Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 17

by Donny Mumford

We've just finished the first 'real' class of our senior year and was it ever a cold dose of reality. Yep, a two-hour elective titled 'Gender and Society'. We have it every Monday and Wednesday morning; self-inflicted misery made necessary because we enrolled for courses late this year. The course is a history of evolving changes in American women's role in society from the days of the Pilgrims to modern times. And, oh boy, I'm sure all of us males will get properly chastised as ignorant bores for not seeing the 'light' about women's lib much earlier in this country's history. While there certainly were injustices, and still are around the world, I'm pretty sure no male in this class had a fucking thing to do with any of it.

Whatever... what we mostly care about is: (1) the four credits, and (2) that this is supposedly an easy course that rewards you with a grade of 'A' assuming any kind of a half-ass effort on your part. That last bit of information was gleaned from online sites of prior Merrimack students rating professors and courses from the hardest to the easiest. Easy-grading professors have popular classes obviously, and therefore the necessity for a lecture hall for this one.

After class, I'm driving back to the apartment while Rob is on his way to the ballpark for a mandatory luncheon/meeting along with the freshman he's mentoring, Carl Snowdon. Not just Rob and Carl though... all co-captains who are mentoring freshmen ballplayers plus all the freshmen will be there as well.

Anyway, because Rob and I have the same classes this semester there will be very few occasions when we won't have lunch together. Last year I was on my own for lunch a couple of times a week. This unexpected mandatory baseball-related luncheon is a rare chance for me to have lunch on my own and I plan to make the most of it.

My plan is to freshen-up at the apartment and then drive to 'Butch's Sports Bar and Eats' in Haverhill. That's where I hooked up with John Smith almost every week last year. He's the mechanic who works for Speedy Lube. We hit it off really well and were soon engaging in some mildly dominant albeit quick sex before lunch. He'd take me into the bar's storage room and bam, bam, bam! Four or five minutes after leaving our barstools we'd be back on them trying to get our breathing under control with me squirmy on the stool because of the gooey condom lube in my ass. Fast, hot side sex before lunch...

Heh heh, John's fast hard sex is reminiscent of Tracy's during my early days at college. Tracy, of course, being the guy who ran the Speakeasy that Rob and I frequented regularly before we turned twenty-one. Tracy has moved on and now his sister runs the Speakeasy so we don't go there anymore.

Tracy and John 'top' during sex similarly so I'm kinda excited about seeing John today. He's a low key, unassuming young guy and a little different from most 'tops' in that he'll reciprocate oral sex, meaning if I want him to. We had an adventure together in Worcester last Christmas season too so I've gotten to know him fairly well. That Worcester experience was an overnight affair starting with a bizarre Christmas party thrown by an LGBT organization. No, John wasn't the bizarre aspect of the affair; his two flaming gay friends were. Overall I thought it was an interesting experience.

Thinking those thoughts, I pull into a rare good parking spot at the apartment complex and then go inside excited about this 'free' time I have today. Let's see, I don't need to be at my next class until two o'clock, which is almost three hours from now. Whoopee! I'm kinda nervous too, nervous but also excited. Nervous because of my lack of side sex experiences the past five or six months. There was that one time in Hartford but other than that it's been only random buddy sex with Danny Monday and twice with Hayden. That's been pretty much it all last summer.

Going into the apartment I'm aware there's a possibility I'll get to the bar and John won't even be there. There's a slim chance he could be having lunch someplace else this year. That's unlikely though because the bar is close to where he works, plus his sister waitresses there. I expect I'll see both of them. Yes, that's right, I'm turning into an optimist. I thought I'd try optimism for a while and see how that works for me. Being negative never worked out all that great although there are certain aspects of being grumpily negative that can be worth a laugh or two.

After drinking a glass of OJ, I go into the bathroom for a piss and to clean up before lunch. Me being neat, however, isn't necessarily required by John as neatness isn't something he spends a lot of time worrying about. His clothes usually smell like you might imagine an auto mechanic's clothes would smell. I liken the smell to the one I noticed in Town Fair Tires a couple of years ago while getting tires for the Jeep. There were a thousand tires piled high everywhere in the shop and John's clothes smell like all those tires. And I'm not inferring it's a bad smell as I actually kind of like it.

John being a mechanic means he sometimes has grease in the creases of his hands even after washing them and sometimes there's a grease smear on his chin or cheek that I happen to think is sexy. Ya know, a mechanic is sort of a macho job although don't ask me what the job exactly entails. I mean he obviously works on car's engines but I don't know shit about cars.

And, damn, I find myself kinda jumpy, kind of nervously anticipating side sex here at Merrimack this year. I'd really, really like to turn around the lack of side sex I experienced last summer, turn things completely around in the other direction and get back to my old ways with me being confident and relaxed having side sex when opportunities present themselves. That entails lucky happenstance for the most part, as well as, following up with guys like John Smith and maybe Connor and Dennis too although those last two guys have older boyfriends who are intimidating.

Anyway, I'm ready to go, ready to get right back in the saddle as the saying goes. Yeah, except it's still too early to leave for the bar. Restlessly I'm out on the balcony unconsciously rubbing the back of my wrist against my nose... smelling my skin I guess. It's a strange habit I picked up a few years ago! Whenever I realize I'm doing it I pull my arm away but I gotta wonder about this crazy habit and why I can't seem to shake it. I mean, yeah, I do smell good! Everyone tells me that, but this habit is weird. Hmmm, what was the name of that exotic-looking kid I first saw smelling the back of his hand? He's the one who got me started doing it although I don't know how or why it happened. I met the kid at the Stop & Shop back home and he coincidentally was a freshman here at Merrimack if you can believe that. Whatever... some things in life are just plain odd!

Coming back in off the balcony I busy myself in our bedroom putting a few things away. Haha, I'm smiling to myself realizing I'm imitating Robby with his penchant for neatness. That's not a bad thing though; more like a pain in the ass thing.

Gathering up the towels and dirty clothes after my last shower I dump them in the hamper and then check myself out in the mirror again. Huh, I'm just now realizing I combed my hair into a flattop without giving it a thought this morning. Picking up a comb off the bureau I comb back through my hair and then comb up the slightly longer hairs at the top of the sides thinking my hair looks kinda cool like this. Danny had some way of cutting it that actually makes this flattop look okay. What exactly it is he did is so subtle though I can't put my finger on it. It was done accidentally because, well, how could he know to do it intentionally when he's just started his barbering career, for chrissakes!

Obviously, it helps that I happen to have awesome blond hair with a tiny bit of a wave in it, not that I had anything to do with that. My Mom has the same wavy texture and the same shade of blond hair I have; it's that 'gene' thing again. Then, blowing into my cupped hands I try detecting bad breath. Nah, I never have bad breath, do I? If you've got good teeth and brush regularly, plus avoid certain foods, your breath should be okay for most situations. John isn't a 'kisser' anyway so what the hell am I worried about?

Fuck, I'm sick of hanging around this apartment! I check my pockets one last time to be sure I have everything and then head back outside to the parking lot. So what if I'm at the bar early? Driving from the apartment complex I take a left onto Route 114 and go three miles to the Bertucci intersection where I catch a green light and make a right turn onto Route 125. This road goes directly into Haverhill. From here it's only a fifteen-minute ride to Butch's Bar and when I get there I see there are cars in the parking lot, so I won't be the only one here. The Speedy Lube van John usually drives isn't one of the cars here but that's okay, it's only ten minutes to twelve so he could still be coming.

Inside I go to the end of the bar on the right. It's a long straight bar across the back of the restaurant and then at both ends the bar juts off at a ninety-degree angle. There's enough bar space at both ends for two bar stools. John always sits there so that's where I sit. The bartender comes down, wipes the bar in front of me, and then says in a lecturing manner, "I'll give you some friendly advice, pal. You're away from home going to Merrimack, am I right?" I nod and he says, "And you've got what you think is awesome fake ID, right?" Smiling, I say, "No, I'm twenty-two so you can save the rap about how you'll call the police if I'm an underage drinker. My license isn't fake, so..." and then I feel a hand on my shoulder. A female voice says, "He's okay, Frank," and to me, she asks, "You're Dylan, right?" Turning my head I see it's John's sister. I say, "Yep, and you're John's sister." She laughs, "Uh huh, that's my name... John's sister."

The bartender, Frank, isn't easily put off, so he asks, "Let me see your ID anyway." John's sister pats my shoulder and says to me, "Call me Sis; everyone else does. John's due in here any minute now," and then she goes off to deal with two women who just walked in and sat down at one of the tables in front.

