Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 49

by Donny Mumford

Pony's walking back to his dorm so I drive the few blocks to the ballpark. There are guys milling around near the front entrance but Rob's not one of them. No problem, I sit in the idling pickup next to the sign that reads "No Vehicles Allowed', but this is conveniently near where Rob will exit the building, so...

Damn, I can't help grinning 'cause that was a fun sexy time with Pony. I like topping that boy although, oddly, I'm not interested in doing it with Robby, and then there's no decision to be made about doing it with Danny because he won't 'bottom' for anyone. So forget those two, but it'd be kinda cool if I knew a second 'bottom' buddy. Haha, ya know, for rectum-comparison, if for no other reason. Haha, rectum comparison... Unfortunately, I can't think of who the second 'bottom-buddy' would be.

Oh, here comes Robby. He's walking with a couple of teammates, both of whom I remember seeing in games last year. I'm pretty sure the guy with the ski slope nose and girlish long hair is the first baseman. His name is Bob, um, something. Oh, look at that... isn't that lovely! Bob-something just pushed one nostril closed with a finger, bent forward and deliberately blew boogers onto the ground from his other nostril. Yep, a classy move and now his boogers are lying on top of the leftover snow along with the other dirt. Gee, I hope none of that discharge got caught in that long hair that hung over his shoulder when bent over. That'd be a shame.

Un huh, and now he's exaggeratingly dragging his arm across his nose to get leftover snot while the two jocks with him think nothing of it. Gawd, that's disgusting! Bob-something isn't alone with that move though. Nope, all jocks seem to love doing that! The other teammate with Robby, the scarecrow-looking guy, is named Battles. I don't know if that's his last name or a nickname, not that it matters.

Well, it's good to see Robby laughing about whatever it was ski-nose said. Apparently today's short informal practice was a good one and I know it's a load off Rob's mind that Coach Davis is sort of okay with the six practices he's gonna miss while we're back home helping out. Those trips home the next two weekends will likely be ginormous pains in the ass, not that I'm complaining. No, the Dickers have treated me wonderfully and I'm glad to help out.

Robby gets in the passenger seat and pats my shoulder, saying, "Hey, Dylan, how's it going, babe?" Wow, he's in a good mood! As I'm backing the truck up, I'm like, "Didn't you notice your teammate blowing his nose on the ground?" Robby frowns, "What?" and I mutter, "Oh, nothing."

What's the use? Jocks are slobs. Christ, they adopt these gross habits at an early age from watching their heroes on TV, and then they emulate them. It's a never-ending cycle of gross behavior; things like chewing tobacco and spitting the shitty brown juice everywhere and, well, constantly spitting for no reason other than they think they're supposed to spit every five seconds, and they love groping their junk in front of the crowds at games, plus they give not a thought to picking their nose, and other behavior more appropriate for cavemen, or barn animals. Can you imagine a professor doing that nose blowing thing in class? Blowing his nose into a wastebasket maybe, some of it spattering off the rim of the wastebasket spraying students in the first row.

Most of the time I try ignoring inappropriate behavior like that but when it's right in my face, ya know, ten feet away like what Bob-something did it's impossible to ignore. I had to cringe and turn my head away. For the most part though, as sports fans, we've become numb to it. Imagine what non-sports fans think of it.

Robby asks, "What's wrong, babe? Why the sour expression?" I give him a big fake smile, asking, "What sour expression?" Moving past that, he goes, "Oh man, guys are psyched about the start of organized practice this Wednesday. Someone said the weather is supposed to reach fifty-five degrees in the afternoon! After all the snow we've had you won't believe how awesome the grounds' crew prepared the ballpark. Sometimes the outfield gets neglected, but this year..."

He goes on excitedly but I tune him out. It's great Rob's excited, and I'm happy for him, but I'm not invested in it enough to be interested in every fucking detail of the outfield grass. TMI, dude! Too much information. Honestly though, I wish I had something besides sex to get as excited about as Rob is about baseball... that'd be cool. Well, I do have my fucked-up haircut fetish. Oh, Jesus, that's a sick comparison to baseball.

Before dinner, Rob wants to review the work for tomorrow's class. The work I did last Thursday after he left for home. We spend time on that and then Rob helps with the dinner prep and then we stay in after dinner, just the two of us for a change. Then, in bed, we have rough and tumble fun sex before collapsing into a good night's sleep. Nothing especially unusual happens for the rest of the week. Well, there was a pop quiz in the Ethics class that was no problem and, of course, the normal amounts of study and other shit we need to do for the next day's classes, meaning our little study group with Rob helping Carl.

The big deal of this week was Rob's first official day of baseball practice on Wednesday. Then, afterward, he was down in the dumps a little because he needs to miss the next three days of practice. I tried commiserating with him without much success so I called Chubby and got him and John Beverley to have dinner with us Wednesday night. They're both almost completely over their colds and when Chubby's energetic and funny he cannot be ignored, which got Rob's mind off missing the upcoming baseball practices. We drank beers and played Pinochle after dinner staying up too late, but it was fun.

The day before that, um, Tuesday, Robby went to the ballpark and I was kinda looking forward to reading my book, which is getting really good. I'd just got the book out when Danny called. He told me to pick him up, which surprised me because seeing Danny on a Tuesday is rare, plus there's that informal practice Tuesday. I was happy to pick him up though and when we came back to the apartment, without much foreplay, he fucked my brains out in the living room with both of us standing in front of the balcony's sliding glass doors.

I guess it was sort of an emergency ad hoc fuck for him. Spur of the moment type thing. Anyway, he pulled my pants down just below my butt cheeks, his out through the fly of his cargo jeans and... oh man, what an awesome extemporaneous fuck that was, Jesus! Just awesome! My climax hit the sliding glass doors that were like four feet in front of us. If the sliding glass doors were open my cum shot might have hit the parking lot on the other side of the barren trees between us and the strip mall.

I was dizzy from that fantastic climax so I was in a bit of a fog as I heard Danny mutter, "Sorry, I forgot to do this," and he spanked my bare ass until I was trying to get away from his swinging arm and spanking hand. Fuck, he kept pulling me back with the arm he had around my waist until I finally just stood in place because I get like that with seriously dominant displays like Danny's. The brain doesn't try making sense of it. It just lets my submissive tendencies rule and, man oh man, did he ever give my ass a spanking.

It hurt like a motherfucker, but in a sexy way and I had a boner like a steel pipe. Even so, enough is enough and when it went on too long, my ass stinging and burning and red, my survival instincts took over and I started yelling, "Are you out of your fucking mind? Stop it!" But, Christ, that boner I had! He doesn't usually spank me like that but I guess last Tuesday he just felt like it. The crazy urges ya get, ya know?

When he finally stopped I was rubbing my ass, really pissed off at him. I guess mostly I was a little humiliated because my eyes were stinging and if a tear rolled out I'd have died of embarrassment. He saw it though and grinned. What a prick... heh heh. He chuckled and rubbed my head telling me, "You're not hurt. Shake it off." That's a typical jock response. I'm surprised he didn't tell me to rub some dirt on it.

I shrugged away from him, so he got indignant, saying, "Hey, you needed that spanking! I actually don't do it enough 'cause I'm lazy." I pouted a little so he made a 'face' and in that cool friendly way he has, he told me, "Okay, get over here, I'm sorry." Frowning, I walked back to him because I had that case of submissiveness going for me by then. I can't control that shit, not when Danny's on a roll like he was. We hugged and then to be a bigger prick he patted my ass and snickered when my body stiffened.

Eventually, everything was cool and when he turned me around I was resigned to putting up with getting spanked some more but, no, instead Danny's wooden cock went right up my smacked ass with me bending over gasping and having trouble catching my breath. Oh man, I was so turned on by him that afternoon! Holy shit, I couldn't stop shaking as he fucked me for maybe ten minutes with me going, "Ump, ump, ump," my cock so hard it felt like it was trying to pull away from my body. We both finally had another couple of cum shots, flying strings of cum anybody would be proud of. After that, I was a puddle of limpness but definitely sexually satisfied for the moment.

Danny was snickering again, asking me, "Well, how'd you like that random sex? Hey, have you ever just absolutely NEEDED to fuck a cute guy and then spank his cute ass until he cried? Haha, that's the humongous urge that came over me after last class. I thought, fuck it, I'll go to the ballpark a few minutes late. First I need to give my boyfriend a good hard spanking and then an equally hard fucking. Okay, so I got the order mixed up but I remembered to do both." I had a bunch of Kleenex at my asshole because there was a small river of cum drooling out. My submissive trance was gone by then so I just gave him a 'look'.

