Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 44

by Donny Mumford

Wednesday I'm driving away from dormitory row feeling more like myself. That afternoon's sex was a good first step toward normalcy. 'Topping' is pretty fucking cool, obviously, but it's not my preferred way to get my rocks off. Even so, with the invaluable help of my favorite pony, Daryl Ponti, I managed to 'get my rocks off' three times. So, yeah, it's a relief after eight days to finally turn the corner on this abstinence nightmare. Okay, maybe 'nightmare' is hyperbole and maybe it was seven days, not eight... whatever.

And, wow, Pony has himself a nice tight ass but that's not especially surprising considering the poor boy doesn't get fucked very often. And, sure, we'd both prefer doing it more often but our class schedules, as well as other factors, get in the way. Sex once a week is normal for Pony anyway so he hasn't been in a crisis situation at all. As a matter of fact, once and sometimes twice a week is way more sex than Pony gets when he's not at college. It's me who was in need of sexual relief.

After a long period of abstinence, my first climax getting back in the groove is usually a quick gushy one like that first one I had this afternoon. I'd sure hate to have wasted a climax like that in my much preferred 'bottom' position. Yeah, the first one was mostly 'need' rather than pure sexual pleasure. I'm sure everyone's experienced that a time or two themselves.

More good news for me... Rob's finally recovering from his miserable cold and we've tentatively planned to reactivate our normal sexual behavior tomorrow morning. I suppose we could take a chance he's not contagious and begin tonight, but Thursday would be better from my point of view. And even more good news: I'm starting to think Danny and I are getting close to reactivating our awesome buddy sex. Assuming those two situations work out for me I'll be good to go for the rest of my last college semester ever. Jeez though, if I were a year or two younger, haha, I'd probably be bitching about my presently constituted sex life. Ya know, I'd be lamenting the fact it lacks frequency AND variety but I'm not a year or two younger... and times change.

And, no, not everything in my life is about sex! For example, there's some kind of baseball players' beer bash happening tonight that Robby wants to go to, and he'd like me to go with him. So that's nice. First of all, I'm happy that Rob's on the road to recovery enough that he wants to go out tonight. After saying that, a beer bash with jocks wouldn't be my first choice for a first night out after a week of staying in doing nothing. At this point, however, any kind of excuse to be out of our germ infected apartment will do.

Okay, I've parked the pickup and I'm now back inside the aforementioned germ infected apartment looking around and thinking how awesome it would be to open the windows and slide the doors to the balcony fully opened to air this place out! The problem with that is it's twenty-two degrees outside and Rob would have a shit-fit if he walked in here and it's one degree below seventy-five... never mind twenty-two. Seventy-five is simply too hot for an apartment not occupied by senior citizens but not being a complainer I've hardly mentioned the overly heated living conditions to the sick boy. Well, once in a while I may have said something about it but that's the extent of it.

I'm feeling pretty good though, all things considered, and I expect to feel better after a shower. As everyone knows, there's no way to have three climaxes in a row without getting some of it on you. In my younger days a little cum here or there was never a concern but I've gotten older and more realistic. Hell, as a kid I used to think a sexy guy's BO was a turn on. Jesus, the stupid things we all thought, and did, as kids, huh? Well, um, I suppose if a guy is really cute and sexy I still might think a little BO is kinda sexy as long as it isn't too offensive.

Ah, yes, the shower is everything a shower should be and then after I'm dried and dressed, I'm like... where the hell is Robby? He said he'd get a ride to the apartment in forty-five minutes and that was, um, let me check my watch... oh, forty-minutes ago. Well, it's five-thirty so I should probably start thinking about our dinner. I'm looking in the freezer staring at a couple of frozen strip steaks when Robby walks in, asking, "How ya doing, babe?" Omigod, I can tell he's 'high'. That's not surprising considering he's just spent over two hours at the ballpark doing, um... well, I can't fucking imagine what he was doing there all this time. I'm like, "Hi, Robby... feeling better, are you?"

He mumbles, "Um, yeah, and thank you for asking." He comes over and gives me a kiss, still avoiding my mouth because his disease could still be contagious. Oh man though, I like when he comes in and the first thing he does is give me a kiss... and fuck that person who said we act like an old married couple. Hmm, I think it was Danny who said that. Was it? I don't remember.

I ask, "How about a medium-rare steak for dinner?" Rob goes, "A steak is always a favorite of mine, baby. Or, I could just eat you with a spoon instead," and he hugs me, adding, "You smell soooo good." I say, "That's the bath gel." He's still standing behind me with his arms around my waist as he gives my cheek another longish sloppy kiss and then he murmurs, "I can hardly wait to kiss your mouth again." I go, "That's nice. Um, I didn't realize they allowed booze in the players' clubhouse." I can smell Rob's beer breath. Oh, so that's what they were doing at the ballpark all this time!

Robby lets go of me, saying, "I only had three beers. Mouse brought a case of beer over and a few of us seniors helped him celebrate his twenty-second birthday. The coaches pretended they didn't notice... they were in their offices looking the other way." I'm putting the frozen steaks in the microwave's defrost cycle as Robby asks, "What are we having with the steaks?" I say, "Whatever you decide to prepare for us, big guy." Chuckling, he goes, "Hey, I can make a salad!" I nod, "Yeah? Okay, why don't you wash your hands three or four times and get to it then..." He goes, "I will, and, um, what else should we have?"

We include French fries with the steaks and salads and while eating Rob tells me the beer bash tonight isn't what he thought it was gonna be. It's a charity event at the Knights of Columbus hall in downtown North Andover for which he had to buy two twenty-five-dollar tickets. Coach Davis exerted some pressure getting his players to buy tickets telling them they could make it their 'own' beer bash within the main charity event, or some such bullshit con job. He'd reserve two ten-seat tables at the event confident of pressuring at least that many of his ballplayers to buy tickets. The charity is raising money to send underprivileged boys to a baseball camp this summer. Heh heh, probably Coach Davis' baseball camp. No, I don't know that for a fact...just a random thought.

Anyway, around eight o'clock we're in the pickup driving on campus. We're picking up Danny and two other ballplayers who need a ride to tonight's festivities. Everyone has classes tomorrow but tonight's beer bash is over at midnight so... not a problem. This guy they call Mouse is one of the three ballplayers getting in the back seat. He taps me on the shoulder, saying, "So you're Dickers' roommate, huh?" I go, "Afraid so," and he's like, "Jesus, you're a good looking fuck, ain't ya? I've seen you around campus for years and never connected you two as roommates." A tall black guy, mutters, "Are you turning queer on us, Mouse? You sounded like a fag when you said that."

This guy Mouse looks like that goofy kid with the speech impediment who's in those FIOS commercials on TV... that strange-looking kid with the oversize head and all that curly hair. What the fuck is that goofy fuck's name? Anyway, Mouse looks like that kid. He's also the guy who drives Rob home at times saving me the trouble. Yeah, Mouse has an apartment in the complex our apartment's in and he's given Rob a ride to our apartment from baseball practice or whatever quite a few times this year. He says, "Fuck you, Jones, you're the queer who never has a date." Danny says, "Why all these gay references? Are you two secretly blowing each other, or what?"

I'm rolling my eyes tuning-out further childish blather from the ballplayers. They've been drinking beer at the ballpark so... ya know. Yeah, but this is the kind of homophobic shit you hear all the time from jocks and yet they're the ones constantly goosing each others ass or hugging and saying they love each other. Go figure...

Fortunately, it's literally only a ten-minute ride from the college to The Knights of Columbus hall so I don't need to listen to that shit for long. Rob drives down Route 114 a few miles, and then three miles down Route 125 and we're there. He parks in the lot behind the Knights of Columbus building. We all get out of the pickup and Danny bumps into me on purpose, saying quietly, "That was totally unnecessary bullshit from my asshole teammates, baby." I shrug, mumbling, "I don't care what they say, Danny... no problem." He goes, "They're not always assholes but they've been drinking. The other thing is, Mouse and Jones are competing for the last spot in the bullpen and they're always ragging on each other."

If Danny knew the extent I don't give a flying fuck about what those guys say he'd be shocked, but I like that he came over to tell me that stuff 'cause that's a very good sign he and I are good. I go, "Never mind those guys Danny... are you doing okay? I mean, you've been so busy helping the new guy, what's-his-name, which is very nice of you. Um, I suppose you're glad to get away from all that tonight." He looks puzzled, "Helping what new guy? You mean Brooker?"

We're walking around to the front door of the building as I mumble, "Yeah, him," and Danny says, "It's more like he's helping me, or his old man is anyway. I mean, sure, I showed Brooker how to find his house when he didn't even know how to get to Wayland where he fucking lives... heh heh. Then I find out his old man has a connection to the school board superintendent in Providence and that guy, coincidentally enough, knows the superintendent of schools in Framingham. Those two superintendents were roommates in college like a hundred years ago. So, when I find that out, I let them talk me into staying for dinner. They were so glad their son made a friend, ya know? Anyway, because of those conversations, and a little sucking-up from me to Brooker's old man, my prospects for a teaching and coaching job next fall are looking much brighter. Right out of college I might have a starting teaching position."

Wow, I never saw that coming... Tom's father is the attraction, not Tom! As usual, Danny's got his arm across my shoulders telling me this stuff. He's looking at me as he chuckles, adding, " Oh, and let me tell ya, Tom's mom ain't no Mrs. D. when it comes to cooking. Um, wait... now I lost my train of thought. Oh, yeah, so what I'm saying is I've got a better spot available to me through Mr. Brooker's superintendents' connection, an even better one than the connection my Aunt might hook me up with." I'm like, "Wow, good old Tom, huh?"