Gee, his sister is nice! I give Frank my license and he does a cursory quick glance at it before dropping it on the bar in front of me, asking, "What can I get you?" I say, "A ginger ale, please." He mutters something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'asshole' and goes down to pour a ginger ale. Located at the middle of the bar are taps for five kinds of draft beer as well as one for Coke and one for ginger ale. The soft drinks are used in cocktails I suppose; rum and Coke and ginger ale and, um, whiskey? I'm not sure.

Putting the glass of soda on a cardboard coaster in front of me, Frank surprises me by being nice, saying, "It's on the house, pal." I mumble, "Thank you," as three loud and large construction worker guys come barging in and sit at a table. They're followed by four youngish women who look like office workers, and they sit at the bar. Huh, I would have thought the last two groups would have done the reverse. And then two minutes later John comes in alone. He's wearing a baseball cap with NAPA across the front which is the same hat he wore last year. He also has on the same uniform work shirt with his name over the pocket. Sis says, "Hey, Johnny!" He smiles at her and she nods her head in my direction.

John looks over and sees me smiling at him so he gives me a smirking smile and a little wave of his hand. Walking over to me, he bumps my fist, asking, "How ya been, Dylan?" I mutter, "Good. How 'bout you?" Like I said, he isn't the excitable type. Sitting on the stool next to me, he goes, "I'm about the same as ever. When did your semester start?" I go, "Officially, it began today but I've been here since last Thursday getting the apartment set up, and whatever." John's goes, "Huh," and motions to the bartender by holding up two fingers. Then, pushing my ginger ale over a little, he says, "Make some space for a draft of Miller Lite." Oh, that must be what he always orders because, without John telling him to, here comes Frank with two drafts of Miller Lite.

Frank puts the beers on cardboard coasters in front of us, mumbling, 'What's up, Johnny?" John, mutters, "How's it going, Frank?" Neither one responds to the other's rhetorical question and we pick up our beers with me expecting a cool toast from John about me meeting him here again. He taps his glass on mine, saying simply, "Cheers!" Uh huh, John is on the low-key side. After swallowing some beer, he goes, "Seriously, it's good of you to remember our weekly, um, lunches." I shrug, "Well yeah, they're kinda memorable," and he goes, "Well then, do ya wanna?" I nod my head, muttering, 'Sure," and he gets right off the stool and pulls on my arm helping me slide off my stool. Continuing to grip my upper arm he sort of pulls me with him.

A large group of early-twenties guys and girls come in the front door as we're walking inconspicuously past the door marked 'PRIVATE' that's immediate to our right and then down a short hallway before going through another door that leads to the storage room. John pushes the button on the doorknob which locks the door and then grins, saying, "Damn, I'm glad Merrimack's classes have finally started up again." He pulls a condom packet from his work pants and puts it on top of a box. Yeah, he must be an optimist like me.

After dropping his pants, John puts a hand behind my neck gripping it tighter than necessary pulling my head down to his crotch. He's skinny but a strong motherfucker just the same. Instead of getting on my knees, I sit down on two cases of whiskey bottles that are stacked conveniently right behind me and then take John's pecker in my fingers. Still gripping the back of my neck, the fingers of his other hand pull on my hair as he chuckles and says, "Damn, this haircut of yours! It's too short. I can't get a fistful of it to pull when I want to get your attention." He tries pulling my short hair in front chuckling and muttering, "Damn, I can't pull your hair... what the fuck, dude?" I mutter, "Sorry about that, John," and then lick the head of his dick. Yeah, last year he'd occasionally yank on my hair trying to pull my face against his privates, sometimes hard while I sucked his cock.

John has a cock much like mine, and Danny's too for that matter. Us three, and probably a hundred million other guys around the world have similar penises. John's penis is about the same size as mine but with a smaller pointed head. Surprisingly it isn't especially sweaty like I'd expect after he worked all morning, and there's no noticeable personal scent coming from it either. Ha, his shiny orange/red pubic hairs remind me of Sonny. Yeah, John's another redhead, and like most redheads, he has a pale complexion. He also has lots of freckles. He even has freckles on his ears!

He's wearing his hat but I can still tell his red hair is unruly and seriously in need of a haircut. I gave him a haircut last year and I probably will this year too but I'll need to be the one who mentions it 'cause he's not into grooming at all. The rare times he gets a haircut it's a buzzcut and then maybe nine months later he'll get another one. In between those rare trips to the barber his hair grows out sticking out all over the place. So that's not ideal but I like that he's skinny and very youthful looking, and he's a nice looking kid even with the freckles.

He rubs his fingers in my short hair as I get seriously into sucking his dick. I've taken as much of it in my mouth as I can and when it gets hard enough he humps his hips pushing his cock down my throat and then, holding my head between his hands, he does some thrusting with me gagging like mad because I wasn't expecting him to do that. I mean, he's never done it before. Yeah well, it's no problem though. I like it actually.

As I said, he doesn't have an especially fat cock... it's pretty much the perfect size for all kinds of sexual activities. Big enough but not overly big. And John is one of those guys who are one hundred percent gay although nobody would guess that; would even think he was gay for a minute. He's very, um, un-gay-like in the way he acts and with everything he says and does... other than sex obviously. Lots of us gay guys are like that.

After a half dozen thrusts down my throat, John pulls his hard boner completely out of my mouth, asking, "Ya want me to suck on yours?" A very matter of fact question. My cock got really hard when he thrust his into my throat, plus I'm anxious to feel his cock up my ass so I shake my head, muttering, 'Nah, not today." He nods his head like he's fine with it either way. After stroking his boner a few times he picks up the condom from the box, and says, "I may not look or act like it, Dylan, but I'm fucking wicked excited about this. Really excited!" I go, "Yeah? Good, 'cause I am too."

I'm dropping my pants, asking him, "Doggy style?" He goes, "No, not this time. Here," and he hands me the condom packet, "You roll this condom on my cock," and he pushes out his hips. I tear open the condom and roll it on his hard cock that's wet with my saliva. He mutters, "Good. Turn around and lean over grabbing hold of that top box, the one you were sitting on. That'll work for me very nicely." As I do that he adds, "And, ya know, like always keep your ass up like you're begging for me to spank it," and then he chuckles and swats my ass, "SMACK!" I look back at him and he stares me right in the eyes and very deliberately spanks my ass hard with his calloused right-hand, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Yeah, hard smacks that have me cringing and yelping, "Ow! Ow! OW! OOW!"

I'd probably be moving away from this hard spanking if I could but I can't without creating a big issue because of the boxes of booze that are right in front of me. Plus, John's got his left hand gripping hard at the back of my neck holding my head down so it'd be both awkward and embarrassing to struggle away from the spanking. It'd also totally ruin the mood. Hey, ya know who really likes getting spanked hard the way John's doing it? Pony, that's who. Heh heh, and it is kinda hot spanking Pony so I 'get' why John likes to do it.

Getting spanked used to be much more of a turn-on for me personally than it is now and I'm not saying it totally isn't now, just that it isn't nearly as much of a sexy hot turn-on as it was for me when I was younger. And, although it's not necessary, getting spanked does help me slip into a submissive frame of mind which is my favorite frame of mind when getting fucked up the ass.

John stops and takes a big inhale while stroking his boner. I've got a hand back there now rubbing my ass that's stinging like mad. John goes, "Motherfucker, but you've got a beautiful ass, Dylan! It looks even sexier now that I've got it bright red like this." I mutter, "You really spanked me this time, John." He goes, "I'm not done yet either. Ya know, I thought about your ass all summer," and he starts whacking away again, hitting my hand that's back there until he pushes it away, saying, "NO!" and then SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I'm yelping until he stops and then he rubs my ass himself.

I don't complain too much about him spanking my ass because spanking is pretty much the only dominant part of what John does. Even though my butt cheeks are hot and red and tender and sore, looking back at him I'm mostly interested in his boner that's sticking straight out, all six inches of it as hard as hard can get. That baby looks super hard in that stretched condom. John takes another deep breath as he's blowing on his hand that must be stinging too. As he blows on his hand he snorts out a laugh, and says, "Oh fuck, I'm trying to be cool about this, Dylan, but I haven't had sex in almost a month so you're a lifesaver! Seriously, dude, and it's totally awesome the way you accept your spanking, so thanks for letting me do that. It's a weakness I have... I like giving guys spankings, what can I say...?" He's the opposite of pretentious being more self-deprecating than anything else.

John's work pants and his wide black work belt are caught at his knees. Damn, the thought of him using that belt to smack my ass with makes me pull on my boner a few times. Funny I should have that thought when just yesterday I planned on telling Danny to knock off the spanking. Different sex buddies though, ya know?

