable soup too,
like cabbage, beans, and peas, and others but the ones I picked out will do
just fine. Four crusty French rolls complete my shopping. Back at the condo
I check on Chubby who has rolled to the side of the bed I slept on last
night, but he's still out of it. In a pot I pour the two quarts of chicken
broth and one whole packet of the dry soup mix and all the chicken
thighs. Bring it to the simmer and let it cook gently for two hours so the
chicken will add to the flavor of the broth and be so tender after
simmering for two hours it'll melt in our mouths. Out on the deck I'm
successful in smoking a cigarette as I drink a can of Lipton Iced Tea and
wonder why the hell hangovers demand such great quantities of liquids. And
then the rains came down, not in sheets like it did for the first drunken
endeavor of our vacation, but it's raining hard. I got wet putting the
awning down by myself, but it was worth it to sit outside in the misty
breeze and watch the rains drops dance on the deck. The ocean, just visible
between the condos from my spot on the deck looked dark and angry, the
waves big; they'd be fun to body surf on. Using my iPod I listened to The
Bare Naked Ladies CD, the one with Where We Used to Live on it. What a cool
song! Lots of their songs are cool. Feeling better and getting hungry, I
checked the soup and then made a fried egg and cheese sandwich, drinking
another ice tea with it. After listening to another CD I check my watch;
it's after four o'clock so where the hell is Chubby? When I check, he's in
the bathroom, that's where the hell Chubby is, and for once he's closed the
door. Right outside that door, I ask, "You alright, Chubby?" He groans and
says, "I might live after all. Your main function for the rest of my life
is to prevent me from drinking anything stronger than Gatorade." I go, "Oh,
okay!" I was feeling a sense of relief because it's kind of scary having
him sleep all day like this. "I'm out on the deck, Chub. Come on out when
you can." Faking cheerfulness, he says, "Oh, sure, bro. As soon as I'm done
throwing up everything I ate or drank since last Thursday, I'll be right
there!" I say, "Goody!"

Oh man, he must have had much more to drink than me. When he showed up on
the deck, Chubby's a clean boy, but a very pale one carrying two cold
bottles of waters. "That soup smells good, Dylan. What kind of vegetables
did ya get?" I tell him and he drinks half the first bottle of water in one
long swallow, then asks, "When's it gonna be ready?" I say, "It's been
simmering for over two hours, I can add the vegetables and have it in a
bowl for you in ten minutes." "That'd be nice, bro," he mumbles. He's still
hurting so I drop the conversation and go inside to cut up the vegetables
as the rain comes down harder; it's a gloomy day at the shore. All the
vegetables get cut into one-half inch pieces and then I husk the corn and
cut off the kernels. The soup lifts my spirits; Chubby's too. We both have
two bowls and two rolls; the rest is saved in the refrigerator. Chubby lays
down again as I clean up the kitchen, then smoke and listen to some more
music on the deck. A half hour later Chubby reappears and we wander out
into a drizzling, misting rain. We walk slowly up to the boardwalk needing
the exercise and fresh air. I was feeling real good by now and Chubby was
much improved.