Danny was like, "Ah, c' mon, Dylan! This was hot, wasn't it? You're okay, right? Come here baby," and he hugged and kissed me until I felt like a little kid. Danny is so fucking cool! So, that was something noteworthy that happened on Tuesday. I only wish to hell Danny could work up the energy for that kind of thing more often, but as I've said before, he's not as consistently horny as Robby and me. When he is though, watch out.

We finished off that unexpected half hour on Tuesday afternoon with Danny telling me, "That's enough hugging and kisses for you. I spoil the shit out of you but I'm probably gonna keep doing it until we're sixty-five... then I'm gonna quit." I told him, "Don't ruin this Danny." He ignored that of course and said, "Goddam though, Dylan, you make me feel like the number one stud in the universe." I watched him putting that perfect penis of his away and zippering up his fly, as he said, "Now I need a lift down to the ballpark, baby." Naturally, I drove him there while he told me the real reason he called me was because he didn't want me leaving for the weekend without giving me some love to remember him by.

I was honest and told him I'd have loved doing that a third time if he was 'up' for it! He grinned, saying, "Yeah, I know you would 'cause I see that look in your eyes. Keep your sexy eyes on the road!" and he leaned over to rub my head and kiss my cheek near my lips. I felt his cum soaking all the way through my sweatpants but I didn't care 'cause that was a near perfect double-quick buddy fuck with my all-time second favorite buddy-sex buddy.

Other than that, the only other sex I had that week was Robby and me doing our regular sexual overdrive thing, meaning we fucked at least twice a day. Not on any kind of a schedule though... we just do 'it' whenever we slip into an amorous mood or a horny one.

Anyway, that's the highlights of the week and now, right after class on Thursday, we're at the apartment with Rob telling me, "Throw a few things in a satchel, babe. I want us out of here in fifteen minutes. We gotta beat the rush-hour traffic on Route 128." Gee, I like it when Robby takes charge like that. That semi-bossy... 'I want us out of here in fifteen minutes'. Yeah, I liked that so I say, "Right away, Rob." He looked over and smirked at me 'cause he knew I was teasing, but I wasn't totally teasing just him... I was teasing myself too. It's fun.

We beat the bulk of the traffic but the traffic on Route 128 is always a ball-buster. Still, we were at the house ten minutes of five and then, inside, we both get a hug and a kiss on the cheek from his mom, who says, "It's so good you boys are here. I always take a big sigh of relief when you're home." Robby mutters, "Yeah? It's not like we just got back from a war zone."

Mrs. D. says her usual compliments, "My goodness you both look so healthy and you're so good looking and, um, you're both just right... both of you." I like the way she gets excited about seeing us. It also tells me I'm not the only person on this planet who puts more stock in personal appearance than I probably should. But then, Rob and I are a couple of good looking, well groomed, preppy lads so, ya know, she's right. But seriously, Mrs. Dickers is sincere and it's nice to be complimented... well, it is!

I'm soaking in the compliments while Rob's less impressed, as he goes, "Yeah, whatever, mom... how's Dad? Is he any better?" She says, "His back pain has become more manageable, more so each day. Reggie has been wonderful! He's here now as a matter of fact." Robby frowns, asking, "Who's Reggie?" and before his mom can tell him, Rob's like, "Oh, yeah, you mean the nurse guy, right?" Mrs. D. says, "Oh my, he prefers being called a physical therapist."

Then, right on cue, I see a short stocky man with extremely hairy arms, about thirty-five years old and going prematurely bald, come into the kitchen and say, "Oh, excuse me, Emily. Um," and he holds out his hand to me, saying, "You must be Rob. I've been working on your dad and I'm pleased to say I've been able to make some impressive progress reducing his back pain." Jesus!

As I'm shaking hands with the guy, I'm nodding at Rob, saying, "Um, he's Rob. I'm, ah, a friend of his." Robby holds out his hand and the short stocky guy introduces himself again. Rob says, "Nice to meet ya, um, so ya say my dad's making progress, huh?" Reggie tells Rob about taking Mr. D. to a facility where he was given a cortisone shot of anti-inflammatory medication and I don't quite get the other things he's saying, but another day Reggie took Mr. D. for an ultrasound and electrical stimulation treatment for soft tissue or, I don't know exactly. This guy is quite the self-promoter though, I know that much. He tells us about the massage therapy program he's developed, and then more esoteric blah, blah, blah...

I'm sure Robby didn't follow a lot of what Reggie was saying any better than I did, so Rob asks, "Oh, um, when will Dad be up and around do you think?" The man lists a few qualifiers regarding the uncertainty of this type of injury... but, "Let me cautiously say, if I'm able to get the pain continuing to reduce as it has been, and your dad continues with my heat and massage therapy and follows the exercise program I've set up for him he'll continue improving and, " more blah, blah, blah until Reggie finally stops talking. I'm getting a fucking headache listening to this guy. We're looking at him with expressions on our faces like... what the fuck?

Reggie spreads his Popeye-shaped hairy arms as though that explains everything, very pleased with himself as Mrs. D. asks Rob, "Isn't this good news?" Rob goes, "Um, I guess. So, when was it you said he'll be up and around? I missed that part." Reggie says, "Oh, in a week or so." That's all we wanted to know.

Okay, so Reggie is quite pleased with himself and he likes to talk about his work, but a week or so does sound really good and Robby brightens up, "Oh, a week or so... that's great! Thank you," Reggie shrugs modestly, mumbling, "I do have a knack for miracle recoveries from back injuries. That's what I've been told." Mrs. D. gushes, "We're so appreciative, Reggie!" He goes, "It's what I do, Emily." Omigod, gag me with a bedpan!

When Reggie sees he's not getting any more compliments, he says, "One last thing, Emily, Robert would very much appreciate a cup of hot coffee and, now that I've delivered that message, I'll bid you all a good day and be on my way until I see you folks tonight at ten o'clock." He turns to Robby and me, saying, "Nice meeting you boys," and he puts his coat on with Mrs. D. gushing her thanks again. I think it's interesting that Reggie's comfortable addressing Mr. and Mrs. Dickers by their first names. Wouldn't it be a pisser if Reggie and Mrs. D. had a little something going on while Mr. D. is doing Reggie's exercise program? Hee hee, no, it wouldn't, Dylan!

Robby watches the guy go out the door and then mutters, "What an asshole." Mrs. D. goes, "Robert! Language!" He asks his mom, "How the hell did that guy get dad out of bed to go for those treatments?" She shrugs, "I don't know, Rob, but he did." Rob's like, "Was dad doing all his normal bitching at this dude, um, that guy Reggie?" She says, "Oh, yes, but it doesn't bother Reggie. He's wonderfully professional like that." Robby and I frown at each other and then shrug because it's going pretty well... surprisingly. With a bright expression on her face, Mrs. Dickers goes, "So, can I get you boys something to eat?"

Obviously, Mrs. D. has been getting her sleep. She looks well-rested and she's very cheerfully peppy. Hey, maybe Reggie is doing a little therapy for Emily on the side. Haha, just kidding. She insists we have a slice of the apple pie she baked this morning. We eat it with Cokes and it was delicious, as well as, providing us extra energy for our visit with the injured Mr. Dickers.

I follow Rob into the bedroom where Mr. D. is sitting up reading something. His reading material is inside the company's dark blue report binder so, obviously, it's a business report. The hospital bed is a big disappointment for me. I was expecting something elaborate but it looks like, well... it looks like any hospital bed I've seen in every hospital I've ever been in.

Rob's dad puts down the report and goes, "Rob, is your mother making a fresh pot of coffee down there? I asked for a simple cup of coffee twenty minutes ago and that Goddamn Reggie was supposed to tell your mother!" Rob says, "He did tell her," and then Rob looks at me, and I'm like, "Oh, right, I'll go check," and Mr. D. says, "Thank you, Dylan, and it's nice to see you, see you both." I start to say something about how I hope he's feeling better or something, but he keeps talking, saying to Rob, "Take a look at this bullshit," and he shakes the report he was reading. Rob goes over to look at it, muttering, "Is that the Simca's report?"

Oh man, I'm glad to have an errand to run. It's not that Mr. Dickers is a complete asshole all the time because he's not usually. I mean, obviously, a normal person would have greeted Rob and me and maybe thanked us for visiting, or whatever. Mr. D. though is used to being in charge and he's very action-oriented. It's apparent he's uncomfortable and frustrated that he's been helpless and unable to do his job very well from his bed and, well he's used to being a boss, used to people doing things for him.