So I remain bent over with my hands on this box of whiskey, my underwear and khakis pulled down to just below my buttocks, and my red ass still burning. John mumbles, "I can't wait for another second," and he roughly pulls my pants down a little further and, as I take a hand off the box to stroke my hard cock and get my mind off my stinging ass, I feel the slippery nipple end of the condom hit against my asshole making me shiver. I put my hand back on the box and shudder a little because it feels cold and then I do a quiet, "Ahhhhhh," as he's pushing it in past my sphincter muscle and then continues sliding his hard cock all the way up my ass. There's some pain mixed with that awesome feeling of being filled up back there. There's never any hesitation with John. He's never tried to hide the fact he's pretty much only interested in getting his rocks off. If there's some pain involved for me... too bad.

His boner fully impaling me, he humps against my butt cheeks and quietly moans. Rubbing both hands tightly down my back he humps against me a couple more times and then uses both hands to roughly spread my buttocks away from my asshole and humps against me harder pushing his boner another half inch up inside me. I grunt, "Aaah, aaaah!" shuffling my feet, impatient for my rectum to get used to his cock stretching me open like this so quickly. He swings his arm and, "SMACK!" right on my ass again as he mutters, "Settle down, okay?" and I squirm a little with my buttocks stinging and my asshole stretched. I can't get comfortable for some reason. Two more, "SMACK! SMACK!" sounds ring out in the room. Wow, those smacks really sting and my hand goes back to block another smack but he swats it away again, saying, "Dammit! Relax Dylan! Ya know, like you'd get last year." I am kinda tight, or tense, or something 'cause I didn't expect to have this opportunity so soon and, oh, I don't know, I'm tense...

John's not, he's getting himself more comfortable by inching his feet closer to me and then adjusting my body's position pushing on the back of my head and then lifting my hips and pulling them over to the right a little. In this position he humps hard against my buttocks and again, mumbles, "Stay just like this, okay?" All this activity is taking place during the first minute after his cock went up my ass.

John mutters, "Okay, good, can you relax a little more. You're stiff," and he humps in an upward manner that lifts me up on my toes slightly. My shoulders do a little spastic shudder on their own which gets me shuffling my feet again. John goes, "I know it feels good for you, so stop fighting me," and he smacks my right butt cheeks again "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!" and I mean he smacked that plump right butt cheek of mine really fucking hard, and again, "SMACK!" And then, like magic, I finally feel a submissive curtain drape over me and my body relaxes completely as I make a quiet, "Mmmmm," sound.

Last year I was having regular side-sex and would get into a submissive frame of mind very quickly and so I guess John's thinking about that and wondering why I'm being difficult today. He's got me now though as my red stinging ass and his hard cock filling me up have me almost whimpering submissively. It sounds pathetic of me, but quite the contrary... it's what I wanted and I grin contentedly to myself. I love getting fucked like this... it just took me a minute to get used to it again.

The last couple of smacks on my ass, plus his sterner-sounding voice did the trick and now my more docile posture is apparently satisfactory to John because I hear a murmured, "There ya go, Dylan. Okay, good boy..." as though he was looking for me to slip into my submissive role much sooner. Even so, I'll bet anything he wouldn't use the term 'submissive'. Sure, he became familiar with my submissiveness during our past sex together and he was simply looking for that without thinking of it as being submissive to him. Plus, there's a time element involved here. We don't want to be in away from the bar very long. This is quick sex that gets both of us 'off' and then we get back to our seats at the bar. In John's mind I was holding things up in that regard, but we're good now.

Really good as my boner is sticking straight out from my body and vibrating a little. It's so hard, in fact, I fear my foreskin will rip. Damn, I love getting fucked up the ass by a dominant 'top' even when he's not aware he's being dominant. I suppose this is the way John always has sex. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't even know the term sub/dom sex. After all, he is pretty much inexperienced. I mean compared to me for sure, and he's only slightly dominant anyway. Like I said, the spanking part is pretty much the extent of his dominant actions.

Yeah, other than spanking John has almost an apologetic tone to his voice most of the time. Today was the exception when he finally got frustrated because this was taking too long. His only recourse in his mid was to smack my ass harder which finally did the trick. Like I said, he isn't very experienced and he does what to him is natural. He'll probably run into someone who will take exception to being spanked and John will probably be like, 'What the fuck is your problem, dude?' Like that, and then maybe he'll learn something... most guys won't like it at all I'd imagine.

Everything's cool now though and John begins fucking my ass really hard and fast with the 'SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP" sounds ringing out along with my grunts of, "Ah, ahh, ahhh!" My boner's head hits the front of the box with every extra hard thrust John makes. The sounds of us fucking are dulled from bouncing off all the cardboard boxes in here. Plus, the bar proper is two closed doors away and I know from past times doing this that not a sound reaches outside this room. His sister told us that.

Yes, John's sister knew what we were doing in here last year and she knows what we're doing in here right now. Last year she'd usually roll her eyes afterward and mutter, 'You boys are so naughty... but so cute too." She's a great older sister! And John is cute in his own unique way. He told me last year his sister is nine years older and she mostly raised him since both their parents were working. He grew up in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. Anyway, that's how he described it and I thought that's what the neighborhood I was raised in was called... lower middle class. One day John showed me a picture of the row home he grew up in and after seeing that I guess maybe I was raised in a middle-class neighborhood... without the 'lower' designation.

John's into a fast hard fuck and as always it's creating constant tantalizing and thrilling sensations from every nerve ending in my rectum and all around my pulsating boner. Me being in this submissive frame of mind enhances all the sensations making them sparkle brighter with a razor-sharp definition. I feel as though my body is sizzling all over with pleasure and it takes a concerted effort on my part not to yell out when I have my fast, strong climax. Awesome climax!

I had the good sense to pull my hard boner up just two seconds before my climax burst onto the scene with cum shooting up and then in an arc over a few stacked boxes to land out of sight. Otherwise, it would have splattered off the front of the box and gotten on me. That first exhilarating explosion of cum has me shaking and then every muscle in my body contracts for an immediate follow-up shot of cum and as incredible as it felt I'm now left with that familiar sense of weakness as though I have no bones in my body. The intensity of that climax was off the charts... totally awesome!

John doesn't climax for another fifteen seconds or so and consequently, in my limp condition, I'm jostled like a rag doll until he's grunting with his groin tight against my ass humping and shooting his load into the condom. He makes a growling sound and then humps against my ass harder, slapping my ass a couple of more times but not nearly as hard as earlier. He finally gasps, "Ooooooh, fuuuuuck, Omigod...."

As for me, I got a really good hard fucking and I'm feeling great! John's breathing deeply and then he gasps again, and mutters, "Just stay there." My head's still hanging between my arms, arms that by now are just strong enough to hold me up off the boxes with shivers of orgasm after-effects buzzing around my rectum and groin. I've got a little half-grin on my face feeling contented as John murmurs, to himself I think, 'Nah," and pulls out his cock leaving my asshole wide open with cool air going up inside me.

After inhaling a long breath, I stand up and turn around, my face feeling hot. John's pulling off the condom, saying, "I thought I had a second fuck in me but no, my climax was so big I wasn't going to get another one this fast," and he holds up the condom, adding, "Look at that big ball of spunk!" Tossing it in a trash barrel and then covering it with a bunch of used napkins, he's saying, "Dude, that was like so awesome!" He pats my shoulder, adding, "Jesus Christ did I ever need that!" He smiles while pulling up his pants... he has a great smile too.

Now that it's over I'm thinking I'll stop at the apartment after lunch and clean my dick and my ass too. I didn't see any tissues in the supply room and my ass is gooey with lubricant. Whew, I feel good... that was a good fuck! As I'm pulling up my pants John looks around, asking, "We didn't disturb anything in here, did we?" I say, "I should probably wipe up the cum that shot over these boxes," and he laughs, asking, "How far did it go?" We both walk around a couple of boxes and there's my splat of cum. It always feels like a lot more when it's shooting out, more volume than it turns out to be. John's got work boots on and he smears the cum with the sole of his right boot, mumbling, "In here no one will notice that little smear," and we both chuckle.

John wants me to go out first and I do that and sit down on the same stool I was on before. During the five minutes we were in the supply room more people came into the bar so it's a very busy lunch crowd now. The bartender is busy as are John's sister and the other waitress. It's likely nobody even noticed we were gone.