We didn't talk much for the first twenty minutes of our walk, then Chubby
stops and leans against the boardwalk's railing looking out at the dark
ocean and overcast skies, and says, "What did you think of me doing that
sex stuff on you this morning?" I say, "I already told you I liked it,
Chubby. It's what gay guys do." Taking a deep breath, he quietly says, "You
know I'm not gay, bro... I did it 'cause I was still drunk and in my head I
was curious, I guess." I go, "Okay, whatever, Chubby." He looks at me for a
second, then says, "Ya know, that was Ricky's favorite way of doing it to
me. He was doing it like that when I was still thinking I liked him doing
it.  When I decided I didn't like him doing it that way, or any other way
for that matter, that's when the shit started to hit the fan... but, the
shit hitting the fan occurred over time... not all at once." I go, "I know,
you told me it was a drawn-out process." Chubby quietly goes, "Yeah, and
that's when the threats began too." He'd told me most of this before, not
the part about it being Ricky's favorite position, but the other
stuff. Maybe it was cathartic for him to repeat himself about these
unpleasant matters. He continued, not looking at me, but staring way out to
sea, "If I refused to participate he promised to tell the world what was
happening between us, and because I believed him and was afraid to have it
be known to the moms and you and everyone at school I did what he wanted
and then all that garbage that happened afterward, happened. The worst
thing I could have done was cave-in to the threats like I did, the
spankings and everything got worse and worse after that, until... well, you
know. Until that night." Chubby's referring to that night he came home from
work with ugly bruises on his buttocks and the back of his thighs. I'd
insisted he tell me what happened and it all came out how Ricky was being
brutal with Chubby; fucking, spanking and humiliating him. I pulled in a
favor from Jake who got some unsavory characters he knows to beat-up Ricky
and his old man, then burn down their house. Obviously Chubby would prefer
not reliving that part of his life so I don't know what to say, except,
"Fuck with us at your own peril!"  He nods his head, remembering, and
murmurs, "Yeah, but I was so fucked-up letting him do that to me. I've
never felt so disgusted with myself." As he quietly talked, out of nowhere,
my thoughts went to the agony Anthony suffers from his guilt about being
gay and it made me wonder if Chubby is suffering like that now, or back
then during the Ricky thing. It hurts me really badly to think it was like
that for Chubby, or is like that now, and he didn't or won't come to me.
We always go to each other for our most worrisome problems, no matter
what. Or, we used to before we split up and got jobs.  I'm thinking,
"Society has really done a number on the brains of some of our gay boys in
this country!"  Then I wondered why I've been spared this torment? Oh, and
I'm not saying definitively that Chubby's a gay boy, but Anthony certainly
is by his own admission... and probably Chubby is too, and if not gay he's
at least bisexual. No need to shove that fact down his throat anytime soon
though. I guess I've been spared because I embraced the idea of being gay;
you know, 'cause the sex feels so good and boys are so cute and all.

I was okay with smoking again by now, so yippee!  Yeah, I know smoking is
stupid, but it's way cool too.  As we leaned against the railing, quiet at
the moment, I lit a cigarette and offered it to Chubby. His eyes got real
big, and he shook his head like he's petrified of a lit cigarette. I
chuckle and say, "Right now a cigarette is the last thing in the world you
want, but tomorrow, when you drink your coffee there won't be many things
in the world you'll want more than a cigarette. You watch and see; it's
addictive, dude!" He's like, "I know, I know!" Then we're silent again for
a little bit before Chubby says, "What'd ya really think of me doing
that... you know, that sex this morning?" I told him again that it was
great and any time he's curious about anything gay, I'm his boy; he can
count on me. I tried to keep it light because he seems unusually serious
today. Not wanting to waste Chubby's willingness to discuss this topic, I
asks, "Did you enjoy doing that to me today?  Did it feel good?" He goes,
"Maybe it's because of my uninhibited drunken state I wanted to do that
with you. Whaddaya think? Could that be right?" He's obvious avoided the
question but I can't make myself hurt him by pushing the issue; if he's not
ready to face it, I'm willing to wait until he is.  I go, "Can't read your
mind, Chubby. You're the only one who really knows the why of it, and maybe
even you don't know because it may be a subconscious knowledge. For
example, I didn't know I was gay, not until that experience with Carl
Denton." Chubby, moving further from the subject, spits out, "That loser
asshole! If I had any idea he was doing that to you..." I go, "It's okay,
Chubby, he did me a favor, but he is an asshole; you're right about that."
Chubby nods his head and then we're quiet again.

I don't know where to go with this conversation so I think the best thing
to do is say nothing and see where Chubby wants to go with it. He seems
very introspective and he's rarely that, plus he's never this
introspective! After a bit, he says, "You know, I may never do that with
you again." I take a deep breath and in a resigned manner, reply, "I know
that, Chubby."  He looks at me now, and asks, "Don't you want me to?" and I
shrug before saying, "I want you to do what you want to do, but yes, I wish
you'd want to do it again, sure." He nods and concludes with, "I'm not
promising anything, but maybe. Ya know, if you really like it so much." I
quietly say, "I do like it, but I want to do it only if you like it too."
He makes a face and mumbles, "You're something, Dylan! Ya know that? Anyone
ever tell you that? You're stubborn too!" He's frustrated that I wouldn't
let him have his rationalization about if he fucks me again it'll happen
because I want him to do it; it'll be only as a favor to me, in other
words. Why does everyone think they're doing me a favor?