There's a logjam at the front door so we stop and Danny goes, "Yeah, Tom's harmless. Did you know he's in the education degree program too and he already has his spot secured? Heh heh, now his old man can concentrate on getting me a spot at some school. Maybe even Framingham! My good deed of showing Tom how to get home is paying off, huh?" I'm like, "Sounds like it. That's great, Danny!" He shrugs, "Yeah, ya know, as I said, Tom's father and mother were super happy that Tom made a friend and, naturally, I've been acting super nice to him while mostly impressing the shit out of his old man." Oh, so that's what's being going on. I wasn't all that worried. Hell, I knew Danny wouldn't dump me...

The hold-up at the front door is caused by some old man collecting tickets and taking his good old time about it. As we wait, I say, "Jeez, so you'll both be teaching at the same school... is that right?" Danny gives me a 'look', muttering, "No! Christ, I don't even know what school Tom has a job at. I guess you could say I've been more focused on my own opportunity which Mr. Brooker says will likely be at Framingham High 'cause he connection says there's been some turnover there. My Aunt has a probable opening for me at the middle school. Obviously, I'd rather be an assistant coach for high school ballplayers, you know, rather than little farts at a middle school. Get real..."

Huh, well I'll be damned. How about that? Not that I was all that concerned to start with. I mean, Tom Brooker? C'mon! The line is moving now and Rob hands our tickets to the grumpy old man and now Danny's holding his ticket out. As we go inside Rob pulls on the arm of the tall black guy who rode over with us and starts talking to him... maybe about being homophobic. I pull Danny to the side, quietly asking, "So, have you figured out if he's gay?" Danny goes, "Who?" and I go, "Well, who the fuck have we been talking about?" He looks annoyed, "Do you mean Tom?" I go, "No, his father! Of course, I mean Tom!" Oh man, that wasn't cool. My plan is to let Danny know how awesome I think he is and sarcasm probably isn't the best way to go about doing that!

He shrugs, mumbling, "Jesus, why would you ask me that? How would I know if he's gay? He doesn't seem gay. Um, is he gay?" I mutter, "I don't know. He said he was and then he said he wasn't. What difference does it make anyway?" He frowns at me and then he gets sort of snippy, saying, "You brought it up, Dylan. I didn't!" Dammit, now I'm making things worse.

Leaning against him, I say, "I know, and I'm sorry if I sounded, um... it's, ah, because I thought... that is." He looks concerned, asking, "What are you trying to say?" I make a 'face' mumbling, "Um, I was jealous thinking you and him were... you know." His eyes open wide as he goes, "You're kidding me, right?" Shaking my head, I say, "Ah, no... I thought that might be the case, but what I really wanted to tell you is, um... well, I don't think I've ever told you how special I think you are and how much I appreciate our friendship and our, you know... our buddy sex... you and me, um, together."

Oh man, now I get to see Danny's big happy-puppy-dog smile as he tightens his hold on my shoulder pulling me against him. He goes, "Well aren't you nice to tell me that. Thank you! I gotta tell you though, I already knew how you felt about me and..." and Robby pats Danny and me on our shoulders, saying, "I hate to break-up this touching buddy-hug, but Coach is waving at us. He wants us to go over to our table," and he points to where I see a red-faced man waving and shouting something. He's in the corner of this large room, but he's not waving just at us... he wants all the ballplayers to huddle up around him.

Danny mutters, "Oh yeah, Coach probably wants to make another speech," and then he hugs my shoulders tighter, saying to Robby, "I hope you know what a special boyfriend you've got here, Rob. He's very special." Robby snorts out a chuckle, and says, "Yeah? Um, thanks for the heads-up about that. I didn't know until you told me." I sort of drop down slightly to get Danny's arm off my shoulders. Then, grinning at Robby I'm like, "As you know, Robert, Danny's a very touchy/feely guy." Rob smirks nodding his head, muttering, "Uh huh," but I can tell he's amused at my uncomfortableness and not upset at all.

The three of us start making our way to the corner where the red-faced coach is standing on a chair getting ready to make a speech. Ya know, some people are simply incapable of experiencing embarrassment, and this coach is apparently one of those people. Rob mutters, "Jesus, what the hell is Coach doing standing on that chair... haha." I nudge his arm and whisper, "You're my man, Robby. You should probably give me a spanking when we get home 'cause I let Danny put his arm on my shoulders." He snickers, muttering, "A spanking, huh? You wish." He isn't the least bit concerned about Danny. Ya see he knows if he whistles, metaphorically speaking, I'll come running. And he's right too.

Yes, Rob's my man... and neither of us has any doubt about that, not since the beginning of last summer. That being said, I'm still working under our'arrangement', the one that allows buddy sex and Danny's the best I've ever had. Huh, Where'd he get to now? Oh, there he is with his arm around one of his teammates yucking it up with a couple of guys. Danny's a people person; he gets along with everyone. Rob and I take our time getting to the two tables reserved for the baseball team. There are cards indicating these tables are reserved for Coach Davis. These two tables are the only ten seat roundtables in the place. The other tables seat four or six. Most of those tables are occupied by men and women from a different generation.

There's a four-piece band too. The words 'Saint Michaels' is on the front of the big drum so it must be the band that plays at St. Michaels church. Yeah, they have a band at that Catholic church. The band plays with the children's and the adult's choirs at Sunday Mass. During sophomore year Rob had this 'thing' about us going to church, so we went. It only lasted three weeks before he gave up on that idea but that's how I know about the band playing at Sunday Mass. So, are we gonna hear hymns like 'This Little Light of Mine' at this beer bash?

Coach is giving a little 'thank you' speech to the ballplayers, some of whom brought dates. He says, "You gentlemen have been so supportive that these two tables I reserved aren't enough to hold all of us. It's so good to see some of you sitting at the overflow surrounding tables and I want to say thank you to the roommates and girlfriends of my ballplayers for coming tonight as well. Very much appreciated and it's for a good cause too. You ballplayers make me proud to be your coach. I just wanna take a couple of minutes to describe a little background about who this benefits... "

He goes on but I stop listening to concentrate instead on the rare cute guy at a side table. I think he's on the baseball team. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I was ogling him last year when I'd sit in the stands watching practice. He has longish, almost curly light brown hair that looks good on him. I like the way it surrounds his cute face. Actually, he almost looks girlish he's so pretty. Christ, he's staring at Coach Davis and listening intently to every word. The guy's mouth is so sexy. The ballplayer's mouth, not the coach's mouth. There's basically only one thing fucked-up about this cute guy and it's his right hand. Yeah, it's holding the hand of this girl who just said something to the guy and he's bobbing his head like a bobblehead doll. And the girl isn't nearly as cute as the guy. Christ, I can't tell you how much it pisses me off seeing what is basically a fucking waste! The girl obviously runs the show with the guy doing what she says when on my team that kid would be calling all the shots. What a waste!

Hmm, on second thought I don't think he is on the team, per se... I think he's one of the flunky so-called team managers like Ryan was for a couple of years. Gee, I can't believe I'm giving him a pass on the long hair but he's so fucking cute! Hmm, I'll bet his hand is sweaty by now and I'll bet she's holding his hand more than the other way around! He probably wishes she take her fucking hand... huh? Someone said my name. I go, "Wha..?" and Robby says, "A pitcher or bottles?" Oh, fuck... and then it hits me... he means should we get a pitcher of beer or get bottled beers. I shrug, "I don't care. Um, I'll come with you," and we head for the bar as the band starts playing something I don't think I've ever heard before in my life, and then the guy with an electric guitar starts singing. He's got a decent voice so I look over for a second and see the singer is a very fat short man with big eyeglasses. He appears to be in his forties, but he sounded young. Huh...

The bar is crowded but the service is quick. There are four bartenders, all of whom are much too smiley and friendly to be real bartenders. They're probably members of the Knights of Columbus, um, club or whatever it is. And, what the hell is this? They're charging for the drinks! I go, "Hey, Robby, you paid twenty-five bucks per tickets and we still need to buy the drinks? What the fuck is that all about?" He's frowning and then shrugs, saying, "Yeah, this isn't run like a frat party. The coach forgot to mention this minor detail but it's for some charity, so... no big deal I guess. I bump his arm and point at the sign that says bottled beers are only a dollar and pitchers of draft beer are two-fifty each. Rob nods muttering, "That's cheap." I say, "Yeah, I guess. Well, you bought the tickets, so I'll buy the drinks."

I get served pretty fast, and without anyone asking to see my ID. Two long neck bottles of Bud cost me two dollars and I get a smiley, "Thank you, pal," from the bartender. The sign also indicates shots and mixed drinks are two dollars each. I'm hoping we don't take advantage of those bargains. We sit at one of the tables reserved by Coach Davis; the one he isn't sitting at which may be a mistake as it appears the Coach is supplying the pitchers of beer for that table. Couples are dancing to some old tunes, one of which I recognize. It's called, 'Proud Mary' and I'm not sure how I know that song 'cause that's a tune that goes back sixty years or so... back to the sixties, I think.

The talk among the other eight guys at our table is one hundred percent about the baseball team. Me and the two dates, girlfriends of two ballplayers, have nothing to add to the conversation, obviously. One of the girls, a hefty young woman with a toothy smile, is trying to flirt with me. I make a 'face' at her like... all this baseball talk, huh?' Then the guy sitting next to me bumps my arm and says, "Let me guess... you're a roommate who got roped into coming tonight like me, huh?" The guy is average looking except for his dufus haircut with the shaved sides and mop of hair on top. I shrug, mumbling, "Yes, my roommate is Rob Dickers." The guy goes, "I don't know anyone on the team except Terry," and he points at a funny-looking guy with no chin, explaining, "He's a starting pitcher." I go, "Yeah, I've seen him pitch in a game last year. He's pretty good." No, I didn't notice no-chin but why not make his roommate feel good.