In less than a minute John's sitting down next to me, asking, 'Whaddaya feel like having for lunch today?" Now that comment right there is the essence of buddy sex... pure and simple. The sex was basically awesome once John got me in the proper frame of mind, and both of us has hot climaxes, hot without hurting anyone or anything... it was just plain sexy fun! Now that it's over it's... 'Whaddaya feel like having for lunch?' I've been calling this side sex with John, but since I've come to know him better I think it now qualifies as a 'buddy' sex although I'm pretty sure John doesn't name the sex he has one way or the other.

We both get the cheeseburger platter for lunch. John has a second beer but I finish my ginger ale instead of another beer. While eating we talk in generalities about what we did last summer. John had a six-week fling with a guy he met at the Backdoor Club in Milton, Massachusetts. It was really good he tells me but it wasn't geographically feasible to continue the relationship as they live an hour's drive apart. So that tells me they liked to screw but didn't have anything else going for them. You need more in common than sex for a long-term relationship. I told him about my summer job and got him laughing so hard he snorted beer out his nose from my tale of the rainy first day I spent in Hartford, Connecticut on that business trip. It went like that, us taking turns telling about our summers.

It was a good lunch all in all... hell, it was really good! John was disappointed when I told him I couldn't be certain of a weekly lunch together and told him why. We exchanged cell phone numbers so I can let him know when an opportunity pops up 'cause ya just never know. I don't mention about the possibility of us getting together after he finishes work and Rob's maybe still at the ballpark. It's like I'm not sure I want to do that. It's an option I'll keep in my back pocket so to speak.

I leave money for my lunch and a nice tip for his sister and then John and I bump fist as I'm leaving. He stays behind because he said he needs to tell his sister something. Not that I care, but I don't believe John ever pays for his lunch. He mentioned something last year about his sister having an arrangement with the owner that John gets a free lunch as part of her salary. Waitresses usually get minimum wage and make their living primarily from tips. I think I read that somewhere.

Driving back to the apartment I think of John's life as compared to mine, and I feel very fortunate. That makes me feel bad for John and his sister, of course, and his Mom and Dad too. I think about happenstance again and what a ginormous part it plays in all our lives. The happenstance of being born to your parents, their financial situation, their genes that are passed on to you, and if their genes give you something special in the brain or athletic areas, your appearance and on and on. So much of life is just plain luck. Oh, I know there are those who make billionaires out of themselves starting from nothing, but they're a minuscule part of the world's population; a tiny minuscule one in fifty million.

As I pull into the apartment's parking lot, it occurs to me, 'Who am I to think my life is better than John's?' Ha, maybe he's totally stress-free and happy as a clam. Maybe he's doing exactly what he wants with his life and couldn't wish for anything more except maybe winning the lottery. Of course, if someone is playing the lottery they're likely hoping for something better than what they've currently got going for themselves. Unfortunately, they have only one chance in a hundred million to be a major lottery winner. That's a desperate long-shot right there, but the only 'shot' some people have. Jeez, what a downer that is, and I'm supposed to be an optimist?

Going up the stairs to our second-floor apartment I decide life is not all good or all bad for John, or me, or anyone else... it's somewhere in the middle. Yeah, but I wish something better would happen for certain guys I can think of, including John, but others too who I wish were a little closer to the good-life side of average. As for me, I count my blessings.

Then I think specifically of the life Connor and Seth and my friend, Cory Dunlevy lived. Cory's the boy who saved my ass after my seriously ill-advised New York trip. Knowing what I know of the lives those guys lived while growing up makes me feel bad for them all over again. They've handled themselves in heroic ways through it all and maybe have turned things around and will be successful and happy the rest of their lives. If so, that still doesn't change the tough times they had as kids.

Yeah, and there are millions of others who live hardscrabble lives too, many millions I don't know personally... but hey, that negative thought reminds me of something positive. Yeah, I just remembered Cory sending me an email last summer saying he and his Mom moved to Utah for a job opportunity his Mom had. Cory has a job too and they're both doing very well. He seemed so happy... and, oh yeah, he said he's going to college at night too.

Omigod, I was so fucking happy for him! Reading that email made me cry. It's just that I was so relieved he's doing okay. No one saw me crying as I was alone with tears coming down my face, but my heart just burst with joy for Cory. And then we emailed back and forth a few times and then... I don't know what happened. We just lost touch again I guess, and I don't know why. Well, the important thing is Cory's found some happiness. He never mentioned if he's living a gay lifestyle. Hey, maybe he only wanted to be gay that one time with me in his bed. And maybe the Pope's a Methodist. Anyway, Cory sure seemed happy.

Ya know what? I need to stop thinking about depressing possibilities. And damn, considering my recent super optimistic approach to life this little excursion into sad thoughts has been inappropriate-thinking, even if it was a look at reality. Maybe being optimistic about everything requires one to completely ignore reality. Sometimes a person is simply being realistic when others call the person negative. Yeah, but with people who say things like that, well there isn't a helluva lot you can do about assholes. Best if you just ignore them...

Hmmm, I sit outside on the balcony in one of the ratty beach chairs this place considers appropriate outdoor furniture and try thinking about nothing at all... just gazing out at nature. Nature, in this case, being the woods behind our apartment. Danny saw this nature scene and what did he negatively come up with? He said this place would be overrun by mosquitoes in the summer. See, that's negative thinking right there, or is it simply reality... hmmm?

Then I think about Danny and the time we had in bed together yesterday. Wow, sex with John Smith was hot and very cool, but very quick too. On the other hand, Danny's and my afternoon of sex went on for multiple times and basically was the best buddy sex I've had since, um, I guess since my early days with Ryan. Huh, I wonder how Ryan's doing at his new college with him needing to commute from home? And whatever else he's dealing with. His parents I could never figure out, and I mean even though I spent those nine weeks with them. And yeah, of course, I miss Ryan. The good Ryan, I mean. I was thinking about that same thing just recently.

Hmmm, taking out my cell phone I go to my 'Contacts' list and stare at Ryan's cell phone number. He'll never call me so I guess I'll need to be the one who breaks the ice. No, a text would be better than a call! While working up the nerve to initiate contact and still staring at his number my phone rings... I jump in the ratty chair as if a bomb went off. I almost drop my iPhone; well, I did drop it but it landed in my lap and I was able to grab it before it hit the floor. Scared the shit outta me, ya know?

How ironic it would be if it was Ryan calling me. That'd be ESP or something. It's not Ryan though, the caller ID shows 'Daryl Ponti'. I'm like, "Hi there, Ponyboy!" He says, "Hi, Dylan. I, um, want to apologize for being such a dick last night. I'm really sorry." I mutter, "No problem, bro, apology accepted." He mumbles, "Thanks," and I ask, "So, how ya feeling this afternoon?" He says, "Better. I just got out of my second class. Um, both my classes blow, by the way." I'm like, "Uh huh." Ya see he hasn't embraced the optimistic attitude I have... not yet anyway.

He adds, "Plus, I still need more time in bed, um, for sleeping I mean. I'm gonna take a nap as soon as I get back to my friggin' dorm. Um, well I just wanted to, you know, say thanks for getting me at the airport and putting up with me and, um, I love you. That's all." I use my usual line, 'Well, right back at you, buddy. Love you too, dude. So, you're going back to your dorm to crash, huh?" He goes, 'Yep, and, um, can I see you later?" I say, "How about if you have dinner with Rob and me." He goes, "Oh, um, jeez, sure... okay. Will you pick me up?" I go, "Sure, I'll text you in a few hours. Get some sleep." He goes, "I can always count on you, Dylan. I'm so, um, glad I'm with you again."

Oh man, 'with me again', what exactly does he mean by that? I don't get a chance to ask because I hear someone call his name and then Pony says, "I gotta go, Dylan. I'll wait for your text," and we end the call. Huh, he definitely seems in a better frame of mind. I mean, compared to last night. Until last night I was under the impression Pony's home life was a solidly good one, but something bad must have happened during the summer. I'm sure he'll tell me about it eventually. In the meantime, I've got forty-five minutes before my two o'clock class.

First thing I do is take a piss and the second thing I do is use a wet washcloth to wipe my 'privates' and then reach behind me to wipe my other 'private'. I want to wipe the lubricant from John's condom off my ass. Cleaning up after sex is a minor inconvenience but a necessary one after a random afternoon buddy sex adventure. I mean, you never know when your next chance for sex will pop up.

All in all, this has been a very promising start here at Merrimack, side-sex-wise, and I'm thinking optimistically that last summer's barren side sex situation was an anomaly. Of course it was because after five bountiful years of buddy and side sex what else could it be called? Things like that great string of side sex I was experiencing don't just STOP! Not when I'm pretty much the same, except a tiny bit older. Getting older makes it harder I suppose, but I've still got 'IT'... right?