Anyway, I take a positive vibe away from that little exchange and it's this: Mr. Dickers treats me like a family member which, granted, could be considered rude behavior on his part. Still, getting familiar with this family as I have, I know there was no offense intended by Mr. D. and none taken by me. I've sort of enjoyed the times Mr. Dickers has taken an interest in me by either scolding or yelling at me the way he does with Rob... or complimenting me. It works both ways and the criticism make the compliments more meaningful.

I've never had a male authority figure while growing up so, um, I like it. Robby thinks I'm a brown-noser with his parents because I like saying 'Yes Sir' and 'Yes ma'am' to his dad and mom, and then doing what they say. I picked up on that 'sir' and 'ma'am' habit from when I was in Georgia with Ryan that summer. His parents sort of insisted on it. I'm pretty sure it's a southern thing.

Come to think of it, never mind that I've had no male authority figure in my life, there's been almost no parental authority in my life of any kind. That's because there was no father figure and both moms were at work most of the time. I mean, when Chubby and I were home after school the moms were waitressing. What I'm saying is, I find it kind of a pleasant experience having Mr. Dickers be that missing male authority figure for me... Yes, Sir!... haha.

While growing up I suppose subconsciously I assigned the authority role to my brother, and he did a masterful job of it too but I knew the difference. Plus, rather than be an authority figure, Chubby much preferred treating me like I'm special and spoiling me to ridiculous degrees. I didn't realize he was doing that until I was in my later teens. Um, never mind though... it's all kinda complicated.

When I walk into the kitchen Mrs. Dickers is on the phone, of course, and I can see she hasn't started brewing coffee. She smiles when she sees me as she's saying to whoever she's on the phone with her, "That's what I meant, Beth, and I mean every time I see the boys walking in the door I'm thinking... um, excuse me a second..." and, holding the phone against her right, um, breast, she asks me, "Yes, dear, can I get you something?" I mention the coffee Mr. Dickers asked for and she makes a 'face', saying, "Oh, right! Darn it, I forgot," and she gets busy with a French roast coffee maker as she hunches the phone between her ear and shoulder, continuing her conversation.

Waiting, I consider playing with myself awkwardly standing here but get a better idea and drift into the family room to have a seat while waiting for the coffee to brew. It's fairly obvious Mrs. Dickers was telling the person on the phone about Rob and me. What the hell did she mean by 'take her breath away' though? Hmm, it probably was meant in a good way, right? Or did she mean because we're boyfriends she gasps every time she sees us and is reminded of that? No, I choose to believe my first thought.

Huh, I haven't had anything to worry about for a whole day so why don't I start worrying about that? No, that's pure nonsense! She's been extremely supportive of Rob and me and, no offense to Mrs. D. but I do not think she's, um, clever enough to have fooled me for the last couple of years. No, she's given Rob and me her blessings, so to speak. Yeah, I'll need to come up with something else to worry about, like... what if I somehow get stuck helping Mr. Dickers to the bathroom... by myself? Good, God... think about something else!

It isn't very long before Mrs. D. is at the doorway of the family room still talking on the phone while motioning for me to come in the kitchen. Oh, obviously, the coffee's ready. She has it on a small tray along with three macaroon cookies on a paper napkin. She smiles at me as she listens to what Beth's saying and then she silently mouths to me, `Thank you'. Nodding my head I then carefully pick up the tray wondering if any coffee cup has ever, in the history of the world, been fuller than this one. Carrying this tray over my head on my fingertips is out of the question, so I carry it in two hands in front of me while staring at the over-full cup of coffee as I try walking without slushing the coffee in the saucer and all over the tray.

Going up the steps is a challenge but somehow I make it. Yes! I set the tray next to Mr. Dickers on the bedside table and Robby says, "Whoa, Dylan! Holy shit, how'd you get that up here without spilling a drop? Nice going!" Mr. Dickers reaches over and clumsily spills an ounce of coffee on the saucer without seeming to notice. He's holding both the saucer and cup as he slurps the hot coffee... his long slurping sound causes a sharp object to seemingly dig at the back of my head as I watch coffee dripping from the saucer onto his pajama top. Then he takes a second slurp of coffee and it's one of the longest slurps of too-hot coffee I've ever heard in my life. The slurping sound continues for several hours, um, I mean several seconds at least. It's so irritating it's like a razor cutting up my spine. Robby looks at me and snickers. I snap at him, "What?" and he goes, "Oh, nothing." He knows I hate slurping. We exchange smirks then as Mr. Dickers goes, "Ahh, too hot, but I needed some caffeine."

Rob and I stay with his dad for another six hours. I mean, six minutes or so and then Rob says, "Well, as you can see I'm here now, Dad, call me when you need me." Mr. D. says, "I probably won't need to, son. That Goddamn pain-in-the-ass Reggie is a miracle worker. The heat treatment and massage have worked wonders, plus I'm taking medication," and he fumbles some pill bottles from the bedside table as if he wants to show us what they are. Walking backward toward the door, Rob and I are both nodding our heads, muttering, "Good, that's good," and then we're out of the room with Robby clumping down the steps and me right beside him. Yes, it's a wide staircase. Robby says, "How about a drink, babe?" I go, "Sure!"

We go into the kitchen and it's kind of a shock not seeing Mrs. D. in here. Robby's saying, "I guess Mom's food shopping," as he opens the door on his dad's booze cabinet next to the refrigerator. Looking at the bottles of liquor, he asks, "What'll it be, babe? Manhattan or a dry Tanqueray martini... or a Tom Collins perhaps?" I'm like, "How about a gin and tonic?" Rob looks at me, "I thought you hated tonic." I go, "It upset my stomach once, but I'm willing to try it again. Manhattans and martinis are ALL hard liquor and I'd like to avoid that, especially the martini. With a gin and tonic or Tom Collins at least there's something cutting the liquor." Robby mutters, "I forget what goes in a Tom Collins," and he picks up the dark green bottle of Tanqueray saying, mostly to himself, "I hope mom has limes."

Getting two tall cocktail glasses off the shelf above the liquor bottles, Rob says, "In the cellar, babe, there are cans of sodas, seltzers, and tonic. Run down and bring up a few cans of tonic." That's the perfect kind of bossiness! It's real life and to the point. It's not phony bullshit like... would you mind going down cellar... or ... do me a favor and go down cellar to get... No, it's right out front... go down and get what I want. It's for both of us anyhow, and Rob's doing everything else so why not do my part? It gives my dick a nice little buzz too when I say, "Yes, Rob," and get right to it. Heh heh, I'm going down the cellar steps with a grin on my face. Yeah, it usually goes over Robby's head, meaning the self-imposed little submissive mind games I play because I think it's fun... I said, 'Yes, Rob,' as though I'm in the Army obeying an order.

When I'm back upstairs with three cans of Schweppes tonic Robby's filling the two glasses with clear ice cubes. They're the ice cubes Mrs. D. buys by the bag at Stop & Shop. You can't get clear ice cubes in a home freezer. There's a lime Rob's cut into wedges next to the glasses. He adds a jigger of gin to each glass. A jigger is an ounce and a quarter, and then he picks up a bottle of Rose's Sweetened Lime Juice, saying, "I read online that adding a splash of this makes for a superior gin and tonic." I go, "By all means then, add it," and he does. He fills the glasses with the tonic and then stirs the drinks.

As we pick up our drinks Rob's mom comes in the back door with two plastic bags of groceries, saying, "Oh, that looks good, Rob. Will you make one for me, please?" We're holding our drinks as Rob goes, "Um, maybe I will. Are you planning on cooking dinner tonight?" She goes, "Of course I'm cooking dinner. Last week we were in uncertain times for a couple of days, but we've been back on a normal dinner schedule since Reggie showed up." Robby goes, "Okay, you passed the first part of the test. Now, for part two to win the prize of a gin and tonic... are you making something Dylan likes for dinner?" I'm like, "ROB! Don't say..." and as he snickers, his mom says, "We're having lamb chops. Make the damn drink, dear!"

Robby and I make a 'face' at each other with him muttering, "I guess I've been told." He taps his glass to mine and says, "To you, babe," and we take a gulp. Not a bad drink although a far cry from a delicious one. I mean delicious the way a root beer float is delicious. Cocktails are an entirely different thing altogether. I say a cocktail is 'good' whenever I'm able to drink it without hurling afterward. Rob makes his mom a drink and then nods his head at the back door, saying, "Bring your drink, Dylan, we'll grab a smoke in the pool house."