The hefty girl says, "Which one of you is on the team?" The guy next to me says, "Neither of us. We're roommates of baseball players. We got roped into coming tonight. Twenty-five bucks plus we gotta pay for the fucking drinks." She goes, "Yeah, that blows." The guy then says to me, "I'm on the soccer team. How about you?" See he's in the athlete's dorm with the no-chin guy who's on the baseball team. He assumes since my roommate is on the baseball team I must be on some Merrimack team as well.

This would be a perfect situation where I bull shit him for a while pulling his chain something awful, and I would do that if I was the slightest bit interested in him, or if this was two years ago when I still thought even average looking guys with bad haircuts were possibilities. Maybe long-shot possibilities, but this guy did instigate our communication such as it is, so...

But this isn't a couple of years ago so instead of bullshitting him, I say, "Nah, I'm not on any team. I know my roommate from high school and we've been splitting the cost of an apartment here since freshman year, so..." He goes, "What the fuck is wrong with you guys renting an apartment? You're missing out on campus life, bro! That's a big part of the college experience." I'd like to tell him to go fuck himself with that campus life bull shit, but it's not worth the trouble, so I mutter, "My loss I guess," and gratefully Rob interrupts to say, "Ya ready for another beer?" I nod and we both get up as the hefty girl is saying to the guy next to me, "The soccer team you're on sucks this year."

I don't hear what the soccer player says as Rob and I walk to the bar with him asking me, "Who was that?" meaning the guy who was talking to me. I go, "I don't know. He's someone's roommate." Robby says, "Hey, good news! I haven't blown my nose since after lunch," and that makes me laugh out loud because a girl walking next to us heard what Rob said and she made a gross 'face' like she just stepped in a dog turd. Haha! I say, "That's good news, Rob," and because I laughed, he goes, "What?"

I buy the beers all night and while it's not the best time I've ever had, it's not the worst either. Rob's a little drunk after three beers but then he did have three beers earlier at the ballpark. He gets very talkative though. I mean at the table with his teammates who all seem to like Robby a lot. Not that I'm surprised by that. It's just that it's boring for me not knowing the seemingly funny things they're all talking and laughing about. They're either breaking each others balls about things I don't 'get', or ragging on a teammate who isn't at this table. Meanwhile, the band plays on with one song after another, none of which, after 'Proud Mary', I've ever heard before. Obviously, the tunes are from the generation most of these people grew up in. The Coach is a member of the church and in addition to thirty or so ballplayer attendees, the other hundred or so men and women here are from the church or they belong to the Knights of Columbus lodge... or whatever it's called.

Although I'm bored by the bantering among the ballplayers it's not a totally horrible evening because I felt like drinking beers tonight and there's absolutely no pressure on me to do anything, plus I'm enjoying looking at the cute guy holding hands with his less attractive girlfriend. Oh, they just got up to dance to some corny fast tune. Wow, he's a really good dancer too and, shit, I'd like to dance with him. Plus I'm thinking about how Danny was uber friendly to me earlier. I haven't seen much of him since but no problem because I'm feeling everything is working out okay between us.

So, when I'm not looking at the curly-headed hand-holding guy, I find myself staring at Danny who's sitting at another table. Staring because he's very cute and sexy too. He notices me looking him and when he passed by me on his way for another beer he smiled and rubbed my shoulder. Another time he gave the back of my neck a squeeze as he walked by. He's very popular, even more so than Robby but then Robby isn't as goofily happy-go-lucky as Danny.

Rob and I have six or seven beers each during the three and a half hours before the fat singer finally announces the last dance, and thank God for that because by then the hand-holding kid left with his hefty girlfriend and by now they're probably fucking in the back seat of the guy's car. I wouldn't mind watching half of that. Seeing hefty exposed might be problematic though. I was thinking of the cute guy's portion of the act and maybe seeing her fat ass fall off the back seat. Whatever... Oh, and by now Danny's too drunk to make sense of what he's saying and Rob's talking about switching to rum and Cokes, and I'm tired... so, yeah, it's time to go!

I talk Rob out of the hard liquor but he's still pretty drunk so it takes some doing getting him to leave. He's tired too though so we finally get our coats and then he doesn't argue when I tell him I'm driving. He wanted to stay because many of the ballplayers are staying after the band's last dance but I put the kibosh on that. The three guys we drove over, including Danny, are all staying and I assume getting a ride back with someone else. Good!

I drive directly to the apartment and when we're inside neither of us suggests any sexy messing around. Rob's too tired and drunk, but he held up very well tonight considering he's just getting over that wicked cold. At twelve-forty-five we're both sleeping but before that, from habit and without even mentioning it, we both take three Advil. So, Thursday morning I'm not feeling too bad... not great, but not too bad. Rob's coughing again so we don't mention sexy messing around this morning either. Tonight though... oh boy!

We have coffee and English muffins for breakfast while talking a little about last night. Then off we go to class and it's the last class for this week. Rob's coughing has subsided by now and he's back to feeling okay again. No hangover concerns because we only had beers at the charity event and then we had a good night's sleep, plus took the Advil last night and again this morning. We're feeling okay and grab burgers at Wendy's for an early lunch. Rob picks up Carl and we get the study group out of the way, our last one until next Tuesday night. Things are looking good 'cause we have four days off. Yeah, another four day weekend. This final semester is proving to be a cupcake!

Done studying, I go with Robby to drop Carl off and then we stop at the bookstore for blue books. Waiting to pay for the blue books, Robby quietly says, "This Saturday, babe, and don't get all pissed-off at me for mentioning this, but we gotta get haircuts Saturday morning. Next weekend we'll be working at the office both Friday and Saturday so we won't be here and therefore we need to be at Danny's dorm barbershop tomorrow, okay?" Well, fuck, I knew that! And as a matter of fact, I'm glad to be working next week because I can use the extra fucking money. And, I'd already decided to get to the barbershop early Saturday as Danny told me to. Still, I feel obligated to mention, "Robert, you don't need to be my daddy. I was already planning on doing the haircut thing anyway." He says, "Okay, I'm sorry, but you sometimes..." and his cell phone rings.

I say, "I'll pay for the blue books while you answer that." Rob nods getting out of line as he's trying to get his cell phone out of his skinny jeans, which isn't that easy. Hey, ya gotta sacrifice convenience for style sometimes. Oh fuck, now a dufus student at the front of the line can't find his credit card and he's holding everyone up. Jeez, doesn't anyone carry money? Bored, I glance out the window making a 'face' because it's another cold blustery day with lots of snow, now it's dirty snow. Lots of dirty snow is still very much in evidence from the Nor'easter we had last Friday. It's what makes some of us wonder why the fuck we live here.

The line moves again and as I'm paying for the blue books I hear Robby asking, "Omigod, seriously? I'm sorry to hear that. Um, this afternoon?" Walking over to Rob who is still talking on the phone, I tap his arm and nod at the door. As we're leaving I'm concerned there's a problem at home. Outside I hear Rob saying, "Yes, I understand and yes I'm feeling much better. I'm over my cold or whatever it was... yeah, I'm fine! Jesus..." He listens as we stand to the side of the bookstore's front door and then Rob says, "Well, I said okay, didn't I? Oh, hell, I'm sorry for sounding bitchy but I wasn't expecting this."

Balls! I bet my left nut this phone call is about Robby needing to go home for work. His father is a prick sometimes. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Rob's going to college... he's not a Dickers & Son employee yet! Rob's putting the phone away, saying, "I gotta go home, Dylan, and I mean right now." The natural thing for me to ask would be, 'Oh, why's that?' At this moment though I'm selfishly too pissed off to ask. This is supposed to be the day for our reunion sex! Oh hell, after ten seconds I'm asking myself... Jesus, Dylan, how childish can you be?

I get my act together and pat Rob's shoulder, "I'm sorry, Rob. Can I help?" He kicks at a snow clump and goes, "Ow! Fuck!" It was actually an ice block with snow covering it that he kicked. I ask, "Are you okay?" He looks at me, saying, "Yeah, I guess, but can you believe this shit? My father slipped on some ice this morning and hurt his back bad. He's in traction at Framingham Hospital and will be there for another day or two." I'm like, "Jeez, will he be alright?" Robby snaps, "How the hell would I know?" and then, "Um, I mean... ah, I'm sorry for snapping at you, babe, but I'm upset he's hurt, and I'm royally pissed I need to go home."

Best not to ask any more dumb questions like the one I just asked: 'Will he be alright?' Duh! How would Robby know? It was just something you say, ya know? In the pickup, Rob's frustrated as he growls and then tries pulling the steering wheel off. He calms down and tells me why he needs to go home. He says, "Dad has private financial information, printouts, government forms, and whatever. He needs me to deliver that shit to his accountant in Boston. And I mean it needs to be delivered tonight before seven o'clock for some Goddamn reason. Something to do with the quarterly income tax returns, deadlines or some such shit. He says he doesn't trust anyone at work to do it and Mom's with him at the hospital and she doesn't know her way around the office anyway. Not since she quit working there a year and a half ago. Anyway, I gotta go to the office to get some papers that Dottie will have for me and then go online at his office at home and printout some other stuff. He'll tell me his password when I get there and yada, yada, yada.."

I'm like, "Oh man, sorry..." Rob makes a 'face' mumbling, "I gotta drive into Boston with the papers to someplace I have no idea how to get to and... oh fuck, why am I bitching? I mean after all the things dad has done for me... listen to me whine about doing something for him."

I ask, "Do you know why the stuff is so confidential he can't trust anyone but you with it?" We're driving to the apartment as Rob goes, "It's more that he doesn't want someone going on his personal computer at home. That's what he said... but I don't know why this needs to be done tonight." Well, no sense irritating Robby further by asking questions he probably doesn't have answers for anyway, so I don't say anything as he's parking the pickup at the apartment. Things looked so rosy twenty minutes ago. We had the rest of Thursday, today, to do whatever we wanted and then our four day weekend after that, but his dad slips on some ice and everything goes in the toilet.