Now, what was I going to do when Pony called? It'll come to me but for now, I'm going to drive back to the campus and maybe run into someone I know from the last three years I've been here. Just to say 'Whassup?', ya know? Yeah, I'm feeling spunky and good.

After parking in the lot closest to our two o'clock class, I get Rob's and my backpacks from the back seat and put mine on and then carry Rob's as I slowly begin walking around the campus. Not seeing anyone I know brings home the realization just how many people there are that I don't know. This idea I had about walking around isn't too cool, especially with two backpacks. Fuck it, I change directions and head for the academic building our class is in. It's the building next to one of the new academic buildings that were built during the summer. We don't have a single class in either of the two new buildings and I like new things so next semester I'm going to elect a course in one of the new buildings... maybe.

As I approach the building, holy shit, there's Rob. He's already there talking with Carl and Danny, plus two other guys. Ya know, I've noticed Rob's adopting Danny's habit of having his arm around people. Well, in Rob's case his arm is pretty much exclusively around Carl's shoulders whereas Danny has his arm around every-fucking-body he comes in contact with... like right now he has his arm around the shoulders of whoever that guy next to him is.

Danny sees me walking toward them and points at me saying something to the guy he has his arm around. Walking up to them, I go, "Good afternoon, girls! How'd the coach's luncheon go?" Rob goes, "Yo, Dylan! Yeah, the lunch was okay," and he takes his arm off Carl's shoulders to take his backpack that I'm holding out to him. Danny says, "Dylan, meet Randy Betts." I bump fists with the guy Danny's got his arm around as we both mutter, 'Whassup?" Danny says to me, "Randy's the co-captain in the bullpen. Ya know, he warms up the relief pitchers and he was just asking about Carl's cool haircut. He doesn't believe me, so would you tell him who did yours and little Carl's flattop haircuts." Little Carl?

Carl and Rob aren't listening to us. They're giggling as Rob tries to get Carl to take a drag off his cigarette. For the moment, I ignore Danny and stare at Rob and Carl. Then, frowning, I mutter to the guy I was just introduced to, "Yeah, Danny's our barber." Then I snap at Rob, "Don't be a bad influence, Rob! Fuck, he doesn't want a friggin' drag off that smoke!" Rob goes, "We're just fucking around," and this newly introduced kid asks me, "Any problem taking care of it in the morning?"

Looking back at him I'm not sure if he was talking to me, so I go, "What?" He's your average looking twenty-two-year-old college student wearing sweatpants and a ratty old sweatshirt. He has a lot of brown hair in a regular hairstyle and he hasn't shaved in a week. He's stockier than most guys but then Danny did say he was a catcher or something like that.

The guy says, "The haircut! The haircut Monday gave you; is it any trouble in the morning. Monday says it's carefree." Shrugging, I mumble, "Yeah, I guess it's carefree... whatever," and Danny, with a big smile on his face, says to me, "Randy's trying to talk me into giving him a free flattop," and Randy goes, "Fuck you, Monday, I asked about the phenom's haircut. Snowdon's haircut, and you said..." and then he shrugs Danny's arm off his shoulders, muttering, "And get your arm off me. Jesus, are you queer for me or what?" Danny grins like crazy, saying, 'Chill out, big fella." The guy says, "And I never asked you for a fucking haircut." Ya see, not everyone has a crush on Danny, ... too bad for them. And where's everyone's optimistic attitudes today, huh?

I go back to ignoring those two, and ask Rob and Carl, "So, what'd they give you for your mentoring luncheon?" Rob has his arm back around Carl's shoulders as Carl says, "There was fried chicken from KFC. Buckets of it that I couldn't eat plus those horrible mashed potatoes which I did eat and the okay coleslaw." Robby says, "Carl ate three of those lard-heavy biscuits too." Carl laughs and says, 'Yeah, you don't need butter with those babies." I go, "Each one weighs half a pound." Robby says, "Oh Dylan, get this. Holy shit, I had that dizzy feeling after eating a few pieces of fried chicken. You know, dizzy like you always get after a KFC meal." I nod, "Yeah, from all the grease, but it tastes good while you're eating it."

The other guy in this little group hasn't said a word until he holds out his hand to me, saying, "Hi, I'm not important enough to be introduced by anyone so I'll do it myself. I'm Brad Woods, um, Randy's roommate. I'm a backup catcher on the team." Who the fuck is Randy? I go, "Nice to meet you, Brad, I'm," and I almost say, 'I'm Rob's catcher' but why confuse the straight boys with gay humor, so instead I say, "I'm Dylan, Rob's roommate." He goes, "Yes, I know. Nice to officially meet you. I'm sure you don't remember this but you punched me out at a frat party last year. I guess I was pestering your friend. I don't know his name." I look startled, muttering, "Seriously?" and he goes, "Yeah, it was a good punch too. I fell on my ass. Uber embarrassing."

Christ! I guess I will try for some humor. I go, "Well, I'm sure you deserved it, hahaha," and he takes that comment the right way, chuckling and nodding his head, saying, "I probably did although I don't recall exactly why. Dude, I was so shit-faced!" I chuckle and mumble, "Oh, well then... no problem. If you were hammered that explains away any and every inappropriate behavior any of us can think of..." We all chuckle.

Yeah, I kinda do remember that now. I was being goofily protective of Pony I believe. Anyway, that guy reminding me of that incident is a little awkward so I'm glad when Rob says, "We better get going, Dylan," and he gives the back of Carl's neck a squeeze making Carl hunch his shoulders. Rob says, "I'll see you at practice, Carl," and then, "Catch you later, Danny," and then a general, "See ya, guys."

As we walk off, Rob says, "Danny's already got two ballplayers lined up for haircuts. He's really taking this barber routine seriously. He's telling everyone on the team he's taking over for Golden Summers this year as the team's barber. Golden's thrilled about it and Danny seems happy about it now. Heh heh, but wait till like January when it'll start being a huge pain in the ass! It got to be a big pain in the ass for Golden, remember?" Fuck, how could I forget those horrible haircuts? I just mutter, "Yeah, you're probably right."

Actually, I do agree with Rob that it could get to be a pain in the ass. I mean, if I was doing it. It'd get 'old' for me pretty quickly, but for a different reason. That reason being, as the team's barber you can't be selective. You've gotta service them all and I prefer being selective about who gets a free haircut from me. Some guys just don't interest me at all. It's a sexual thing, at least partially it is for me... not for Danny though. For instance, I'm not the slightest bit interested in doing a haircut for that guy, what's-his-name, that Danny had his arm on. So, let Danny do it.

And anyway, as I was thinking not too long ago, my haircut fetish is losing power over me the older I get. Plus, I like seeing Danny so psyched about it. That makes me feel I'm not the only one who gets a kick out of giving haircuts. Anyway, I plan on being supportive of Danny's barber status. It's kinda cool... totally unexpected, but kinda cool of him.

The two o'clock class is called, 'Leadership Theory and Practice' and it's the one with the hyena-eared professor. After the class, I gotta admit it didn't turn out to be as bad as I thought it'd be. Not because the professor was any better today but because of the rare cute guy who was sitting in the row in front of me a couple of seats to my right. I was free to look at the side of his pure-looking face to my heart's content. By 'pure-looking' I mean he has a pretty pale tan-colored complexion without a trace of a beard and his profile could be put on a cameo to hang around some woman's neck. This guy is that pretty. Plus he'd just gotten an undercut-style haircut, which I hate, but looked pretty fucking good on him and it made my dick tingle imagining him getting that wicked short haircut on the sides and back. Hmmm, maybe my fetish isn't losing as much power as I thought... heh heh. He was fun to look at.

Anyway, this youngish looking kid not only was skinny and pretty and looked kinda uber sexy with that haircut, but he also was subtly playing with himself all through class and when the class ended and everyone stood up to leave he had a boner in his pants. So did I, but that's not the point. Watching that guy made for a good class by making the time pass quickly... that's all I'm saying.

Outside the building, Robby goes, "I couldn't help noticing you're apparently not yet in the mood to start taking notes in class." I mutter, "I had my laptop out but the hyena didn't say anything worth taking note of. And don't worry about my note-taking anyway, alright?" He goes, "Don't get testy. You can copy my notes."