As soon as we walk inside the pool house I turn the space heater on because it's only about fifty degrees outside. It's still light out at six o'clock though, so winter is fading and spring is emerging. In other words, it's typical weather for the first week of March in the northeastern part of America and, weather-wise, things are definitely looking up for us.

We have a smoke with our gin and tonics as Rob outlines what my responsibility will be during tomorrow's afternoon meeting. On a pad of paper, he draws a rectangle as the conference table with ten little blocks around it. The blocks represent the two of us and the eight managers who are always at these meetings. He puts initials for him and me in the two boxes squeezed together at one end of the conference table. The opposite end of the table is blank 'cause that's where Mr. Dickers normally sits when he isn't in a hospital bed. The other eight boxes, four on each side of the table, get numbered one to eight and then Rob writes the manager's name at the bottom of the page next to the person's box number. He mutters, "They all sit in the same seat every meeting but you don't need to worry about their names anyway."

Putting my cigarette butt out in one of the little metal ashtrays, I mumble, "That's good. I suck at remembering names." Rob explains I should take notes only when a manager says something that causes debate, but I shouldn't be obvious doing it. Pretend I'm doodling or something. Also, note how the managers appear to respond to each of the meeting's topics. Who looks bored or doesn't participate or gets sarcastic or jokes around... whatever seems slightly odd? And I'll use the number Rob assigned each manager when writing my impressions. This all sounds like horseshit to me, but what do I know about business?

We'll both be taking notes on anything we feel like, I guess, is our impressions of how the managers are reacting to the information. I don't need to worry about understanding the technical stuff. How could I understand it? I'll jot down the conversation topic and then, for example, write down: #2 doesn't like it, or #3 looks disgusted, or #6 looks bored with this topic... and so forth. Write down whatever I want and then afterward Rob and I will get together and combine our notes and discard anything I wrote down that misses the point. This helps Rob because he doesn't need to concentrate for the entire four to five hours. He can take a break while still sitting there appearing to be taking notes, and at other times I'll do the same.

We talk about it until Robby says, "Ya know what, babe?" and he puts his empty glass on the low table in front of our club chairs and then stands up. I look up at him with a quizzical expression and he holds his hand down to me. I take his hand and he pulls me up, mumbling, "Come with me." I follow him to the bar that's at the other side of the room. He reaches over the bar and, oh yeah, that's where we hide the lube. Grinning at me, Robby says, "I'm gonna fuck you right now. No way can I wait until after dinner." I nod my head trying to switch gears from concentrating on his instructions for the meeting, feeling nervous about that, to our impending sex. My dick is ahead of my brain as it's already started getting firm. It liked the way Robby just decided we're doing this.

He's got an almost empty old tube of KY Jelly in his left hand now, still holding my hand with his right. He nods toward the little so-called powder room at the back and, still holding hands, we go inside with Rob kicking the door closed behind us. It's a small room but this is a much more realistic approach to fucking in the pool house than that time Danny fucking me right out in the middle of the room. Mrs. D. wasn't coming out to the pool house that time or this time either because she never comes out here, but in this little bathroom, I feel more secure. It just feels better.

Without needing to be told, I pull my pants down and Robby, looking serious, mutters, "Thanks," and then his lube-filled finger goes in my ass with me holding onto the sink. I'm excited because this feels like we're getting away with something. Sort of the way it felt whenever we fucked in here way back when we were teenagers.

Robby takes his finger out and strokes his cock grunting and then saying, "You don't mind that I got too horny to wait, do ya, babe?" I snort out a laugh, muttering, "Are you serious?" He chuckles, "Yeah, dumb question, huh? It's just, I don't know... the way you were paying such close attention to what I was telling you and you were looking so serious about, um, business matters and well, it got me hot for you... aroused beyond belief. You were so serious I got this great humongous feeling of overwhelming love for everything about you. It just came over me and I wanted to have sex with you... and, haha, here we are."

After only three or four strokes on his ridiculously fat penis it's plenty hard enough to do the job. I assume that from briefly looking back and glancing at it, and then I'm sure of it when I feel the fat swollen hard head spreading my asshole open. Rob's making a quiet, "Mmmmm." sound as he slowly pushes the head of his boner against my asshole. It starts stretching my anus wider and wider creating pain, but it's funny how the pain mixes with pleasure and gets me conjuring up in my brain how dominantly Rob is satisfying his arousal. He messed up the dominant part a little by asking if I was up for 'it'. If only he'd left that out, ya know, like he didn't care if I was up for 'it' or not... that would have been super dominant! That would have been more the way Danny was Tuesday. But forget the spanking part 'cause Rob never actually does what you could call a spanking. Yeah, he'll smack my ass without giving it much thought, Whack, and that's it.

I guess I'm still yearning for a ridiculously stupendous dominant sexual experience like the kind I experienced kinda regularly in the old days. Ya know, if I could experience that one more time with someone truly dominant, and I mean so dominant there would be no need for me to manipulate facts in my brain to complete the picture. Someone who knows I 'want it' but doesn't especially care how I want 'it' because he's doing 'it' his way, but only after he spanks my ass until I'm acceptably submissive and docile to him.

Heh heh, now I sound like Pony, or myself at an earlier age. Yeah, that's how I was as a teenager. That's how I was in my early days and it was the hottest sexy fun ever. The way fat Carl had me dominated was, Omigod, forget about it! That'll never happen again. Huh, too bad he was such a pig, but Willie could be very dominant and, Jesus, Ryan! It goes without saying Ryan could be super dominant, but he was mostly that way only freshman year. He went a little crazy after that and I never knew what to expect. The exception was when I was in Georgia with him and, on and off, he could pull off a truly dominant fuck experience. Other times I didn't know what he was doing.

Thoughts like that will need to wait for another time however because presently all my attention is demanded by the fat head at the end of Rob's fat boner. The head is even fatter than the rest of his boner because it slopes out from the neck before sloping back at the nose. The slightly smaller nose opens my asshole up and as then the head gets wider and wider stretching of my anus wider and wider until I'm holding my breath trying not to screech out. I'm trying not to even groan at the pain because that adversely affect Rob's pleasure. And, as I said, it feels good for me too, and I mean even with the pain. Pain and pleasure...

The widest my asshole can possibly open just barely accommodates the last half of the head and I finally give in and groan, "Aaaahhh." Robby murmurs, "Sorry, babe," but keeps pushing and as the head slides tightly past my sphincter the lips of my anus slide off the head to grip around the slightly thinner neck. The lips snugly settle in just behind the head and before the start of the fatter hard shaft.

Yeah, that's quite a penis on my lover boy! Sure, it's only a brief relief having the head inside with the lips of my asshole gripping around the smaller neck, only brief but a nice respite nonetheless. Robby lets out a long exhale and goes, "Ooooh, mmm..." I assume he's taking a few seconds to revel in the sensations coming off his cock and, yeah, there he goes... I just felt him shuddering a little from the pleasure. Now his boner begins moving forward with the fat shaft spreading my asshole until I'm again opened up back there almost as wide as the big head. Rob's cock feels so hard and so large I can't help but gasp out another groan. "Ow, aaaah," and I shudder now too, but that shudder was from the sense I have of being dominated by that fat boner... it's a good shudder.

Robby rubs his hands up my back and squeezes my shoulders but doesn't stop pushing that big log of a cock up my ass. It's not that long of a trip... a tad over four inches and the journey is completed in about ten seconds. Robby lets out another moan, "Aaahhh, jeeesus," and then his hairy groin nestles tightly against my buttocks and he humps against me, changing his pleasure moan to a long quiet, "Mmmmmm," and then another hump against my buttocks moving the fat log slightly as my prostate sparkles with pleasure vibrations... I shudder again.

After a few deep breaths, Rob humps against my butt cheeks squeezing my shoulders with both hands. I hear a gasping breathy exhale from him as he presses harder against my ass, this time lifting his hips and I need to go up on my toes as I lean over the sink with that familiar submissive trance drifting completely over me, and that's followed by a moan of pleasure from my throat, seemingly on its own, "Ooooh, ooooh, mmm," sounding a little whiny there at the end. Yeah, us submissive pussies tend to whine a little when our dominant tops act extra dominant, like lifting up with his cock that's buried in his 'bottom's' ass. That hard boner dominantly insisting the submissive pussy lifts up on his toes making a pathetic whiny sound. Haha, that's the kind of shit I make up in my head.

Robby drops his hips for a second which allows me to be flat-footed and then he humps hard against my buttocks and, with that stiff fat boner as far up my ass as it's possible for Rob to get it, his hips lift again making me go up on my toes and because I want to, I whimper with submissiveness as a soaring band of pleasure from my rectum makes me shake and then moan at the sexual pleasure, for real this time. If anyone doesn't think a 'top' making his 'bottom' go up on his toes using just the boner up the guy's ass isn't a purely a dominant move he is not paying attention.