Inside, Robby's putting a few things in an overnight satchel, saying, "I'll be there all day Friday too from the sound of it. Dad didn't say exactly what I need to do Friday but I'll text you or call you when I find out." I'm like, "I'll go with you, Rob. I can keep you company at least." He smiles, "Thank you, Dylan, but there isn't any sense ruining the next couple of days for you too. And fuck, I'm leaving you without transportation as it is." I go, "I can use the Kia anytime I want. Are you sure I can't come with you?" He nods, "Yes, I'm sure. There isn't anything you can do to help and I'll feel worse if I'm ruining your weekend too. Seriously."

Oh man, here's a weird thought... I'm thinking his dad is gonna say something about Rob's hair. It's grown over the tops of his ears and looks ragamuffin-ish and yeah we're fucking college guys and I KNOW that shouldn't matter. Except it does to Mr. ROTC... it always matters to him! Mr. Dickers is an okay guy but he has some antique ideas about personal appearances in this twenty-first century. I'm not saying anything about that though, and then Robby reads my mind, saying, "I don't need to see dad today and then tomorrow morning I'll get a haircut at Tony's Barbershop. Haha, that's where I got my hair cut for most of my life. I mean, before I met you, babe," and he smiles at me. His first smile since his dad's phone call and I get goosebumps on my arms because he just read my mind about the haircut situation. It makes me wonder for a second: 'did I say that haircut thing out loud?' No, I didn't. Weird, but Rob's done that to me a number of times... he reads my mind.

And he's hurrying to do everything although I don't see how ten-minutes one way or another could matter. Robby has a better sense of urgency than me, obviously. He goes, "Fuck it. Whatever else I need I probably have at home anyhow." He looks at me and goes, "I'm sorry, Dylan. Not only was I sick all week and you had to stay in to take care of me, but now this." I go, "Don't worry about me, Robby. I'm just sorry your dad got hurt and you need to do this." We hug and do our first kiss on the mouth in eight days. I feel so bad for him, but I'm sort of proud of him too. He's so responsible and I love him to death. We kiss again and Rob says, "I'll keep you informed, babe. I hope to be back Saturday morning...," and he grins, saying, "And when I get back, you're really gonna get it so prepare yourself for your horny lover," and he pats my ass. I go, "Oh boy!" After walking downstairs with him we have one last quick kiss and then he's off in this crappy weather to do whatever he has to. That's my man!

When I go upstairs and into the apartment, it feels wicked empty without Robby. It feels alien. And what the fuck am I gonna do now? After lying around on the sofa doing nothing I get up and do our laundry reading my book in between cycles of the washing machine and dryer. It makes me feel good doing something that will have Robby smiling when he gets back. He hates doing laundry. When everything is dry and folded and put away, I make myself a hamburger for dinner. If I had to eat alone regularly I'd probably weight a hundred pounds because I hate eating alone. Actually, except for rare instances, I hate doing anything alone. Yes, I need companionship. Some people like being alone whereas I do not! So sue me...

I call my brother who answers his phone for once. Right away I can tell he's sick. He sounds like Robby sounded last week. He says, "Dylan, how ya doing, bro?" I go, "I'm good, Chub. It sounds like you caught the cold virus that's going around campus, huh?" He says, "Dylan, this is the worst cold ever! John has it too but we probably both caught our colds someplace other than Merrimack. I'm pretty sure we caught it from this bitch we picked up Tuesday night at the Holiday Inn bar. She had a room there and, well... you don't wanna know." I go, "Oh, um, you're probably right. I'm sorry you're sick." He goes, "I'm not too sick to help you with whatever you need, Dylan. Um, you called because...?" I go, "Oh, yeah, but it's nothing, Chubby. Um, Rob had to go home to help his dad with something and I thought I could do something with you tonight, but obviously..." He says, "No, I can't even think about leaving this fucking room. But, hey, take the car, bro. Yeah, please use the car, um, even if you don't need it I'll feel better just knowing it's at your disposal."

Haha, he has this unnecessary guilty conscience because I hardly ever drive our car. I never need it because I usually have the pickup... except, hmm why not get it now since Chubby's not using it? I'm like, "That's a good idea, Chub. I don't have anyplace to go at the moment but if something comes up, ya know? Okay, I'll walk over..." He goes, "No! You don't need to walk here. I'm in bed but John's not as bad off as me, so I'm gonna get him to drive over to your place with the car. You drive him back or, heh heh, tell him to walk back. At least you'll have the car if you need it." I'm like, "No, I can walk over and get it. Where's it parked?" I hear him telling John about this errand he has for him, and then I hear John Beverly saying, "No problem, Jeff, and I'll get a pint of bourbon while I'm out. Bourbon is good for colds." Chub's back talking into his phone, saying, "John will be over in a half-hour, Dylan. He needs to pick up something for our colds anyway, so it's a done deal, bro."

Haha, when Rob got sick I went out and bought Tylenol Cold Medicine whereas these two nut-jobs decide to get bourbon... the cold medicine can go fuck itself I guess. I tell him thanks and to get well soon and then we say, "Love you, bro," and end the call. People say, 'hang up' when they end a call, but there's nothing to hang up.

Okay, good though... now I'll have wheels if I need to go someplace. Hmm, yeah, but it means I'll be alone with John Beverly when we're driving back to the campus. I don't feel comfortable with him for some unknown reason. Yeah, he makes me nervous or something.

Less than a half-hour later there's a knock on the door and when I open the door I see a smiling John Beverly. His nose is red and sore-looking. He goes, "Hi, Dylan," and then he gives me an awkward hug. I made it awkward, not John. His voice is husky as he adds, "I don't want to give you this fucked-up cold." I shrug and mutter, "If I didn't catch it from Rob, I'm probably safe or immune or something." He nods and mumbles, "I hope to hell you don't catch it from anyone." I'm like, "Thanks, and dude, it's wicked nice of you to drive the Kia over here for me...thank you. How ya feeling? How's your cold?" He goes, "For some reason, it's not as bad as your brother's. Maybe because I had seconds with that bitch, Sherri... who really knows about colds... haha." Seconds? He couldn't possibly mean... I go, "Oh, I'm glad for you, I think. Um, I still can't believe you drove over here with that bad cold you're dealing with." He says, "For Jeff's brother I'd do a lot more than drive two miles... jeez, Dylan. Um, ya ready to take off?"

I put my coat on and out the door we go. As I'm getting in the passenger seat I see a paper bag on the back seat with more than a pint of bourbon in it. It looks like two six packs and some other stuff, none of which I'm guessing is cold medicine. That's their medicine apparently... beer and bourbon. Well, the common cold is gonna hang around for seven days if you take cold medicine or not so what's the difference? Well, there's a lot of difference actually. Generally speaking, I'm thinking those guys have more fun than Rob and I do. Yeah, Chub and John Beverly are living a more normal college student's irresponsible life, having more fun and apologizing later when necessary.

John says, "Seriously though, your brother came down with his cold a day before me so I actually don't think I caught it from Sherri, although I'll bet Jeff did." Huh, am I supposed to know who Sherri is? John blows his nose into a fresh Kleenex and then says, "Plus, I wasn't making out with her. I had more common sense than to do something like that." I go, "Uh huh." I think I get the disturbing picture of them both having their way with this Sherri person although I don't want to dwell on that picture. And why I think it's disturbing they both fucked some young lady they picked up at a bar, but me getting fucked up my rear end by a stranger isn't disturbing I couldn't begin to tell you.

Pulling up close to dormitory row, the new dormitories, John goes, "Ya know, this is the first time Jeff's let me drive your car; yours and Jeff's. That'll tell you how awful he feels, haha, letting me drive this car instead of him I mean. It rides nice... fucking goofy looking, but it handles great." I say, "Thanks a lot, John. I mean for going to the trouble to bring the car to the apartment," and he says, "I'm happy to do it, Dylan. It's weird maybe, but I'm jealous of how much you mean to your brother." I give him a strange look and he goes, "Um, fuck, haha, I don't mean that like it probably sounded. I meant I'm jealous I don't have a relationship with either of my brothers remotely like you guys have. Forgive me for being corny, but the relationship you two have is a beautiful thing to witness. It makes me feel good." I go, "Gee, thanks. I don't take Chub's love for granted, I can assure you of that." As he's getting out he says, "Christ, don't tell anyone I was that corny, okay? I'm weak with this fucking virus." I say, "No, John, that was nice to hear actually. Chub's and my brotherly love mean the world to me, so I certainly don't think it's corny!" Then I realize I need to get out of the car too.

Jeez, I was taken aback by his initial sincerity. Hopping out and walking around to the driver's side I see John's holding out the key device for me. I'm like, "Oh, I've got my own key, um, thingie. Thanks again John," and he goes to hug me again and this time I make sure it's not awkward, as I'm mumbling, "Get well soon, and tell Chubby the get-well card is in the mail." He gets the paper bag out of the back seat chuckling and saying, "He'll be looking forward to that.. we don't get a lot of mail. See ya, Dylan."

Standing at the driver's side door I'm watching him walk away and then I snap out of it, telling myself... get in the fucking car, dummy, it's cold out here! After getting in I sit here thinking how John's a good guy after all, and why wouldn't he be if he's Chubby's best friend? Except I'm Chubby's best friend. Chubby and I are the best friends and brothers the world has ever seen! Now I've got tears in my eyes because I'm too emotional, but that was so nice of John Beverly to realize how tight Chubby and I are. Well, basically he meant how important I am to Chubby. He couldn't know how much Chubby means to me because he only sees one side of it... Chubby's side. Wiping my eyes I hear the sound of a car's engine start up and at the same time the car's headlights going on. Yeah, I should be driving away too! Get a grip, Dylan...