We light cigarettes and Robby says, "Damn, Dylan, I hate doing this to you again. I'm feeling like a shit handing you my backpack all the time but I gotta go to practice now and I don't wanna carry this thing around with me. Do you mind taking it for me again?" I take it from him, mumbling, "No problem," and then ask, "How long is practice?" He goes, "An hour and a half. Normally from three-thirty to five, so it's not too bad. Do you wanna watch practice for a while?" I go, "I don't know... maybe. Um, nah, I'll go back to the apartment and maybe read my book." He goes, "The one about Grant?" I nod, "Yeah, it's a thousand page book and I've only got forty pages left. Maybe I can write a paper on it to make reading it worthwhile." Rob laughs, mumbling, "I don't know which of our courses you're gonna fit General Grant in, but good luck. Hey, I'll text when practice is over."

I start to leave and then turn around to tell Rob, "Oh, I invited Pony for dinner. He seems 'down' about something." Rob goes, "Sure, no problem. How about if I invite Carl too." I nod, and mutter, "Sure. I'll wait for you to text me when you're done practice," and walk off wondering what me inviting Pony has to do with Rob automatically thinking... oh, then I'll invite Carl'. I think Carl has eaten with us every night we've been here. It seems that way. Not that it's a big deal or anything.

At the apartment, I consider texting Pony but he has a long tale of woe to tell me that might fuck up my optimistic attitude, plus he said he was gonna take a nap. And anyway I'm not horny! Yeah but I am kinda excited about 'topping' again... definitely excited about that! It'll happen soon enough.

Getting my book I sit in the armchair in the living room and yeah, reading is a great way to pass the time! I open the book to my place marker but instead of reading I think about John Smith again and that hard fast fuck we had at lunch. He's a skinny motherfucker but an excellent 'top'. And ya know what? Surprisingly, in retrospect, I did kinda like the way he spanked my ass without saying a word about it. But then, that is the slightly dominant part of the way he does sex. Without that, he wouldn't be dominant at all.

Wow, it was hot but also kinda necessary today. I mean the way he needed to spank my ass repeatedly until I settled down and acted submissive to him. He wanted me docile 'cause that's how I've always been when we've had sex. Plus, he told me last year that he likes it when it seems I'm just waiting to be spanked and then fucked by him. That's how he gets 'off' best he said but, like I was thinking earlier he's never once mentioned anything about us doing sub/dom sex.

It was really good but I don't understand why I was so tense at first. It's like, last year when I was having regular side sex the side sex in the storage room this afternoon wouldn't have seemed like a big deal. No, it'd be routine and I'd have gotten right into my 'sub' role much quicker. After last summer being almost side sex barren though, it's like... Oh man, I gotta stop bitching about last summer, especially now that I'm a confirmed optimist.

And fuck Rob's KFC lunch with Carl! Yeah, my lunch was better! Haha, jeez, where'd that thought come from? Oh well, yeah, John Smith has the best, um, subtle dominant manner ever! It was great, sigh... and it's fun thinking back on sex like that although it makes me want to do it all over again exactly the same way.

Oh man, but enough about that. I start reading and, ya know, sometimes I actually fall asleep when I'm reading. It depends on how tired I am when I start. It's weird, but I'll fall asleep and when I wake up I'm still holding the book in the same position.

Right now I'm at the point in the book where I just want to finish the damn thing once and for all. So, I don't fall asleep but I do find that while I'm reading I'm not comprehending the words at all. Mostly I'm still kinda thinking about side sex and how hot it would be if I could get to know that boy in the last class who was playing with himself. Yeah, and I'd love to know what he was thinking about as he played with himself? God, I'd love to know that!

Anyway, when Rob texts that practice is over I see I've read only twenty pages and I don't recall a thing about any of them... but it still counts as having read them so now I'm down to the last twenty pages. I text Robby back that I'm on my way. Looking at my watch I see it's a quarter after five. Huh, so this is day-one out of 160, huh? I kicked its ass too. A piece of cake. Oh, Jesus, I hate that 'piece of cake' saying! I'm never saying that again. What's it even mean?

Driving back on campus, I see Rob and Carl waiting for me in the parking lot nearest the ballpark. Maybe we should rent a cot so Carl could move the fuck in with us. I honk the horn and they come over to the pickup with Carl getting in first to sit in the middle. He's got a big cute smile on his face, saying excitedly, "Hi, Dylan. One day down, huh?" I can't help but grin at him and mutter, "Yep!"

Why in the hell the baseball coach thought this smiling kid had an attitude problem and needed mentoring I can't imagine! Carl's so upbeat and sort of humble and, um, happy. Jeez, um, there's no way Rob made that bullshit mentoring story up, right? He wouldn't see this cute kid and just latch onto him telling me he was assigned as Carl's mentor. I can just imagine Rob grabbing his dick when Carl says something like, 'Oh, thanks for mentoring me, you big hot stud.' No chance that that happened, is there? Nah!

What am I thinking? Fuck, they just had a coach-mandated mentoring luncheon! It's legit... I guess. Anyway, think positive, Dylan... be optimistic! I say, "Yeah, Carl, one day down and 159 to go." Rob's in the shotgun seat closing the door, saying, "Seatbelt, Carl." Well, no shit! Carl's not six-years-old, for chrissake!

During the five minutes drive to the apartment, Rob and Carl get into another giggling fit. This time it's something about the coach's pants splitting up the back without him realizing it as he was screaming at rookie ballplayers. Why the fuck do coaches scream at their players so much? At the summer baseball league... oh, never mind that. Finally getting tired of listening to their inane giggling, I go, "Have you two turned into girls? Since when do you giggle, Rob?" He defensively mutters, "I giggle! Um, sometimes."

Guys don't fucking giggle! Hmmm, what to have for dinner tonight? Well, I know we have country-style pork ribs in the freezer so I'll defrost them and make a barbecued baked bean and pork rib casserole. We'll have a salad too, we always have a salad, and I'll defrost the last loaf of Italian bread. Applesauce too... yeah, instead of a vegetable. Well, the salad is the fucking vegetable, get serious! A well-balanced meal is important. I think I read that someplace.

Rob stops his latest giggling fit when I pull in and start to park in the back of the lot. He asks, "Um, babe, did you try the front row for a parking spot?" Exasperated, I go, "Why would I do that? There's never an open spot there," and he asks in a sweet way, "Well, would you drive by and just see? Ya know, just in case." Oh fuck, I back out of the spot near the back of the lot and drive up near the front where there are two open spots.

Pulling into the closest one, I mutter, "This is so frickin' unusual. I mean, when I'm driving..." and Carl says, "Why wouldn't you always drive up to take a quick look at the front?" Go fuck yourself, Carl! I mumble, "I just told you! There's never a spot in the front when I'm fucking driving!" After my outburst, they're both very quiet as they exchange 'looks' making faces at each other... if they start giggling again!

The reason I don't usually try for close parking spots is that I've had no luck with them in the past! I suppose it's not a bad idea, especially now that I've adopted this optimistic attitude, to at least try checking it out once in a while.

Inside, Rob wants to help with the dinner so I assign him the task of turning over the pork ribs every time the microwave 'beeps' in its defrosting cycle. The Italian bread will defrost on the counter without us needing to do anything. Carl asks, "What can I do, Dylan?" Hmmm, how about blowing me? Instead, I rub his head, saying, "Just watch Rob and learn how the defrost cycle works."

Carl chuckles at that as he tries fixing his hair that I messed-up a little, and then he says, "I see you've decided to keep your flattop look." I sarcastically mutter, "It's because you look so good with your flattop, Carl." He doesn't 'get' sarcasm and says, "Thanks. It is a cool retro look; isn't it? That's what Mickey said at practice." Whoever the fuck Mickey is. Actually, I'd like to hug the shit out of Carl. His tight athletic body, albeit short, is very sexy and of course, he's extremely cute too. He's one of the very few lads I've noticed so far on campus this year who qualify as cute, in case I haven't mentioned that sixteen times already.

I settle with giving Carl a quick hug, and he lays in against me his arms going around my waist. After giving him a squeeze, I tell him, "Better yet, you can open a couple of cans of baked beans if you want to help," and I point to the little pantry, adding, "The cans are in there and a can opener is in the drawer next to the pantry."

He goes to do that, and I say, "Rob, I guess I'll pick up Pony now. Do we need anything while I'm out?" He shakes his head, "No, babe, we've got beers left over from yesterday and you've got us all set up with the food, um, unless you wanna get something for dessert. Oh, and what did you plan for Carl instead of the pork ribs?" What? Oh, shit! That's right, he's a vegetarian! I go, "I've got something," and Carl says, "Don't go to that fancy bakery in town for dessert, Dylan, 'cause their prices are nuts." I mutter, "Ah, we don't need dessert."