This feels so good and is so far removed from the business stuff Rob was telling me two minutes ago it boggles the mind... two different worlds collide. And it hasn't been more than a minute from the first touch of his cock at my asshole till right now, but that's enough time for my educated rectum to adjust, expand, and accommodate Rob's fat boner. Yeah, the pleasure boat is slowing pulling away from the dock...

Grabbing hold of my hips, Rob pulls his cock out as far as he dares and then jams it right back up my ass. He follows that by beginning constant hard thrusting in my ass. He gets right into fucking me fast and extra hard. No sounds of males fucking this time because, while his jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped, his boner is out through the fly of his boxer shorts and his underpants material muffles the sounds of him slapping against my buttocks. Nothing muffles the explosion of pleasure sensations from nerve endings in my anus and prostate though. There's a blizzard of pleasure swarming around my brain and I truly can't envision anyone enjoying a guy's hard cock up his ass as much as I do, and when the 'guy' with the hard cock is someone special to me the thrill of it all... well, yeah, it's off the fucking charts!

It's a fast and hard and fabulous fuck. Two minutes of ecstasy and then the highest form of ecstasy known to mankind bursts onto the scene...sexual climax. I felt it sneaking into the picture during the second minute and then it lingered there at the tipping point with my head almost exploding for sixty seconds before the world ended and, "Eeeeiiii," and BOOM and, "Eeeeiii!" again with sizzling unimaginable pleasure streaking all around my groin from my ass to my nuts to my iron throbbing penis....whoa! I'm flying in never-never land with brilliant colors and, "Eeeiiii," again as another long stream of cum shoots from my impossibly hard boner to splash off the front of the sink and spray my shaved groin with creamy wetness.

My blood pressure must have hit the sky causing this familiar dizziness like I'm going to faint, that I'm sensing now. Yes, it was too soon of a return from the mountain top of sexual pleasure, my climax bursting out like a fireworks display, too soon returning to the reality of the rest of the world. Yeah, I always return too quickly even from an awesome climax like that one. I'm leaning over the sink breathing deeply as Robby pulls his cock out and smacks my ass. Ha, it's apparently impossible for any 'top' to resist smacking the ass of the guy he just fucked. It happens all the time to me and I mean going way back when basically strangers were fucking me. Oh God though, that fuck felt so good!

I straighten up slowly still feeling zipping after effects of that gigantic climax. Turning around I see Robby with pink spots on each cheek as he grins and takes a deep breath before saying, "Nice! Thanks, babe! I didn't hurt you, did I?" While doing my unconscious habit of smelling the back of my hand, I shake my head and then mumble, "No, it felt fantastic... seriously." Then I take a big inhale... Omigod.

He mutters, "That's good," and he pulls a lot of toilet paper off the roll next to the toilet and then reaches around me wiping at the cum that's already drooling out of my ass. Wipe, wipe as he says, "I'm glad it didn't hurt too much because, holy Christ, that felt fantastic! I got so hot, baby, so aroused. Fuck! Haha, but that was a super fast fuck though. I wish it could have lasted longer." He drops a wad of toilet paper in the toilet bowl and pulls off more toilet paper that he hands it to me. I hold it at my asshole as Rob wipes his cock before putting it back in his shorts and then buttoning up his jeans, saying, "Let's go inside and I'll make us another G & T." I nod my head, still feeling kind of dreamy. That was really special! I reach over to hug Robby. He looks at me with have a grin and I say, "You're my man, Rob!" He chuckles and goes, "Yeah, I know. C' mon, let's get that other drink."

We drink our second gin and tonic in the family room with me looking at Rob and feeling well taken care of by him. I'm feeling all squishy with love for Robby. Getting out of the armchair, I sit next to him on the sofa. Leaning against him, he grins, asking, "Is this what you're looking for, babe?" as he puts his arm across my shoulders, adding, "Feeling good now, are ya?" I nod and smile at him while truly feeling he's my man, for real.

As I snuggle against him, he smirks, mumbling, "Okay, okay... we're gonna make some slow love in bed tonight. I promise," and he gives me a squeeze. Damn, I'm just in this gooey mood. I like being treated like his baby, his lover, and I know he likes doing it too. Rob looks at me and gives me another shoulder squeeze, saying, "We should get to bed pretty early tonight. I get to feeling wicked amorous when my boyfriend shows how much he loves and needs me and I see you're in that kind of mood. I love when you're like this, Dylan-baby." Haha, oh fuck...

I ham it up by snuggling tighter and he says, "Seriously though, it's a huge help having you here with me these next couple of days. I get tense when I'm sort of representing dad at those work meetings but it helps to have you with me. And, um, I hope you don't mind but I'll feel less nervous if we get to the office wicked early tomorrow. Gives me time to have a coffee and try relaxing." I nod my head but I wasn't expecting more talk about work. I was hoping for a little more hugging and some compliments. I was hoping he'd start telling me how fabulous I am. Haha, who wouldn't like that? On the other hand, we are home for business reasons. That's actually the only reason we're here. Yeah, I get that, but still...

I put my arms around his neck and hug him and then do a quick kiss on his lips and then, hugging his head really hard before relaxing my arms and saying, "Whatever you want, Rob. You can count on me." He goes, "I know that, Dylan," and he rubs my head and kisses my forehead. Oh man, it's so indescribably wonderful being loved by him. And fuck it if that's too corny! I continue snuggling against him with Rob apparently totally comfortable with it. That's only noteworthy because we're here in his family room and a year ago I wouldn't dream of us cuddling on this sofa... not with his parents in the house.

Rubbing the back of my fingers against Robby's cheek, I smirk, saying, "Nice clean shave ya got here. sailor," and he goes, "Yeah, I'm intimidated by my boss. He insists on clean-shaven managers... not that I'm a manager yet." I don't know, but I feel like I want to crawl into Robby's skin and be part of him. Seriously, I wish I could be more like him. I really do admire him and, fuck... it helps that he's so handsome too.

I've got this ginormous feeling of love and admiration for him right now. It has something to do with the way he instigated that unexpected hot sex in the pool house, but it's more than that. I put my lips on his ear and whisper, "Can we do it again now in our bedroom, pleeeease?" He grins and hugs me as tight as I'm hugging him, then he murmurs, "I can't say 'no' to you," and then he yells, literally yells, "How long until dinner, mom?" She steps to the entrance of the family room and says, "A half hour or so and I want you boys to help Dad downstairs so he can eat with us." I'm peeking at her over the back of the sofa and she seems totally blasé about Rob and me almost on top of one another. 0

Robby isn't looking back at her as he uses his fingers rubbing my short bangs over to the side, muttering, "Bring dad down, huh? That'll be a fun effin' time," and then he yells, "Yeah, okay mom, we'll get him down for dinner." She says, "Thank you," and goes back in the kitchen. I squeeze my arms around Robby's head, murmuring, "Are we going upstairs now?" He goes, "Yep, 'c' mon... I'm gonna take care of you."

Omigod, I've got another boner in my pants as we're going upstairs, Robby's arm across my shoulders hugging me against his side as he's whispering, "I love that you suggested this, Dylan." Oh man, I want another feel of Rob's hard cock up inside me... I really do! I don't know what gets into me, I really don't... haha. I've searched online trying to find validation of my theory that guys have 'periods', like females. No, I don't mean actual menstrual cycles but cycles of extra heat for sexual activity. Doesn't that happen with every other mammal on earth? Or most of them anyway. There are times when I'm even hotter to trot that my normal over-sexed frame of mind. Plus, the way Robby insisted we fuck a half hour ago turned me on awesomely and I can't get enough of him when he's in-charge like that.

With Rob's arm still across my shoulders, we fall on the bed and then make out for ten minutes. A sexy hot make out as if we haven't had sex for months. Rob's mostly on top of me trying to eat my mouth until he pulls down my pants and then, with our pants at our knees, me on my stomach, Rob fucks me fast and hard, really hard as though he can't stop himself. This time we go seven or eight minutes before both our furnaces light-up and we have great climaxes again. Omigod that felt good! Not much cum involved, but it felt like it a lot coming out. I caught my cum in my hand to keep it off the bedspread.