Terrible weather is helping to spread the 'common cold' and this year the colds seem worse than normal; different virus strain I guess. The weather isn't great to drive in either and the Kia's tires spin on some ice reminding me that the secondary roads are dangerous. Winter sucks! The snow blew back on the roads and froze, especially the roads on campus that don't have the traffic main roads have. I take my time driving back to the apartment and John's right, this Kia Soul is weird looking but it's cool to drive. Huh, Chub never let John drive our car, not until now when he wanted me to have it. That's very thoughtful of him and I only wish I had someplace to go.

Yeah, Pony told me he's bowling with his new friend tonight. Well, I hope this guy is going to be a friend for Pony. Max-something... I think that's his potential friend's name. They're bowling the big balls, not candlepins. Oh man, hopefully, Pony can keep his sarcastic comments down to manageable levels with Max. Nothing I can do about that though. I get out of the car and, jeez, it's wicked cold and as black tonight as black can get. I walk quickly to the front door of our apartment building planning on staying inside the rest of the night. The first thing I need to do in the apartment... turn the thermostat down. I settle on seventy-one degrees and then sit on the sofa and read my book.

Reading sure passes the time. It's much like when you're at the movies in that you forget the 'real' world exists, for a while. anyway. I'm still reading at nine o'clock when Robby calls and brings me back to reality. He tells me he just got back from Boston delivering his dad's financial papers to his accountant and everything went okay. Robby sounds okay too. I mean as far as his voice goes; it's lost that husky sound. He assures me his cold is mostly gone but he gets tired quicker than normal so he's going to bed right after our phone call. He'll be working in the office early tomorrow morning. There's more stuff he needs to do for his dad.

We talk for ten minutes with me telling him about Chubby's cold and how he sent the Kia over with John Beverly so I'll have the car if I need it. Rob's happy to hear that. He tells me how lucky he was finding the place in Boston and about him eating at a restaurant next door to the building he dropped off his dad's papers at, and blah, blah. blah. I like listening to his voice, especially when I can tell he's happy that something he was worried about turned out okay.

I'm just about to say goodnight except I can sense he's stalling. There's something else, but he's hesitating, so I say, "What else, Rob?" He mumbles, "Oh fuck, yeah. Um, babe, I probably need to stay most of Saturday too. Mom needs me to help get dad home from the hospital. He can't even straighten up and..." I go, "Robby, do what you need to do for your parents. They've really been good to both of us." He says, "Thanks, babe"

I won't, but of course, I could ask where the fuck Dodger is? Why isn't he helping? I mean, he's not going to college. Robby mumbles, "If Dodger were here he could help on Saturday but he's in California." Oh! I'm glad I didn't say anything. Wait... did Rob just read my mind again?

When we're saying our goodbyes Rob doesn't get maudlin-sweet like he normally would. That tells me his mom must be hovering around him. I say it instead and I hear a grin in his voice as he says, "Me too." Haha, that was cute. After we end the call, I sit on the sofa holding the phone ginning to myself 'cause I love Robby. Then I shake my head and say out loud, "What the fuck am I doing staying up?" and I go to bed too.

It's not a great night's sleep though and that's because I'm sleeping alone. Yeah, I slept alone on the sofa four or five nights but Rob was in the other room so it was sort of okay. This apartment is so empty-feeling without him in it! Gives me the creeps and I had a weird dream too. I can't remember it, but I remember it was scary/weird.

I'm not especially hungry this morning when I get up after a shitty night's sleep so I only have coffee and then instead of eating I have a smoke. It's too cold outside so I stand next to the sliding glass doors and exhale the smoke out the barely opened doors. Yes, it's another very cold day but the sun is out and that's kinda inviting... and then all of a sudden I remember I'm supposed to meet Connor at ten o'clock in the Quad! Oh, balls! I've been dragging my ass around here since before eight o'clock this morning and now it's almost ten o'clock.

I get dressed quickly thinking it's a very good thing I've got the car. Then, with the hood up on the sweatshirt I'm wearing under my coat, I fire up the Kia and drive to the closest parking lot to the Quad. I'll have another coffee and find out what Connor's been up to. I've seen him four or five times since Christmas break which, of course, Connor spent with Stosh in their apartment. Obviously, Stosh is too old for a spring break vacation. Connor told me they had a nice Christmas with a decorated tree and everything including presents to open Christmas morning, a turkey dinner at a restaurant, and he seemed fine about all of it. Of course, I've rarely heard a discouraging word from Connor so I can't be sure, but he did seem legitimately fine. He's seemed fine about everything the last couple of months actually, and I think that's because Stosh has been traveling quite a bit for his job. What could be better than that?

Inside the Quad, I don't see Connor among all these students, some of whom look old enough to be parents. Jeez, maybe they are someone's parents. Whatever, I walk around until I spot Connor smiling and talking with another guy. Damn, those fucking Army glasses of Connor's really suck! On the plus side, his hair is a sort of buzz cut length now, and it hasn't been skin-head length for a month or two. Connor told me he asked Stosh to lighten up on the skinhead haircuts and Stosh agreed to put an attachment on the clippers and that small adjustment has Connor looking ten times better now. Stosh is loosening up the reins after four months at college and seeing Connor being, um, a good boy. That pains me to say because Connor needing to be a 'good boy' for that asshole... oh man, that infuriates me! Unfortunately, I think that's basically the situation.

I suppose since Connor hasn't rebelled against Stosh's control over him Stosh feels comfortable going away doing his sneaking job of trying to catch insurance claim scam artists. People trying to claim phantom injuries to collect money from their insurance policy. Of course, the person claiming injuries covered by insurance might just be entitled to the money too. It's hard to know who to root for, but it's also not my problem.

Waving my arm I get Connor to look over. He smiles and then says something to the guy he's talking with, they bump fists and Connor works his way through the students to get to the table I'm saving for us. Ya can't always find empty tables in here. We do a routine quick hug saying hello and then he goes, "I was waiting to get coffee until I saw you, Dylan. How's Rob's cold?" Yeah, I told him about Rob's cold when he texted me Tuesday about our meeting today. I tell him about Rob's improvement while we hang our coats on the chairs and then get in line for coffees.

It's nice to see Connor in a very cheerful mood although he's been pretty much this way for a couple of months. We sit down with our coffees and I ask, "So, let me guess... Stosh is out of town again." Connor snort out a chuckle, mumbling, "How'd you guess? Yes, he's been away almost a week. Even when he's here though he's been more, um, like a normal, ah, a normal very bossy individual. Haha, I guess that's the best way to put it. Stosh likes everything his way and he's bossy, but he's getting more flexible and he really isn't the horrible monster you seem to think he is." I mutter, "Whatever gave you the idea I think Stosh is a monster?" He snickers and says, "A wild guess. No, Stosh and I are both benefiting from our relationship; using each other might be another way to describe it " Taking his Merrimack College baseball hat off, he says, "See, I'm allowed to have this buzzed haircut now." Putting his hat back on he chuckles because he knows I considerate it an outrage that he said... 'he's allowed to'. As if it's a privilege Stosh is giving Connor

Maybe it's nothing to Connor but to me, the difference between a half-inch of hair on his head and 'no' hair has moved their relationship a half-inch further away from the BDSM version of a slave/master relationship. No, I don't believe their relationship ever reached that level of awfulness but the further away they get from any similarities to it... good!

Connor squeezes the back of the hand I've got lying on the table as he's saying, "Seriously, Stosh is feeling better about himself which makes everything better for me. I'm okay, Dylan." I go, "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Hey, why don't you and I drive to the new optometrist store on Main Street and get you a new pair of eyeglasses? Then we can take turns stepping on the Army glasses you've been wearing." He goes, "Great, let's do it!" I'm like, "Are you serious? Ya wanna go?" He says, "Yeah, my first class isn't until twelve o'clock and I've got money, plus I have an Army health plan card in my wallet too. The plan will cover half the cost." Well, this is an unexpected development.

It's awesome and I'm excited about the thought of him getting rid of those stupid Army glasses, but it's also interesting what he said about him and that scary-oaf, Stosh, basically using each other. I've never looked at it quite like that. Obviously, Connor is providing Stosh with an awesome-looking and sweetly agreeable companion that under any kind of normal situation would be unavailable to Stosh. Connor benefits because, well first of all the money the Army provides for college isn't sufficient to cover the full-time cost of college, so Stosh providing all their living expenses is what Connor gets out of their relationship. He's told me he gets more out of it than that but on the practical side, it comes down to money. Connor's Army Reserves pay plus the Army's small contribution pays his tuition and Connor gets to save some money for the future as well. Money talks and bullshit... well, ya know.

What I don't know, and don't want to know is how much physical contact there is between Stosh and Connor. I get the sense there's some but not a lot... I hope it's not a lot. And, of course, it's impossible for me to even imagine how hard Connor's life has been for many years, so I'd never judge him no matter what he needs to do to maintain his current life with that, um, person. I know, because Connor told me, he's taking a heavy load of courses plus taking courses through the summer so he'll graduate the year after this one. He told me vaguely what his plans are after that... and they do not include Stosh. When Connor told me that a couple of months ago I got the impression Stosh is aware of this but apparently is of the opinion Connor will change his mind. I'm not of that opinion myself but as long as Stosh is, it's all good and apparently getting better.

Yeah, getting better... like the fact Connor was immediately agreeable to getting new eyeglasses. That tells me a lot. For one thing, he doesn't feel he needs Stosh's okay, which is huge! That indicates he's not sugar-coating the situation and Stosh is finally acting more, um, human of late.