On my way to the parking lot, I text Pony that I'm on my way. He's doesn't text back until I'm in the pickup. His text: 'I'll meet you at the end of the row.' He means dormitory row, of course, and that's very sensible of him and helpful too. Huh, maybe he's getting his act together. When I drive into the parking lot I see Pony standing there alone wearing shorts and a t-shirt, so maybe he hasn't got his act together yet. It's too chilly for shorts and a t-shirt and it'll get a lot chillier when the sun goes down. He sees me drive into the parking lot and walks over to the pickup.

Getting in with a smile, he mumbles, "Hi, Dylan." Huh, he looks pretty much like he did last night, meaning he still has the glasses on and he hasn't shaved and he still has his 'Jesus' hairstyle. No BO detected though, and I can tell his hair has been washed or shampooed, or whatever. We bump fists as I say, "Your glasses are totally smudged, Pony. How can you see out of them and, um, why are you even wearing glasses anyway?" As I drive out of the parking lot he takes his glasses off and rubs them on his t-shirt, saying, "I need to wear glasses, that's why."

I'm like, "Since when?" and he goes, "I got stopped for speeding the week I got home for summer break and the cop said my license was expired. It was a junior license and I needed to get a regular one 'cause I turned twenty-one. Remember?" I mutter, "I remember you turned twenty-one but I don't know anything about a junior fucking license." He goes, "Well, we have them in Pennsylvania, okay?" Looking at him briefly, I mumble, "You're getting snippy again." He goes, "Nah, I was just remembering the hassle I had to go through. Anyway, while getting my eyes examined for the driver's license they said I need glasses for distance. I can read without them, but I need them for distance, ya know... for driving and watching TV and seeing people who are like ten feet away?" That last part was definitely being snippy, but I let it go.

So he does need to wear glasses, huh. I ask, "Why not contacts?" He goes, "Jeez, Dylan, I wear glasses, okay? God!" Well, he looked cuter without them, that's all I'm saying. Some guys actually do look cuter with glasses and I was recently thinking that Robby would be killer with horn-rimmed glasses. Uber-preppy and sexy!

Oh well, I mumble, "Sorry, Pony. I'll try not to nag you anymore," and he reaches over and puts his hand on my shoulder, saying, "Please be nice to me, Dylan. Somebody needs to be." Oh, fuck! Now I feel bad. I say, "I'll be super-nice to you from now on, okay?" He makes a 'face', muttering, "And don't make fun of me either." Jesus, this optimistic bullshit is harder than I thought it'd be... and it isn't working out for me yet!

The front row parking spot is gone by the time I get back to the apartment... naturally! Sure, it's only available when Rob's in the pickup! After parking in the back row, we're walking to the front door as I put my arm around Pony's shoulders and hug him against my side, saying, "I'm really happy to see you again, Pony." He murmurs, "Me too, Dylan." Okay, that makes-up a little for me bitching at him.

As soon as we get into the apartment, Pony goes, "Omigod, Dylan, is that your little brother?" I look over and see he means Carl. I'm like, "What the fuck? That's Carl Snowdon, our phenom baseball player. Rob's mentoring him for the baseball team." I introduce them, "Carl, meet Daryl, who likes to be called by his nickname, Pony." They bump fists as Carl says, "I do look like Dylan, don't I, Pony? Looks like we're related and maybe we are." I go, "For Christ's sake, what's wrong with you two? It's only that we have the same haircuts! And they're actually not the same all that much anyway. Mine is longer, and..." Pony goes, "Yeah, they're both cool haircuts. I meant to ask you about your haircut last night, Dylan. Wicked different or, um, not really different but sort of wicked cool." Carl says, "These are called flattop haircuts, Dylan's and mine." As I'm rolling my eyes, Pony goes, "No shit, I know that. Flattops, yeah. They're different from the flattop you did for me last year, Dylan. Remember?" I roll my eyes again, muttering, "How could I forget that?" He adds, "The haircut you gave me looked more like your little brother's haircut then yours." I start to yell, "We don't look alike..." but I see Pony smirking so I go, "Funny, Pony! That little brother shit is really funny."

The thing is, I shouldn't mind at all that people think Carl and I look alike... he's fucking cute! I'm not so sure about Pony liking Carl's and my haircuts though. I mean, Jesus, could it be that Danny was right all along? And yeah, I did give Pony, among other haircuts, a flattop last year but it was more like the one Willie and I got that time near a military base, which is more like the one Danny gave Carl now that I look at it again. As I recall, I tried doing a longer flattop for Pony but somehow, and he's right about this, it didn't turn out nearly as good as Danny's flattop haircutting. Damn, can I fucking believe Danny does a better flattop than me? That's, um, that's... I don't know how he does it actually.

Anyway, when the ribs are defrosted and Carl has the cans of baked beans opened on the counter, Robby offers beers, and I'm like, "Sure, thanks, Rob." He twists off the cap and hands me a bottle from the case Danny brought with him the other night and Pony says, "I'll try one too," and I go, "Hey, you don't like beer, Daryl!" He goes, "I've developed a taste for it but I still like whiskey better... and, of course, pot is better than both of them." Rob hands Pony a beer. For some reason, Pony smirks at me cutely while mumbling, "Thanks, Rob." Why is everyone smirking at me tonight? Was it his 'pot' remark? What the fuck...?

Hmmm, I gotta figure out what to give Carl for dinner instead of the ribs? As I'm wondering about that, I get the baked beans and ribs in a casserole dish along with some liquid smoke, barbecue sauce, a couple of shots of Frank's hot sauce, and some dark brown sugar...and then stick the casserole in the oven.

Taking a gulp of beer, Pony goes, "Not drinking tonight, Carl?" Rob says, "Carl has willpower and isn't influenced by the bad behavior of his peers," and he gets an arm around Carl's neck in what amounts to a headlock and almost spills some of his beer. Carl grins and squirms against Rob. Pony asks me, "What's that mean? That peers thing..." and I grumpily mutter, "Carl doesn't drink." Pony gives Carl an incredulous 'look', as I say, "Let's go out on the balcony for a smoke."

Pony follows me outside as Rob calls after us, "Carl and I will make the salad. Okay, Dylan?" I shrug, "Sure." On the balcony, Pony says, "I need to do something with this mop of hair..." and his fingers ruffle his long-Jesus-style hairdo. I mutter, "Danny is doing haircuts this year, but I can do your haircut if you want." Pony goes, "Um, I met Danny last year I think. He's that super cute guy, right?" I nod and as he fucks with his hair some more, he mumbles, "Um, no offense, Dylan, but I'd like a flattop like Danny did for Carl." I'm like, "Why?" He says, "I'll tell you later," and I shrug muttering, "I can ask him for you, I guess. Let's have that smoke." Even though Danny's our barber that doesn't mean I can't do a haircut for a personal friend of mine. I could do Pony's haircut myself but now he wants Danny to do it. I suppose that's okay...

I give Pony a cigarette and light it for him and then Pony takes a drag and while exhaling, he goes, "I didn't smoke all summer and here I am smoking again, but it's something you just do at college, right Dylan?" I mumble, "It's what us dummies do, yeah. Carl's the smart one," and Pony says, as if he can hardly believe it, "That guy doesn't smoke either? He doesn't smoke or drink?" I mutter, "It's not so unusual but, no, he doesn't drink or smoke... or curse," and I snicker, adding, "He doesn't have any fun." Pony takes another drag and I ask, "Ah, do you wanna tell me what's bothering you, Pony? Something about your summer, was it? Um, or whatever it is that had you in such a bad mood last night."

Taking a deep breath, he goes, "Yeah, I wanna tell you about it, of course, I do. Um, but can we wait until it's just you and me? I like it best when it's just the two of us." I go, "It's just us two now." Shrugging, he mutters, "I need more time to tell you everything. Those guys will be coming out here or we'll be going back inside." I'm like, "Sure, okay, whenever you're ready to tell me." We smoke and drink for a minute and then I say, "How about this view from our balcony, huh? This view of nature is better than the view of the parking lot we had last year." He nods his head, and then asks, "Do you get a lot of mosquitoes when the sun goes down?" Fuck!

Rob and Carl come out to join us and as Rob lights a cigarette, Pony asks him, "So, Rob, would you ask your friend, Danny, if he'd give me a haircut like he did for Carl?" Before Rob can answer, I go, "I just told you I'd ask Danny for you!" He shrugs, "Oh, I thought Rob and Danny were, um, tight friends." Carl asks, "Do you play sports, Pony?" Pony lightly rubs my shoulder and goes, "Sorry, Dylan," and then to Carl, he says, "Um, not at the college level but I lettered all four years at prep school for swimming and gymnastics... so, yeah I do those sports and pickup games or whatever, but when..."