After gasping and breathing deeply for a few seconds, Robby pulls up my pants as he's saying, "It probably won't leak through," meaning, of course, his smaller amount of jism this second go-round isn't gonna be a problem. I'm reaching over the side of the bed wiping the cum off my hand on the throw rug, and then I roll over to get Robby in my arms and lie half on him, murmuring, "Don't move," and I put my face against the side of his and inhale how sexy he smells. We lie like this without talking for maybe five minutes before Rob rolls me over on top of me with me on my back and he quietly says, looking down at me, "I love how I've been feeling your love coming back to me, well hell, I've been feeling it for the last nine months or so and I can't tell you how good it makes me feel. We're gonna have the best life together anybody has ever had." I say, "I know that," and then touch his face lightly, murmuring, "You have pretty eyes." He goes, "Not as pretty as yours." We both make gagging sound then and laugh because we're approaching our maudlin danger zone again.

We're still making goo-goo eyes at one another on the bed when his mom calls us for dinner. After a quick clean up in the hall bathroom, we go in his dad's bedroom to help him downstairs and discover we don't need to help him. Mr. D. got down there by himself. Good omen!

The dinner is good too, the food that is. The conversation is one hundred percent Dickers & Son business with Mr. Dickers seemingly knowing a lot about what's going on even though he hasn't been in the office for ten days. I do a lot of eating and not a lot of talking. Robby tells his dad what our plans are for note taking at tomorrow's meeting and I gotta believe Mr. Dickers is probably still experiencing discomfort from his back as the reason he tactlessly says to me, "I don't want you opening your mouth in that meeting, Dylan. Just do what Rob tells you." Mrs. Dickers goes, "Robert! Don't you dare talk to him that way! He's giving up his weekend to help us out." Mr. D. goes, "He's helping his boyfriend out," and he points at me, but with a grin on his face this time, saying, "Not a word out of you in the meeting!"

Robby goes, "We got it the first time, dad!" and his father goes, "Yeah, well... and, yes, I want to thank you very much for helping. Both you boys," and then, looking at his wife, he asks, "Was that okay, Em?" She goes, "Don't you dare talk to that darling boy that way again," but she's grinning now too. They're all grinning. What am I missing here? Are they making fun of me? Robby goes, "Don't get that look on your face, babe, we all love you." His dad says, "That's right, son. Ya can't have thin skin in this family." Mrs. D. goes, "That's for sure." Hmm, alright... I guess it's alright.

After dinner, Rob and I have a cigarette in the pool house managing not to fuck as we smoke. Rob goes over our approach for tomorrow's meeting one more time, and I feel okay about it because he'll be there. It's not like he's taking a break leaving me in the meeting with eight managers I don't know, all of whom are going to be wondering what the fuck I'm doing there in the first place. Robby told me he'll explain to the managers at the beginning of the meeting that I'm just helping him collate some notes, which is the same as not telling them anything.

Then, that night instead of having the lover's sex Robby talked about earlier this afternoon, we cuddle in bed and fall asleep without sex. See we don't do appointment sex, and we had a few good sexual interludes during the day so going to sleep won out this night.

Friday morning Rob's all business. He showers and then while he's getting dressed I shower. By the time I've done everything in the bathroom I need to including shaving my pathetic skimpy beard, Rob's already in the kitchen. He laid out a dark blue sports jacket, one of his, on the bed. I guess it's for me. I'm wearing a pair of my newer pale-tan khakis, ones I ironed back at the apartment and then because today is a regular Friday workday at Dickers & Son, I put on a light blue dress shirt and a striped tie, red and gray stripes. With loafers on my feet and Rob's sports jacket on, I go downstairs clean-shaven, a recent haircut, and smelling just barely of Rob's aftershave lotion. Nobody in their right mind would complain about how I look!

In the kitchen, Robby looks up and smiles, saying, "You dress-up good, babe." He's wearing a suit and tie. I'm like, "Should I wear a suit?" He goes, "NO! You look great," and Mrs. Dickers says, "You look perfect, Dylan," and she sets down a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and two pieces of buttered toast that she'd cut into triangles. I sit down, saying, "Thank you." Mrs. D. pours me a cup of coffee and puts the cup in front of me. This is coffee from her French roast pot and I wish she'd use the Keurig machine... this coffee tastes weak to me. Mr. D. is still sleeping.

We leave the house at seven-thirty. Robby's quiet as we drive to work and I keep glancing at him as he drives because he's so fucking handsome and he looks very professional in his dark gray suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie. Unfortunately, his Framingham barbershop haircut already looks a little ragged. Danny gives better haircuts than that one Robby got but he has that preppy pompadour in front like Danny first combed for Rob a few months ago and Rob's done his hair that way ever since.

Neither of us is wearing an overcoat so it's a cold walk from the parking lot to the main office building. Inside Rob says, "Come with me, Dylan, and I'll get a notebook for, um, the notes you'll be taking in the meeting." I mutter, "And a pen." He looks at me, asking, "You didn't bring a pen with you? Going to work without a pen?" I calmly say, "I know you're uptight, but don't use that tone of voice with me, alright?" He makes a 'face' as I go, "No, I didn't bring a fucking pen with me. I forgot... so sue me!" He says, "Sorry," and we go to the office he shares with the real estate guy. I forget his name, and I suppose the guy does other stuff for the company besides real estate.

The so-called notebook Rob gets for me has a leather cover and there's a pen in a slot at the inside binding. Rob apparently doesn't know that because he gives me another pen. Then he says, "Okay, I need to meet with Russ Trimbole for an hour or so to discuss something about a lease in Westborough." I shrug and he grins, mumbling, "I'm trying to choose the proper, um, tone of voice to ask you to please meet with Dottie. She's expecting you and she has things for you to work on this morning. Then at noon I'll get you and we'll have lunch together and then the meeting will start promptly at one o'clock. It'll probably go on until six or maybe a little later. Okay?" I go, "Yes, but your tone of voice when you said the word 'Okay' was slipping into no-no territory again." He grins and then looks behind him quickly and not seeing anyone walking by, he kisses my lips and says, "Thank you for helping me with this, Dylan. I'll watch my tone of voice."

I'm smiling, mumbling, "No problem," and we both walk out of Rob's office heading to the stairs where Rob says, "I'm meeting Russ in the cafeteria. Do you want to have a coffee or something with us before meeting Dottie?" I go, "Nah, no thanks. See you at lunch," and he hurries down toward the cafeteria. I don't need the experience of meeting whoever Russ what's-his-name is. I do not want to make awkward early morning conversation. No, thank you very much...

It's not even eight o'clock so I'm not surprised Dottie's not at her desk when I get to the executive offices. Looking around, I shrug and then plop down on the guest chair next to her desk. Hmm, I try anticipating what I'll earn today. Well, no, it's not a matter of what I'll 'earn' so much as how much I'll get paid... I can't imagine I'll actually 'earn' it. On the other hand, I'm guessing it'll be a measly fifteen dollar an hour, so let's see... fifteen dollars times at least eight hours is, um, a hundred and twenty bucks. That's pretty good. It's not awesome, but it's worth the trouble I'm going through today. Mostly though, I'm doing this because Robby asked me to help him and the money is actually like icing on the cake. I'd help him for nothing if that's what was necessary... luckily it's not.

Ho hum, it takes a mature approach on my part not to snoop in that folder I see at the edge of Dottie's desk. I say that because I see my last name printed there in what I recognize as Dottie's ridiculous calligraphy-like penmanship. Casually glancing at the ceiling, I'm looking for the hidden cameras that seem obsequiously present everywhere nowadays recording humanity's every move, I hear, "What are you looking for, handsome?" and it startles me so much I jump up and turn around red-faced and, looking guilty, I stammer, "Wha... um, huh? Hi, Dottie, I was, what'd you ask...?"

She chuckles as she drops a pile of computer printouts along with her big purse on the desk, saying, "Well, good morning to you too," and I go, "I wasn't looking at anything... um, good morning. I, that is, Rob wanted to get here early, so..." She says, "Thank goodness it's Friday, huh?" Still standing, I'm like, "Oh, well, yeah, I guess. You startled me..." She's got this grinning expression on her face like she's having a good time at my expense, but I'm getting my shit together now, and say, "I'm working tomorrow too, so..." As if she cares.

She organizes stuff on her desk and then hangs her coat up. I don't believe she's paid attention to anything I've said, and I hope she hasn't. I'm good now though 'cause, as I said, I've got my shit together, got it together enough to ask, "So, what do I do first?" She says, "First I need to make a call to our affiliate in Philadelphia, right now as a matter of fact, and I'm hoping you won't be offended if I don't want you hearing my conversation. Also, I hope you won't take offense that I'm asking you to get us large coffees from Starbucks. My treat." I'm like, "Starbucks? You mean the one in the Natick Mall?" She grins really hard, and says, "Yes, dear, that one. Do you know of another Starbucks closer than that one?"