We finish our coffees discussing what kind of frames he should get for his new glasses and should he get prescription sunglasses too. I'm like, "With your beautiful blue eyes, Connor, you need sunglasses." He laughs because I said 'beautiful'. I go on, "Yeah, I know from my own beautiful blue eyes that they're sunlight sensitive and sunglasses are not a luxury so much as a necessity." He chuckles again and then says, "If they don't cost too much, I'll take your advice and get sunglasses too." I go, "The sign I saw in the window of this place said: 'half-off a second pair'. I'm assuming they mean a second pair of glasses and not shoes." He goes, "I think we can make that assumption... let's go." We get up and he adds, "I'm getting excited about this. Thanks for suggesting it, Dylan!"

Oh man, he's excited. Almost as excited as I am. Connor puts his backpack in the back seat and we drive toward downtown North Andover. It's not far to the center of town from Merrimack. As I drive Connor tells me about the health plan he's enrolled in through the Army Reserves... it's called TRICARE. Awesome!

The optometrist store has only been opened a month and when we go inside we only need to wait ten minutes before a woman customer comes out from the back, gets her coat and leaves. I say to Connor, "I hope that was a customer and not the optometrist," and he laughs out loud. Obviously, he must be starved for humor if he found that so funny.

Two minutes later the lady optometrist comes out and asks, "Can I help you, boys?" Connor gets up and goes over to sit in front of her desk and they start the process. Massachusetts has a law, shocking but true, that you can't get new eyeglasses unless you have an eye exam first. Well, if I'm hearing her correctly, you need an eye exam within two years of purchasing new eyewear. Whatever... they both disappear through a door to work it out. I'm stupidly happy about this! Probably happier than Connor, who appears to be doing this partially to make me happy. He's not used to doing anything just for himself.

After his eye exam, he tells me, "My prescription changed, Dylan. This was a good idea you had!" When the optometrist, and she appears to be not only in charge of exams but the receptionist and salesperson for the glasses as well, sits she motions Connor to come over to sit at her desk again. She says, "Okay, Connor, let try to find the right frames for you." He tries on a number of frames trying to decide what to buy. To be more accurate, it's me who he wants to choose the new frame because every new frame he tries on he turns to ask me, "How about this one, Dylan? Whaddaya think?" I nod my head or shrug depending on if I like the frame he's trying on, or not. The optometrist likes every frame Connor tries on. She's like waiters in restaurants when someone orders wine. The waiter nods his head and smiles as though the diner just ordered the absolutely perfect wine when, of course, the waiter couldn't possibly care less.

We finally decide on a round thin black-framed pair of glasses that I think make Connor look like an intellectual although he isn't. Connor has average intelligence, but why not look smart, ya know? He actually looks eatable in those eyeglasses. Some guys, not a lot, but some guys actually look better with eyeglasses and I think Connor's one of them. I'm surprised I said that because Connor is very good-looking. Not so much with those clunky Army glasses though. As the optometrist is filling out paperwork with Connor's health plan card, I say, "Sunglasses, Connor," and he goes, "Oh yeah! Should I get the same frames?" Shaking my head, I get up and walk over to the display of maybe a hundred frames. We choose a pair of slightly larger and oval-shaped frames. No, they're not oval, they're not square either, but... oh fuck trying to describe them. They look normal for sunglasses... and cool on Connor.

The optometrist is also the technician apparently because she says Connor's prescription is in stock and she'll have his glasses ready in an hour! Holy shit! This ain't gonna happen when her business picks up, but so what... this is the here and now. As we leave I can tell Connor's trying not to show it, but he's excited to get his new glasses. Oh God, that makes me feel so fucking good!

We have time to go back to the Quad for another coffee and later we'll pick up his glasses and he'll wear them to his first class today. This is a great way to spend this morning! During the short ride back to Merrimack Connor gets very quiet. I look over I see him wiping his eyes so I ask, "What's wrong, Connor?" Shaking his head, and then two seconds later he just lets it out and cries silently. Oh fuck, What'd I do now? Is he worried he's in trouble with that asshole Stosh? Have I butted into someone's life again and made things worse? Goddammit!

I let him cry because I don't know what else to do. As I'm parking near the Quad Connor's gets himself under control. He looks at me and says, "This is about the hundredth time I've thought this, Dylan, but nobody in my whole life has ever cared about me but you and then for a few months the restaurant man who died. Nobody cared about me for my sake I mean... not like you do. Stosh cares about me for his sake, not mine." He starts filling up again as he mumbles, "Thank you."

Now I'm just about crying too because that's what I do. I cry when another guy is crying for, um, whatever reason. It takes a lot for a guy to cry or at least it does for most guys, and I guess I wanna support them by crying along with them.

We're both wiping our eyes as I mutter, "That's a sad thing to hear, Connor. It's their loss though 'cause they're missing out being friends with one the most honorable, bravest, and nicest guys I've ever had the privilege to call my friend." He's shaking his head again with big clear teardrops rolling down his cheeks. I could have added 'one of the best-looking friends' I've ever known too, but it doesn't seem appropriate to include that now. Yes, his attractiveness was what first made me notice him, I admit that, but very quickly it was everything else about him I came to admire and love.

Getting it together finally, Connor laughs and says, "Wow, that wasn't too cool. Omigod, I could give a seminar on how to make an ass of myself. Sorry." I say, "I didn't hold up all that well myself. Let's keep this little episode to ourselves." He snickers, mumbling, "Who would I tell?" Walking from the car, he holds my arm to stop us and says seriously, "Thank you, Dylan. You know I love you and always will." We do a quick hug as I say, "Sure, thanks, Connor. Me too," and we go into the Quad without speaking any more about our little breakdown.

Not wanting another coffee, I get a Coke that I don't want either. Connor gets another black coffee and we talk about how we're doing so far this semester with our grades and then I tell him about Rob's dad. He goes, "Oh, that's too bad! Back problems can be a bitch," and then he goes, "Oh, so Rob's got the pickup which is why you're driving, um, I don't even know what kind of car that is you're driving. I keep wanting, and then forgetting to ask when you got that cool car?" I tell him and eventually we go to pick up his new glasses.

Walking out of the optometrist place wearing his new sunglasses, Connor goes, "Jesus! Everything looks so crisp! Omigod, those old glasses weren't cutting it, Dylan. I got used to seeing things sort of blurry. This is awesome!" and he changes glasses to try his new clear glasses, murmuring, "Amazing..."

Okay, he's legitimately excited now and he looks so much better I could cry... again. I give him a hug and it turns into us both hugging so hard we're taking little steps sort of snickering at ourselves but feeling great. We stop doing that when we bump into a man trying to get by us on the sidewalk. Connor says, "Excuse us, Sir... sorry," as we let go of one another.

When we're in the Kia, Connor puts his clear glasses back in the spiffy case they came in and puts the sunglasses back on, saying, "I've never had prescription sunglasses before. I can't get over how good these new glasses make me feel." Then he looks at me and says, "We can't take turns stepping on my old glasses though. Sorry, but I'll keep them for emergencies like if my new glasses get stepped on by Stosh." I look at him and he laughs, saying, "I'm kidding you, Dylan! Haha! No, Stosh won't care that I got new glasses. We have a better arrangement now. No problem." I believe him too.

As soon as we're back on campus, I drive Connor to the Peller Building near the new dormitories. That's where his class is, and then we do a sort of hug over the gear shift as he says, "I never know how to tell you how much you mean to me, Dylan. Thank you again," and as he gets out, I say, "Text me about our next coffee break, okay?" He waves and says, "Definitely," and then he adds, "I love my new glasses." Three or four students look over when Connor said that, but the nosey bastards only look at us for a second. As I drive away I'm thinking that I haven't felt this good about anything for a while. I can't explain how good it is seeing Connor in those cool-looking glasses... he looks so fucking good and it makes me feel wonderful. It's almost surreal how happy I am for him.

Oh man, I loved that! Whew, well it's getting to be lunchtime and now I do have an appetite. I'll make lunch for myself back at the apartment though because I don't like eating 'out' alone. As I'm eating an Italian sausage sandwich on a sub roll with fried onions and peppers, Robby calls. He's eating lunch at Wendy's restaurants near the office. He doesn't mind eating alone. Is it a confident issue with me? I really don't know, but I can't believe I'm the only one who feels self-conscious eating alone in a restaurant!

Anyway, Rob confirms he's staying overnight. He feels he needs to help get his dad home from the hospital tomorrow and he thinks his mom will still need him after that so he'll probably stay Saturday night as well. He begins apologizing again about us missing this weekend together but I interrupt to tell him he's doing the right thing. And again I offer to come home to keep him company but he reaffirms he'd feel guilty if I did that. He'll be working the rest of today, plus there are things he needs to help his mom with tomorrow in addition to getting his dad home. They need to rent a special bed of some kind and some other things. What he doesn't say, but I understand is I'd basically just be in the way more than helping. He has things he needs to do and with me being there it would actually complicate matters somewhat. I get it!

We take turns talking while eating. I tell him all about Connor's new glasses and blah, blah, blah. Rob seems sincerely happy for him not only about the new glasses but also the improved living circumstances with the hard-ass Stosh. He, Rob, doesn't know Connor except through me and then a little more because Connor joined the Army with Dodger, but he and Connor never formed much of a bond. So, I know Rob's mostly happy because I'm happy about the improved circumstances for Connor.

We talk for twenty minutes and then do our maudlin 'I love you and miss you' routine. It's sincere but overdone considering we're only an hour's drive apart and will be separated for less than three days. Still, we like saying those things, and we mean what we say too. When we end the call I have this nice warm feeling in my heart for Robby. He's doing what he needs to for his parents.