Rob's got his phone out, interrupting Pony, asking, "So, are you serious, Pony? I'll call Danny for you right now if you are." Pony goes, "Oh man," and he looks at me, asking, "Um, should I Dylan?" I shrug, "Suit yourself," and he goes, "Jeez, yeah I guess if you don't mind doing that, Rob." Ya know what... this night is becoming so fucking irritating!

I'm not going to be a jerk-off yelling, 'I wanna do your haircut, Pony!' so I don't say anything. Plus, I've already admitted that Danny does this haircut better than me... and it'll make Danny very happy. Haircutting isn't that big a deal to me anymore; certainly not as big a deal as it is to Danny. And I don't have a clue why he got interested in haircutting, or how he got so good at it; not a fucking clue how that just seemed to happen overnight.

I hear Robby talking into his phone, "Yo, Danny, your haircutting fame is spreading." and I tune out wondering if I'd be this magnanimous about being replaced as our group's barber if I weren't into this deeper relationship with Danny? No, that's not it! Goddammit, I didn't mean relationship! That's what Danny says! I meant to say, Danny's and my advanced 'buddy sex', um, involvement.

Oh, whatever. No, I'm pretty sure I sincerely don't mind that he's taken over the barbering. And I hope I'm not being a cunt by saying, "Just so you know, Pony, I'm not keeping this flattop hairstyle." He frowns, 'Whaddaya mean?" and I go, "It's, um," and then Carl looks over with that innocent face of his, and I know he loves this fucked-up flattop look so I don't say what I was going to say, which was... 'this fucked-up haircut is wicked dated going all the way back to the fifties'. Instead of saying that, I say, "It's, um... that is, I might comb the top down or something, you know, occasionally."

Pony shrugs, mumbling, "Oh yeah, you gave me that middle school haircut before the flattop haircut." I'm like, "What? It's not just a middle school haircut. For chrissakes, get it right! Grown men comb their hair that way, guys on TV no less; sportscasters and..." Pony makes a 'face' and mumbles, "Gee. I'm sorry I mentioned it, okay? You're the one who called it a middle school haircut." Hmmm, I mutter, "Well, it was more popular a few years ago I suppose, but other people wear their hair like that too," and I look over at Rob who is still on his cell phone.

Rob has a cigarette between his lips and a beer bottle in his hand with his back to us as he talks on the phone, which is silly because we all know what he's talking about. Yeah, but I do that too when talking on my cell phone... I turn away from everyone because it's the polite thing to do. People don't want to hear your conversation! Although in this case, I actually would like to hear what Rob's saying so I strain to listen and hear him laugh and then say, "Yeah, bro, I'm always looking out for you. I've got your back." As if he's the one who recommended Danny to Carl! Rob listens and then goes, "Yeah, he's right here." Rob hands Pony the phone, saying, "Talk to Danny and arrange, um, whatever," and to me, Rob asks, "Can I get you another beer, babe?"

Huh? I didn't even realize I'd finished my beer. I mutter, "I'll get you one. Do you need one, Pony?" Now I'm trying to listen to what Pony's saying to Danny. Pony shakes his head at me while listening to Danny. Then he says to Danny, "Thank you! That's awesome of you! See you then and, yeah, you told me which athlete's dormitory you're in and that you're on the first floor, second door on the left. Thanks again." Hmmm, ya know, I don't remember Pony saying 'Thank you' to me when I gave him haircuts last year and he's thanking Danny before he even gets the haircut. Guys tend to take my generosity for granted.

As I'm going inside to get beers for Rob and me I hear Pony tell Rob, "Haha, Danny says he'll need to charge me double if my hair is long. Did you tell him it was long?" Rob goes, "No, I didn't say anything about that fucking horrible long hair of yours, Pony." Pony goes, "It does suck, but I didn't..." and that's all I hear as I'm inside now opening the refrigerator.

When I turn around I bump into Carl, who obviously followed me inside. He goes, "Oh, I'm sorry, Dylan. Um, do you have any hair gel?" Frowning at that question, I'm putting two bottles of beer on the counter and looking for the bottle opener, mumbling, "No! I mean, I'm not sure. Why do you want hair gel?" He says, "You flattened the front of my hair when you were messing around a few minutes ago." Looking at him, I go, "So what? Hey, let me finish that look I was talking about, um, I mean for you. Ya might like it." Taking Carl's arm I pull him over to the sink where I wet the top of his head. He goes, "Hey!" and I'm like, "C'mon in the bathroom." He's such a cooperative kid he comes with me, saying, "But I like this flattop, Dylan."

In the bathroom I try combing the hairs flat on his head and flipping up the bangs, saying, "Yeah, I know you like the flattop, but take a look at this." It doesn't work though because his hair is too short so most of it still sticks up straight off his head. He looks at himself in the mirror and, being polite, he goes, "Yeah, I sort of see what you mean, um, I guess. I like it the other way even better." Damn, ya know what? I'd like to have sex with this kid right here and now in this bathroom with him holding onto the sink while I fuck his ass like Rob fucked me that time. Oh man!

Putting my arm across his shoulders I pull him against my side and we both look into the mirror with me saying, "Really? You like that flattop better huh? And you look so awesome with your hair like this. It's still too short, but in a week or so..." He goes, "I do look wicked cute... doncha think, Dylan?" and he looks up at me. Jesus! I mutter, "Yeah, you do." Is he flirting with me again?

And, oh man, it just occurred to me that I fucking know Carl is a dedicated 'bottom'! It's never been mentioned one way or another, but I know he is. I can tell. He goes, "Yeah but, um, Danny will get mad if I have my hair like this and then your friend even said he likes my flattop." Taking a deep breath, I come to my senses, I can't fuck him in here! I mutter, "You're right," and then add, "I might have some hair gel after all, now that I think about it, Carl."

Going into the cabinet under the sink I open some plastic containers and go through the miscellaneous stuff in each one until I find half a tube of AvedaMan... 'firm hold gel'. Shit, I haven't laid eyes on this for years. This was like $25 for this small tube. It's hair gel Willie bought for me at Nordstrom's years ago. I'm lousy remembering names but I remember details of all the insanely expensive shit Willie bought for me. Huh, I wonder why that is.

Standing up I show Carl the small black tube, saying, "Excellent hair product," and squeeze some on my fingers as I'm wondering about the 'used by date' for this stuff. I mutter, "Hold your head still, Carl," and rub some of the gel through his hair. We're face to face and I'm probably rubbing my fingers through his hair longer than I need to and as I'm doing it Carl has a hold of my hips with both hands, steadying himself unnecessarily. Hope I not too vigorous with my rubbing but he has a really sexy personal scent and I'm enjoying the closeness. The top of his head it at my eye level and he's breathing right in my face... his breath smells sweet. Then, with my left hand behind his head, I use a comb in my right hand to comb back his hair until it's all standing up in a flattop again, which it was mostly doing anyway.

I go, "There ya go, Carl, good as new." We both turn to look in the mirror as he murmurs, "Thanks, Dylan," and we look into each other's eyes in our reflection from the mirror for a few seconds with my hand still holding the back of his head. Guys have told me my eyes give me away; that my eyes are saying...' Yeah, you can fuck me', or something along those lines. I see that in Carl's eyes... I think.

Not being positive about that though, I let my hand slide down the back of his head and then give the back of his neck an affectionate squeeze, saying, "Ya know, Carl, you're right. You look cute as a button with this haircut," and he says, "So do you, Dylan," and as my dick starts to stiffen up... I chicken out completely. It would be so wrong!

Letting go of him, I say, "Well, um, okay then, um, what do you want to eat in place of the ribs?" As I guide him out of the bathroom, he goes, "The baked bean, salad, applesauce, and that Italian bread are plenty for me, Dylan. It's nice of you to remember I'm a veggie-guy and offer an alternative though. Thanks!" I shrug and resist my latest urge to hug the shit out of him and kiss his bow-shaped sexy lips. After all, he's Rob's mentee, or whatever the mentored individual is called, so I should wait to see if the mentor has any interest in his mentee. And Carl's only eighteen so I feel like I'd be taking advantage of him. Damn though, it's tempting!

We join Rob and Pony on the balcony, me carrying the two beers. "What'd you guys do, brew the beers?" Rob asks, and Carl says, "Dylan, helped me with my hair." Pony goes, "Oh, fuck, ya know what? Now I'm a little nervous about getting that haircut from Danny. Whaddaya think I should do, Dylan?" I shrug and then realize I'm gawking at Carl. Lifting my eyes I see Rob was watching me do that. Glancing quickly over at Pony, I say, "Gee, I don't know what to tell you, Pony."

to be continued...

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com

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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.

Donny Mumford

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