Making a face, I go, "Well, not closer, no. It's just, um, the cafeteria is, um..." and she says, "Yes, our cafeteria is much closer, but they make terrible coffee. I usually stop at Starbucks on my way to work but it was too crowded this morning and I just knew you'd be here early being the eager beaver that you are, so I skipped Starbucks and now I'm hoping you'll do me this favor. You can use my car, okay?" and she holds out a twenty dollar bill, saying, "A venti dark roast, and tell her to leave room for cream. You add the cream to mine and, of course, order whatever you want." I'm like, "Don't you want sugar?" She goes, "I've stolen many sugar packets from there and have them here in my desk so you don't need to concern yourself with that," and she holds up a handful of small brown packets. Huh, I've never seen sugar in brown packages like that.

Taking the twenty dollar bill she's holding out, I mutter, "Well, no thanks, nothing for me. I hate Starbucks coffee, um, well I guess hate is an inappropriate too-strong word in this..." She has the phone in her hand as she interrupts, saying, "Whatever, get yourself a Dunkin' Donut coffee then, or a soft drink, Dylan. I'm gonna be grumpy until I get my coffee," and she makes a shooing motion with her fingers as she sits at her desk and starts dialing the phone.

Huh, I get my coat thinking, 'The fucking nerve! Sending me for coffees!' Halfway down the hall, I remember I didn't get her car keys. Well, fuck! Looking down the hall at her, I see she's talking on the phone so I'm not going back there. Instead, I go the cafeteria figuring I'd much rather interrupt Robby for the pickup's key than possibly overhear Dottie's super secret conversation with some asshole in Philadelphia. I didn't know there was an affiliate there. In the cafeteria I see there are a surprising number of people here, but then the working world gets going around this time I suppose... and it is after eight o'clock.

Robby's at a table talking to a large black man. The man has a shiny shaved head and he's dipping a tea bag in a cup of hot water, dip, dip, dip. A large man like that having a cup of tea? That doesn't seem to compute, but there he is. I walk over as the large man laughs at something Rob said. He has a deep rolling laugh that has a few people looking over and grinning as though they're used to hearing that laugh. Robby sees me coming out of the corner of his eye and turns in his chair, saying, "Hey, Dylan! Um, what are you doing... um, what's up?" I tell him and he goes in his pocket for the key device and, holding it, he explains to the big man, "This is my roommate, Dylan Newman. He's helping me out today. Um, Dylan, say hello to Russ Trimbole. He's our agent for rentals. That is, large excavation rentals, big earth movers and the such, not real estate rentals, um, among his too many other responsibilities, huh Russ?" Russ just grins and goes, "I love my work, Rob." Yeah, talking to the owner's son, what else is he going to say?

Russ holds out a hand as big as a catcher's mitt and we shake, my hand almost getting lost in his. I half expect my hand to get crushed but Russ is gentle, saying, "Nice to meet you, Dylan." There's something about the way he gently holds my hand for a second too long while looking into my eyes a second too long as well, plus the way he said, 'nice to meet you'. Was it his tone of voice? I'm not sure but... was there a slight lisp in one of those four words? It was something that got my gaydar going ding, ding, ding.

Holy shit, wouldn't that be magical! Being dominantly fucked by this very large well put together black man. He's handsome even with the mustache and shaved head. Those are two grooming choices I dislike. Yeah, but I'll bet it would feel sexy holding his bald head with both hands, my legs around his waist as he fucked me a new asshole. I'd be like a twig compared to his bulk. Omigod those huge hands of his would almost completely encircle my waist as he gripped my hips and drove his ginormous hard black cock up my pinkish/white hairless ass with me shuddering and moaning, 'Oh, Mr. Trimbole, oooh aaah!' because he would NOT be gentle... not Mr. Trimbole!

I hear Rob say, "Dylan!" and I go, "Huh?" and see him holding out his key device for the pickup. Russ gives me a knowing 'look' with his big dark eyes and he has a little smirking grin on his lips too. My cock shivers in my shorts. I want to be fucked by this giant of a man so bad! Just once... a side-sex dominant fuck I could think back on forever. He wouldn't want me more than once anyway; I'd bet on that. To Russ, I'd be a tasty little white appetizer before he'd be getting something much more macho and manly to fuck for his main course. I just know it!

I'm smelling the back of my hand willing myself to break eye contact with Mr. Trimbole. I manage to do that but not before he gives me a funny look and another little devilish grin. After a deep breath and this entire exchange took only five seconds, I take the key device from Robby, saying, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Trimbole." Realizing I said that with the back of my hand still against my nose, I blush and take my hand away. After doing a fake cough, I mutter, "See you at lunch, Mr. Dickers, er, haha... I meant Rob." Both Rob and the man laugh, as the guy says, "And I'm Russ, Dylan. Mr. Trimbole is my father." His voice is so deep it makes my balls tremble in their sack!

Backing away until I hit the table behind me, I turn around and then leave with my dick feeling heavy and firm in my jockey shorts. In the hall outside the cafeteria, I gasp and take another deep breath telling myself... they didn't notice anything! They can't read my mind!' Then, feeling shaky, I burst out the front door into the cool air that feels refreshing! In the pickup, I scrunch my face at the vision I have of that big, pleasant black man spanking me with those big hands, spanking me until he makes me cry and then fucking me so hard my body jostling like I had only the one bone in my whole body, me still shedding a tear or two from the spanking. It wouldn't last long though... a minute maybe and I'd be spurting cum from here to the moon. Omigod, I want that so bad!

In the Dunkin' Donut's drive-through line I've finally calmed down, and now I'm trying to figure out why I lost my mind back there. I can't remember the last time anything hit me that hard. Mr. Trimbole, er, Russ, looked to be about thirty years old and his shaved head is normally a total turn-off for me but for some reason, not Mr. Trimbole's shaved head. And deep voices normally turn me off too... and then Mr. Trimbole must weigh two hundred and fifty pounds and he's at least six-feet-five-inches tall... at least. He's wearing an awesome looking suit though, one that looks expensive and, well, he looked really sharp! He's not fat, Mr. Trimbole is not fat, and why do I think of him as a 'mister' when Rob introduced him as Russ and then Russ told me to call him Russ? What the fuck kind of a name is Russ? Russel, right? Christ, I'll bet he isn't happy with his parents' choice of a name for him.

I'm in a fog, when I hear, "Can I help you, PLEASE?" Huh? Oh, it's my turn at the drive-through window. I don't remember driving up after each car in front got their orders. I go, "Um, yes, no need for shouting. I'd like a venti... NO! I meant a large regular coffee. Cream and sugar."

Motherfucker! I guess I haven't gotten get Mr. Trimbole off my mind yet. After getting the change from the twenty dollar bill, I wait a mere thirty seconds and here's my coffee. It won't be that simple at Starbucks! Putting the large coffee in the cup holder, I drive to Starbucks. There's no drive-through window here although there's is one at the Framingham Starbucks, not that I've ever used it.

Inside Starbucks there's a line of six people, each one acting more pretentious than the one before them. They phonily recite their order which consists of two or three compound sentences, then they take out a second mortgage on their house to pay for it. These Starbuck's customers people cross racial lines, as well as, age barriers, occupations, and you name it... all different types and here's their chance to be somebody special. It's necessary to be pretentious in Starbucks. I can guess at their occupations from what they're wearing. I'm guessing he's a truck driver in front of me and then a school teacher in front of him, and that dork there is an IT geek. They all get to pretend they're special people... 'I'm getting Starbucks coffee... it's bitter and wicked expensive but... LOOK AT ME! I'm in Starbucks! What assholes! Not that I care.

Yeah, many words are necessary for ordering Starbucks' coffees although my order requires the fewest words I'm hearing from the other orders given to the barista. Well, not the barista, the register dummy. I keep repeating the words Dottie told me to say over in my mind... 'venti dark roast, leave room for cream'. Oh, I need to pay first... yeah, pay and then you just stay in line, asshole! Haha... that's what I imagine the young high school drop-out working the registry is thinking when I pay. He looks like a drop-out.