Ya know, it occurs to me then that there's an age a child reaches when the parents feel they 'need' him to help with, um, whatever. It's like they definitely need him to help with something, but it the 'something' happened when their son was younger the parents would handle the situation themselves without thinking twice about it. Maybe the parents expect a little payback from their investment in the boy... if you know what I mean. No harm to it, it's just life.

We had a nice conversation though, and the sausage sub I cooked was better than I'd get at a sub shop and, as I said, after talking with Robby I feel warm in my heart for him and I'm proud of what he's doing, plus I did a good deed with Connor this morning and, all and all, I feel great! Then I remember Chubby's sick in his dorm room. He's probably hungover too so I get this grand idea to do something incredibly corny: I'll make a big batch of chicken soup to take to him... for him and John Beverly, who's sick too.

The idea makes me laugh at myself for thinking of something so un-college-like and yet I feel good about doing it too. The idea percolates until I know I'm going to do it! Yeah, why not? I have a quart can of low sodium chicken stock in the pantry that I'll use instead of water. First I defrost and then brown off four chicken legs and thighs. Brown them good in a heavy skillet until lots of fond forms on the bottom of the pan. "Fond' are the brown bits of flavor from browning meats or vegetables in olive oil. When the chicken is browned, but not cooked through, I take it all out and put sliced carrots, celery, and onion in the pot to brown lightly. Those three items are known as a French 'mirepoix'. A mirepoix is always the start of stock whether it's chicken stock, beef stock, vegetable stock, or whatever type stock you're making.

When the vegetables are getting some brown color on then I add a smashed garlic clove and brown that slightly for a minute. Never burn the garlic or you'll be sorry 'cause it'll be bitter. Dumping vegetables out of the pot and into the big bowl the chicken is in, I add the canned chicken stock and begin scraping the bits of 'fond' from the bottom of the pan until they all dissolve into the canned stock increasing the flavor significantly, The vegetables and chicken go back in the pot and everything simmers for an hour which will obviously add more flavor to the broth. Looking in the pantry I see another fourteen ounces can of chicken stock so I add that to the pot because when you're sick... the broth is the best part. At least I think it is.

What else could I take over to the sick boys? Hmm, looking in the freezer I see frozen dinner rolls, the soft ones. I defrost them in the microwave, cut them in half sideways and add butter and a little dash of garlic powder. I'll bake them for a while just before taking the soup to Chub's dorm so the rolls will have a slightly crispy top with the melted garlic-butter inside. All of a sudden I get a thought that makes me laugh out loud. It's this: when I get there, feeling kinda geeky carrying all this stuff while knocking on Chub's door, some guy in the dormitory hall will tell me Chub and John are at Rolf's Bar getting hammered... hahaha!

While the soup is simmering I look through all the stuff Rob and I brought with us from home because I remember seeing Robby carrying a two-quart thermos that I questioned him about, asking... what the fuck are we gonna do with that? Now I'm looking for the damn thing! It's not in the apartment though. Finally, I look in our little storage area in the basement and find it in there. Carrying it upstairs I'm thinking... good for you Robby! Be prepared, that's Rob's motto and he wasn't ever a Boy Scout!

I preheat the oven and then it occurs to me that I should probably call Chubby. Ya know, to be sure he isn't at some bar. With those two party animals ya just never know. But, no! That would give it away a little and I want it to be a complete surprise. It's likely this is the first time in the annals of college life chicken soup has been taken to a sick guy in a dorm by his brother. So, no phone call... I'll take my chances.

Letting the soup continue simmering I spend some time wetting and combing my hair in different ways because now that my hair grew out to like an inch to an inch and a half I can comb it. I'm considering going with a short preppy look for my next haircut, but not exactly like Robby's. I'm trying to find a way to do that but nothing is working so I abandon that project making myself laugh again because ...who am I kidding? I'll need to get past Danny's idea of what hairstyle I should have before I can change it. Sort of like Connor and Stosh although Danny's not a Neanderthal, so it is a little different... haha.

After putting the rolls in the oven, I use a slotted spoon to remove all the vegetables and chicken from the pot. They go back in the big bowl. Now I can pour the stock into the grease-separator and then the de-greased stock goes back in the pot. Next, I take the chicken skin off the six pieces of chicken, burning my fingers in the process... fuck! Then, using two forks, I shred the chicken, discarding anything that doesn't look like chicken meat. There's some strange shit as part of chicken legs and that all goes in the trash along with the skin. Yeah, I browned the skin and now I'm throwing it out. The browning was to create the fond. After simmering in the broth though, the skin is now wicked soggy and not good to eat. I don't think it is anyway.

As all good chefs do, I taste the stock and, yes, it needs some salt, but wait! First I need to add noodles. I read somewhere that salt makes noodles tough, although a tough noodle... is that an oxymoron? Looking in the pantry again I see the only noodles we have are Pennsylvania Dutch Homestyle egg noodles. The thin ones. Huh, I wonder why I bought those? Anyway, I put a handful into the simmering stock and cook them before adding the shredded chicken and vegetables back in the pot to reheat them.

Getting the rolls out of the oven I wrap them in a tea towel because I saw someone do that in a movie once. The soup I carefully pour into the two-quart thermos and then there are about ten ounces left over. Sweet! I pour it into a soup bowl and cover with plastic wrap to have later tonight myself. While putting my coat on it occurs to me the guys live in a dorm room so the chance they'll have soup bowls and soup spoons is nonexistent. No shit! Okay, I get two bowls and two soup spoons, the round kind, and put them with everything else.

Hmmm, they've got beer and bourbon but do they have Cokes and bottled water? I'm guessing they don't. I get four cans of Coke and two bottles of water from the refrigerator and set them on the table next to everything else. Jesus, how am I gonna carry all this shit? I go back down to the storage area in the basement where I find a Styrofoam cooler that should hold everything. A cooler keeps things hot too, right? I don't know actually.

By now I'm beginning to let the thought creep into my head that I wish I'd never started this little act of kindness, but I'm so close to finishing it I get my second wind. It seemed so simple at first, ya know... take soup to a sick brother. At the last second, I put Rob's half-full container of Tylenol Cold Medicine on the table with everything else.

Okay, I fit everything in the Styrofoam cooler and then the lip fits too. Zipping up my coat and putting on a knit hat and leather gloves, I pick up the cooler and, praying I don't see my buxom next door neighbor, I open the door and peek out. The coast is clear so I'm on my way. At the car, the cooler goes on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and I'm off.

Except for some maniac going through a red light and almost t-boning me as I drive onto Route 114, the short trip to the parking lot on campus is flawless. I even get a close parking spot. Lifting the cooler out of the car I'm thinking... so far, so good. As I'm carrying the cooler inside the dormitory's front door I snort out another laugh knowing Chubby and John Beverly will be out whooping it up somewhere, and what the fuck will I do then? Eat chicken soup all weekend for breakfast, lunch, and dinner I guess.

My latest concern as I'm walking down the corridor to Chub's room is: will one of them even get out of bed to open the door when I knock? Again I snort out a chuckle thinking how stupid I'll look. Hell, I already look pretty dumb carrying a cooler in this freezing weather. I pass a couple of guys in the hall who mutter something about what room's the party at? I just snicker and mutter, "Wassup?"

I'm at Chub's door kicking it with my foot and three seconds later John Beverly opens it. He looks surprised, saying, "Dylan!" and then, "Whassup, dude? C'mon in." He looks worse than he did earlier and there's Chubby in bed wearing a sweatshirt hoodie with the hood up. Good grief, he's looking sicker than John Beverly. Chub says, "Hi, bro. What do you have in the cooler?" I hold up the cooler, saying brightly, "I thought you guys might want to go on a picnic. It's cold out there but we could get hand warmers." He starts to laugh but coughs instead. I turn away pretending to look for a spot to put the cooler. I'd rather not see the disgusting substance he hacked into a Kleenex. John mutters, "Gross," and gets back in bed. He's wearing pajamas with little ducks all over them.

Putting the cooler on the desk, I say, "In the cooler there's homemade hot chicken noodle soup, soft buttered rolls, bottled water, and cold Cokes plus cold medicine. Do you want some?" Chubby says, "God, yes. We haven't eaten since... um, when did we last have something to eat, John?" John goes, "We had MilkyWay bars this morning and Brucker brought us cups of coffee from the dining hall." Chub nods his head, muttering, "Yeah, what John said." I go, "Well, I brought bowls and spoons so I'll serve you some soup and maybe you'll like it." Chub goes, "Jesus, yes. You say you make the soup, bro?" I go, "Yes, just finished making it," and I pour some soup in a bowl as Chubby sits up getting the pillow behind him and then he pulls his closed laptop onto his lap to use as a little table.

I take an undershirt from one of the open bureau drawers and put it on the laptop, and then carry the soup over and set it down along with a can of Coke and two rolls. The soup is still steaming hot but Chub starts right in by blowing on a spoonful and then swallowing it, saying, "Christ, that feels good on my sore throat... oh fuck yeah!" After doing the same for John, who has a large book he's using as a little table, I sit on the desk chair and watch then eat. They don't look up or say anything until their bowls are empty. Chub goes, "Anymore, bro? That was fantastic." He sounds more horse than Robby did on his worst days. Walking over, I feel Chub's forehead... he doesn't feel hot. Good... no fever is a very good thing!

There's plenty more soup and both guys eat the second bowl slower than the first as they're dipping the rolls in the broth and drinking Coke. Neither of them slurps the soup... well, there is some slurping because it's still quite hot. Their slurping doesn't annoy me though. Strangers slurping, well that's a whole other story. There's enough soup for another half a bowl each, their third, along with the last of the rolls and the second can of Coke each. With the Cokes, I give them each a cold medicine tablet and they swallow it without a word. These two are better patients than my roommate and lover ever was.