Chubby mumbles, "Come on, let's walk some more," and as we walked the
boards silently I wondered about myself. After all the months and months of
wanting Chubby and me to do serious sex together, why didn't I just say,
"Sure, thanks for doing me a favor!" and take the sex however Chubby was
offering it?  Enjoy it under whatever rationalization he wants or needs to
make? I can't articulate why I didn't go along with that, but I'm sure I'm
right not to. It wouldn't be good for Chubby or me. Ya know, if I hadn't
run into Anthony and witnessed the pain his sexuality caused him, I might
have been excited by Chubby's willingness to screw me; basically he just
told me he'd do it again if I would, in effect, provide cover for him by
allowing the rationalization that he's doing it only for my
benefit. Without my experience with Anthony's self-hatred about his
gayness, I might have accepted the arrangement Chubby proposed, but it
would be a bad thing to do. I'm not exactly sure why, but it wouldn't be in
Chubby's best long-term interest to let him keep fooling himself... or
something like that. I'm no genius so I'm mostly guessing here. Hey, does
life ever get any fucking easier? Or simpler, maybe?

We stopped for soft-serve vanilla ice cream sundaes, mine a strawberry
sundae and Chubby's hot fudge. We discussed what we wanted to do tomorrow,
Thursday, and then spent some time lamenting that our vacation is just
about over. On the walk back to the condo I saw one of Rene's Mohawk boys
but I was wearing Charlie's hat so we didn't do the secret sign to one
another. Jeez, Rene seems like a long time ago. My scalp is already covered
in blond hair, but except for the Mohawk strip, the rest was less than a
quarter of an inch long. That night Chubby naturally couldn't get to sleep
since he slept almost all day. I stayed up with him watching cable TV until
I was just about falling asleep on the couch and then the moms came in all
bubbly and excited about showing us somebody's junk that they'd paid good
money for; then I went to bed. I've no idea what time Chubby came to bed,
but he was bright eyed and fully recovered in the morning.

We spent Thursday doing a regular beach day with the moms. That consists of
Chubby and me sunbathing, listening to music, and talking, swimming and
body surfing, and doing our long walks on the beach goofing on each other
and pointing out odd or beautiful people. I'd point out cute boys and
Chubby would do the same for girls. I swear I'm being objective when I say
the boys won the cuteness contest hands down. We'd occasionally see someone
from back home, but we just waved. None of Artie's crowd were on the beach,
at least none we recognized; they were fishing or in Atlantic City or
wherever. Our old time friend and neighbor Ronny, and his girlfriend,
what's-her-name, were nowhere to be seen. Probably sleeping off another rum
and coke hangover. At First Street we turned around and walked all the way
back to our beach where the moms were still talking; they never run out of
things to say to each other. Speaking of talking, when we're back sitting
in our beach chairs Chubby gave in and called Mary Jo. I knew he
would. They talked for quite awhile and then went into that ridiculous,
"You hang up, no you hang up, no you hang up first etc. etc." Oh my God! I
had to walk away 'cause I couldn't bear to see Chubby embarrass himself
like that. The boardwalk Thursday night was uneventful too, but relaxing
and fun. We did all the things the two of us like to do and, frankly, I'm
never more comfortable then when I'm with Chubby. Sex talk did not come up
again; not a single word. Chubby's put that away for a while and, like I
said earlier, I'll follow his lead for now.

Friday was much like Thursday except I saw Anthony on our beach
walk. Chubby didn't even remember him and Anthony didn't seem to want to
talk so he just waved and I did the same. Seeing him though gave me a
feeling of concern, maybe he'd like to talk some more but being sober he's
too shy or embarrassed about calling me over. I got Chubby to wander down
to the ocean with me. It was right down from where Anthony and his family
were sitting on the beach and when I looked back I could see Anthony
staring at me. Chubby and me rode some waves and swam around a little;
we're cooling off in the water, but mostly I was giving Anthony the
opportunity to join us, but he seems to have taken a pass on it. Apparently
he's satisfied there's nothing more I have to offer. Of course, Chubby
being with me might scare Anthony away, or more likely, he's sober now, and
embarrassed he did what he did and said what he said and he'd just like it
to fade away. If he's embarrassed, that's a damn shame; I feel really bad
for him. He's a good guy, but he's got issues for sure. I'm disappointed he
didn't at least connect and maybe let me know he's doing okay; give me a
thumbs up sign or something. I hope he knows his secret and everything we
did and said that night will go no further than me. It's weird to have had
that kind of deep personal experience with someone and realize you'll
probably never see him again in your entire life. How often will I wonder
about him in the future?