They both sit back as I collect their bowls and spoons. Huh, I didn't actually expect to ever see those bowls again but then I didn't think I'd be staying while they ate. It obviously worked better with me serving them though, so I stayed. Lying back down, Chubby says, "I hardly know what to say, Dylan. I'm not surprised about this because nothing nice you do ever surprise me, but that was an extraordinarily unexpected nice thing to do. Thanks, bro." John goes, "It was a delicious life-saver, Dylan. Seriously, thanks, man!"

When the empty bowls and spoons are back in the cooler, I say, "You're both welcome. I'll check in with you guys tomorrow to see what you need. Um, Chub do you have your cell phone nearby?" He reaches over and takes it off the bedside table. Holding it up, he says, "It's charged too." Oh fuck, both their voices are painful to listen to them." Nodding, I say, " I'll text before coming over to be sure I won't be waking you. What else can I do for you now?" Chub says, "I can't think of anything, bro. If I do, I'll text you. I'm going to try sleeping some more now." Gee, neither of them asked for a shot of bourbon.

Picking up the cooler, I say, "Okay, feel better soon. I'll check with you tomorrow." As I leave they both croak out, "Thank you." Jesus, I think I actually saw germs floating around in that fucking room... big as mosquitoes! I can't believe I didn't catch Rob's cold, and in there I tried not to touch anything I didn't bring with me. I'm using that hand sanitizer when I get back to the apartment. This particular cold virus that's going around is a bitch!

Driving back I'm wondering why I don't feel better and I think it's because they both seem so fucking weak and sick. I missed Chub's bantering and funny remarks. It's scary to see him that ill, but it's just a cold... right? Yeah, it is. Robby was looking weak and really sick for a few days too. I saw a half dozen empty beer cans in and around the little desk trash can in their room and the bourbon bottle was on the desk but there wasn't much out of it. I guess they wised-up after a few beers. Huh, maybe they don't have more fun than me. No, they definitely do.

Back at the apartment, I put the bowls and spoons in the dishwasher, clean the thermos by hand and then wash my hands with the antibacterial soap and after drying them, rub hand sanitizer on both. Am I overdoing it? So what!

It's four o'clock Friday afternoon and there's nothing else I can think of that I need to do. I'm soon fucking bored again so I text Pony to see what he's up to. He texts back that he and his friend, Max Kellerman, are gonna meet at the dining hall at five-thirty and after that see a movie at the Metheum Mall. Awesome for them! He asks if I wanna go to the movies with them and I tell him no thanks but that I'll probably see him tomorrow at Danny's barbershop. He's gonna introduce Max to Danny. Yeah, Max needs a haircut... especially a free one. Anyway, I wouldn't even think of being a third wheel at the movies with those two. Holy shit, a movie sounds like a date. I'm so happy for Pony.

Lying on the sofa again, I've got my book out but I'm not reading it. I'm trying to think of something that's just at the back of my mind, and then... ah ha! I was thinking about seeing Pony and Max tomorrow at Danny's barbershop. Yes...it's Danny that's at the back of my mind! Why haven't I texted him? Well, because he never texts me, but screw that. Hmm, I started telling him how I think he's a special friend at the Knights of Columbus thing and he was so impressed with that he left me to go off yucking it up with his teammates. I didn't see him the rest of the night for more than five minutes. So does that mean I'm not going to text him? No, it does not mean that.

I need to finish making sure he knows I appreciate our special buddy sex and that I don't take our friendship for granted. Now that I'm almost positive he's not fucking Tom Brooker, I still want to do what I said I was going to do when I did think he was fucking Tom Brooker. I realize now I was overly dramatic thinking Danny was replacing me with Tom. I let my imagination get out of hand with that nonsense, but the fact remains that Danny could replace me easily if he decided to. Ya know, if he got one of his whims that Robby told me about. I want to discourage Danny from doing that even though I don't actually think he has the slightest intention of it. Omigod, I'm talking myself into twisted circles like a corkscrew. Jesus!

Now I've got my cell phone is in my hand as I lie here on the sofa trying to think of just the right thing to say to Danny. No one appreciates 'needy' people so I don't want to be needy even though in a way I am! I mean, screwing Pony yesterday was the only sex I've had in over a week so I am needy. I just don't want to come across that way, while at the same time I'm on a mission to let him know how special of a buddy sex buddy he is. Hmm, how the hell do I do that and not appear needy?

My hand is getting sweaty holding this fucking phone and, oh fuck it, the smart thing to do is wait until tomorrow and do what Danny said last week... get to his dorm room early for my haircut. Yeah, but it's been so long since I've gotten a Saturday haircut I don't know what time he starts. I could be knocking on his door when he and Specks are still sleeping. Or will Specks have already left for a weekend at home? See... I don't know shit about the Saturday routine! How would I when I'm Danny's Sunday routine. Not routine, I mean, um...

Wait a second, dummy! That's what you can call Danny about. Ask him what time he meant by 'early'? And be casual about it too. Yeah, don't ask as if you really care. It should be more like something casually I was sort of wondering about... not that it matters, you understand... it's no big deal... I was just wondering. Yeah, like that. Ask as if... oh man, Danny, this is a bit of a pain in the ass to bother you with but, ho-hum, I hate needing to ask something this mundane, but...

Yeah, ya know like I'm being a good sport about being dumped from the special treatment of getting basically private haircuts on Sundays. Hmm, that sounds sort of snarky though. Just be conversational, like... hey, Danny, what's up with the Saturday haircuts? No, that's too creepily phony sounding. Fuck!

What to do? I put my phone on my chest and run my fingers through my hair. Yeah, and what kind of haircut should I attempt suggesting to Danny without offending him about the two haircut styles he's come up with for me? Haha! I'm as bad as Connor with this haircut shit. Then my cell phone rings and I jump a foot off the sofa. Well, not a foot but it startled the shit out of me. Picking it up I see it's Danny calling.

Why am I nervous? I don't know, but I say way too loudly, "Danny! Hi! Um, I was just about to call you." Nothing from him so I add, speaking in a more normal voice, "Ah, ya know, you said I should be there early tomorrow so what time would that be... what time is early?"

Can I believe this? I hear him talking to someone he's with. Something I can't make out. He's probably holding the phone against his chest or something. Who the fuck calls someone and then talks to someone else? Who does that? And then he says, "Hey, Dylan, you there?" I go, 'Yeah..." and he asks, "Well, whassup, dude?" Oh, he didn't hear any of my earlier nervous blather. I say, "Not much. Wha'sup with you?" Omigod, that was perfect! I didn't sound needy at all. Yeah, I sounded annoyed, which isn't exactly what I want to convey, but...

He's talking to someone else again, and then he asks, "Do you and Rod wanna play poker tonight? Dino the wop is getting a game going in his room. I'm not sure what kinda money they're talking about yet, but it's cold as a witch's tit outside so I'm staying in tonight." Cards? Poker? I go, "Nah, I suck at poker and Rob's at home. His dad slipped on..." but Danny's laughing his nuts off and there are other guys laughing too. Oh, Jesus, how rude is that?

Danny goes, "What was that?" Fuck this! I put some energy into saying, "I said, no! No, I don't want to fucking play cards tonight!" Silence for a second and then, "What's wrong, Dylan?" Taking a deep breath I all of a sudden don't want to do anything. I mutter, "Nothing. Thanks for thinking of me but, no, I don't want to play poker. Have a good time." He goes, "Let me talk to Rob. You don't sound right." I mumble, "He's not here. I tried to tell you that his father slipped on ice and hurt his back. He's in the hospital and Rob went home Thursday after class to help do, um, whatever he can to help."

Another two seconds of silence Danny goes, "Are you telling me you've been there since yesterday afternoon alone in the apartment?" I mutter, "Basically, yeah. That's part of what I was trying to tell you, um, but mostly it's about Rob's dad being hurt and Rob helping at home." Danny sounds incredulous, saying, "And you didn't call me? Um, why is that?" I go, "I don't know, Danny." Two more seconds of silence and then he goes, "Come pick me up right now. I'll be outside in the parking lot," and he ends the call. I hold the phone up and look at it, saying out loud, "Fuck... that went pretty well."

Sitting up on the sofa I'm thinking: Do I just say, 'oh, okay', and do what I'm told? Well, I can't very well let him stand out there in the cold! Jeez, I'm rubbing my dick as I get up and go over to put my coat on. God, I hate myself that I absolutely loved the way Danny did that! Holy shit, he has a power over me. He's so cool. Rob's way too nice to say something like... 'pick me up right now!' and then end his call.

Pulling on my gloves I'm thinking: Yeah, it must be I'm so horny, plus I have this ginormous 'thing' for Danny that it just about gave me a hard-on the way he said that. There is no hesitation in that boy! What must that be like? Ya know, to be able to immediately make a decision... do this! I'm rubbing my junk going downstairs to the front door of the apartment building. I thought it was wicked cool of Danny, but I've gotta act quite differently when I pick him up. I need to be like: where do you get off telling me what to do? Like that, and tell him I only came so he wouldn't freeze his ass off out there in the parking lot.

Hmm, driving across Route 114 I'm thinking I don't want to be a dick about it either. Maybe it'd be better to treat it like a joke, saying something like... I got here as fast as I could, Sir.' Sarcastic, that's what I should be... sarcastic. Driving onto the campus I decide it should be a combination of sarcasm and me being pissed-off that he thinks he can tell me what to do. Wait a second though! What about my plan to let Danny know how much he means to me? How am I gonna fit that in between, um, sarcasm and pissed-off?

Ha, there he is. He's actually standing there in the parking lot with his backpack on, steam from the cold and humidity coming with his every exhale. He waves and smiles as I drive down the road to dormitory row. Christ, Where'd he get that Russian hat he's wearing? Haha!

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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