Walking back up the beach with Chubby for the last time this year I thought
about this year's vacation and how it's provided me a lot of sexual
highs. Gary, Rene, Charlie, Anthony and most of all, Chubby. But there were
some emotional downers too and Anthony was one of them, he was both a high
and a low. He's so conflicted about his sexuality it's frightening. He said
his life is a living hell because he wants what he doesn't want in equal
portions. It's tearing him apart. Another downer is all the disturbing
aspects of Gary's life. Oh jeez, the things he's missed out on in his teen
years because of his mother's bizarre method of raising him. The redeeming
part of that situation is that things are looking up for Gary now that
he'll be attending Berkley College; he'll fit in there, but just getting
away from his mother will be a blessing in itself. Then there's Mohawk man
and his crew of boys which is also a sad situation; not a real healthy
relationship for any of them. And then I have my own personal downer in
that I let myself get so screwed up over the Robby situation I went along
with Rene's ridiculous program. I did it all just so I could relive that
fuck from last year and prove to myself that I don't need Robby, or some
such nonsense. Actually I think I do need him... maybe more than he needs
me. Seriously folks, I gotta start growing up! I wonder if recognizing and
getting upset about these sorts of things comes with getting older; I sure
as shit hope not 'cause it's no fun seeing so much reality. Also, I'm sure
as shit not gonna be getting any younger anytime soon and I can see worries
outnumbering the things going right in my life the older I get. But wait,
maybe when I'm older I'll avoid some of the pitfalls and know better how to
handle the ones I can't avoid. Yeah, maybe, but I think I liked it better
in the old days before Chubby and me got jobs. We had it made then!

The moms joined Chub and me on the boardwalk for our last night in Wildwood
and they even went on the Double Shot thrill ride after which they swore
they'd never go on it again. Chubby and I met up with a few kids from
school after the moms called it a night and we hung out with them for
awhile telling each other lies about our exploits and so forth. I kept most
of my exploits to myself 'cause they wouldn't believe them anyway. These
guys had seen me earlier in the week and knew about my Mohawk and urged me
not to let it grow in. Right! I'd be a hit at college; the only kid in the
freshman class with a Mohawk. All in all, from my point of view, this
year's vacation came in like a lion and went out like a lamb. Corny, but
true. Tomorrow Chubby and I drive our Jeep back home. During the ride I'm
gonna think about Robby, try to figure out what he might tell me about that
night in the garage and what I should say about it. Damn, I can't wait to
be with him though, and now I wish I'd never told him about seeing that
Friday night threesome. If I hadn't mentioned it during my cell phone call
to him I could just let it go, at least until some later time. Of course, I
put things off too much so maybe it's best to confront this issue. Why does
everything need to be so fucking complicated though?

Oh well, whatever... for all intent and purposes my summer vacation's over
for now and in a little over two weeks I'll be facing an entirely new set
of challenges. For one, Robby, Chubby and me living on our own for the
first time and how we gonna get along being together 24/7?  Registering for
our courses for the first time should be an interesting pain-in-the-ass
challenge if what I've read about it is true. Chubby won't have any
problems with making new friends, but I probably will, and then there's a
challenge ahead of me with some friends I already know. I'll be dealing
with potentially awkward sexual situations with my new friend Gary and my
old friend Connor. And what about Chubby? And, of course, there's that
small matter of college studies.  Oh, and we need part-time jobs too. And
the unknown challenges that I can't even imagine at this point; what about
them? Yipes! Ready or not, here comes the rest of my life.

THE END

Donny Mumford           thinat20@yahoo.com

The new series Dylan's Freshman Year should be out in the fall of 2010.
Thanks to those of you who sent feedback during this series. As a thank
you, I'll be sending each of you an Epilogue, covering the last couple of
weeks between the last day of Dylan's Wildwood Vacation and the day before
the first day of Dylan's Freshman Year. This information will be summarized
in the first chapter of the new series for everyone else. I hope you'll
check me out for future stories on Nifty.org or Boys4boys.org.