My order is easily the simplest one the smiling girl behind the elaborate counter has heard this morning. She's the next person I need to deal with after the cash register drop-out. This girl has a ring through her nose and a unicorn tattooed on her neck. Not the most feminine girl I've ever seen. I'm guessing she's twenty years old and she couldn't possibly be happier about what I ordered. She appears thrilled as she asks my name. That catches me off guard and I say, "Um, Dylan Newman," and she goes, "Thank you, Danny," and then write 'Donny' on an empty cup. Airhead! She has a very big friendly smile but apparently, there's very little going on behind the smile. She not only got my name wrong but then either got the incorrect name wrong again or, at the very least misspelled my incorrect name. Oh, well, nobody's perfect.

I see others waiting in a group at the end of the line so I stand with them and then my coffee order comes out before the other more complicated ones. Okay, I called the girl an airhead and then I stupidly gave my whole name not realizing they only want the first name. But, hey, I don't normally buy Starbucks! Oh well, I'm waiting to hear my incorrect name called but it still takes me a second to realize 'Donny' is it. The smiling airhead is holding up a cup with a brown sleeve on it, I suppose to prevent me from burning my fingers and suing the shit out of Starbucks.

Not being quite as big an airhead as the smiling girl, I recall my instructions from Dottie and look at the choices for cream. There are a few and I finally decide on the one that says 'half and half' assuming it's the 'half and half' I'm familiar with. In Starbucks, one can't be sure. I'm not about to ask one of these pretentious people 'cause I don't care to be sneered at and ridiculed by a pretentious substitute kindergarten teacher. Not this morning anyway.

Okay, I get back in the pickup and put Dottie's coffee in the cup holder next to mine and off I go thinking I should have bought one of Starbucks pastry treats. While they're outlandishly expensive, it's not my money. Dammit! The one good thing I got from that experience... it made me stop thinking about Mr. Trimbole.

Parking the truck in the parking spot where I got it from, I'm carrying the coffees inside and at the steps, not looking where I'm going, I run into Robby and Mr. Trimbole. And I mean I literally run into them, BUMP! Well, into Mr. Trimbole mostly. Nothing spills because both cups have lids but my face collides with Mr. Trimbole's shoulder, the back of his shoulder actually. Robby goes, "Oh! Easy there, Dylan," and he grabs my arm steadying me as I'm muttering, "Sorry, I'm, I..." and Mr. Trimbole says in his voice that's so deep it makes my eardrums rumble, "My fault for being in your way, Dylan, haha." With my eardrums vibrating, I go, "No, Mr. Trimbole, your shoulder, um, I mean that's not..." and as he grins at me, his big right-hand rubs up against the back of my head and then lands on top of my head and stays there. I feel like I'm nine years old as Robby chuckles, mumbling, "What are you trying to say, Dylan?"

The huge black, bald man with the very deep voice smiles and chuckles. His chuckle sounds like an idling motorboat engine, and then he goes, "It's Russ... please, Dylan. You're making an old man out of me with that 'mister Trimbole' stuff." I'm red-faced again as I go, "Huh?" and Robby asks, "Are you all right, babe?" My face gets even redder now because, well, because of everything, but topped off by Rob calling me 'babe'. Some people in the company know about Robby and me, and from the 'look' on Mr. Trimbole's face, he's one of them. His huge hand rubs down the back of my head exactly the way he rubbed up it and now his huge hand grabs my shoulder and shakes it gently as he's saying, "I wish I'd have thought to ask for one of those, Mister Newman," and he points to the Starbucks cup as his laugh rumbles out like rolling thunder.

Rob chuckles along with Mr. Trimbole, probably because he called me 'Mister Newman'. Gee, he remembered my last name. I say to the big black man, "Um, do you want this one? I'll go get another." He laughs again and Robby says, "Good one, Dylan! Haha, I'll see you at lunch," and they start going up the stairs. Oh, they thought I was joking. Good!

Christ, that was awkward! I go up the stairs behind them while pushing my boner to the side and balancing the two coffees, holding them at the narrower bottom of the cups and burning my fingers a little in the process. Quickly taking one of the cups in my left hand I tighten my stomach muscles feeling my boner throb. It's been years since I've been this affected by someone sexually like I am this morning by Mr. Trimbole. I stare at his wide back and bobbing buttocks under his suit coat as I follow them up the stairs. He's large but moves like he weighs ten pounds. They go into the second office on the left as I continue going all the way to the end of the corridor.

My cock is still firm but not a boner now as I put Dottie's coffee and the change from her twenty dollars on her desk. She's still on the phone but raises her eyebrows and smiles at me. Forgetting what she said earlier about not wanting me to hear her conversation, I sit in the guest chair next to her desk and start to take the lid off my coffee. Before I can take the lid off and, yes, I refuse to sip the coffee from that little hole in the cup that most people peel open, Dottie says, "Sorry, Dylan, but would you drink that, um, anywhere but here?" She smiles as she holds the phone, a land-line phone, against her left tit like Mrs. D. did yesterday. I go, "Oh, sorry," and get up to give her some privacy.

I go in the little closet-size room I worked in some months back and sit at the table thinking about Mr. Trimbole. I can't imagine under what circumstances I'll ever see him again and it's been quite a while, years maybe, since anyone has interested me as much as he does so it'd be hot seeing him again some time or place that... well, fantasy time!

In the dictionary under 'dominant sex partner for a one-time trip-around-the-world-fuck of some skinny white submissive young guy', next to that would be Mr. Trimbole's picture with that smirking 'I know what you want' grin on his face and maybe a cell phone number for the very brave submissive types like myself. Submissive to beat the band, but not a pussy... ya know? I'd meet him for that 'one-timer' that neither of us would ever mention to anyone as long as we live.

Deep into an incredibly hot fantasy about me and Mr. Trimbole, my cock again becoming a six-inch long rock in my jockey shorts, I hear, "If you're ready, we can get started now, Dylan. Bring your coffee." Huh? Looking up I see Dottie holding a pile of papers, saying, "You know how to type, right?" Frowning, as my hand under the table is pushing my stone boner to the side and catching the head under the leg opening on the left of my jockey shorts. I get up then and grab my coffee noticing I never even took the lid off. I'm like, "Type? Whaddaya mean type?" My boner feels good and I've had tons of experience since my early teen years hiding it, as I just did. It's second nature to me by now.

I follow Dottie as she's saying, "I need you to log in this pile of numbers and code words, um, there's a program that Carolyn will explain to you. It's simple and foolproof and I'd normally have Rocksanne do this except the managers want other printouts for tomorrow's meeting that she's working on." Someone is actually named Rocksanne? Dottie's still talking, "Here at Dickers & Son, where no one can plan ahead two minutes, everything needs to be done yesterday." What was that?

We go down to the first floor and into a room where there are four computer set-ups and two of them have women in front of them although they're talking to each other and not doing anything with the computers. They stop talking when Dottie walks in and both turn to face their computer's keyboard as Dottie asks, "Where's Carolyn?" The one with some red jelly at the corner of her mouth from the jelly donut she's holding, says, "She stepped out to the lady's room." Dottie taps her foot impatiently, muttering, "We still start work at eight thirty here, right, Megan?" Jelly mouth says, "Yeah, the last I heard, Dottie." Oh, Dottie's pissed that nothing is happening here work-wise, and apparently the Carolyn person is the supervisor or assistant president or whatever the fuck titles everyone has nowadays, and she ain't here either.

This is all well and good for these people who know each other, but how about me? Am I supposed to feel comfortable in what appears to be a contentious situation with these women resenting and hating on the owner's assistant because she's bitching at them? A large woman with a strong nose comes in walking fast, saying, "Dottie! Oh, um, and is this the kid you mentioned?" Dottie says, "He's not a kid, Carolyn. He's a senior at college." She looks startled staring at me, mumbling, "You're kidding, right?"

They get it settled and I get assigned a computer with Dottie telling me, "Carolyn will show you what to do, Dylan," and she leaves. The three women, none of whom are the Rocksanne lady who Dottie says is doing something similar to what I'm supposed to do, and who I think I'd rather be working with than these three, but whatever, it's fifteen dollars an hour. As soon as Dottie left, the two ladies at the computer began talking to one another again as the jelly lady finishes her donut. Carolyn is nice to me, saying, "Don't mind Dottie, she's under a lot of pressure." The lady with the donut, says, "We all are!" Well, she seems to be hiding the pressure she's feeling pretty well, her and her friend.

Carolyn gives the jelly lady a hard stare. I think she's the one Dottie called Megan who now repeats herself, "Well, we are under a lot of pressure!" Whatever, I listen to Carolyn's instructions and quickly determine this is a simple-minded project. The program tells me if I type the wrong thing in the wrong space. Once I get in the flow though I start typing fast 'cause this is mostly a mindless piece of cake! Ninety percent of the information is in the form of numbers but, of the ten percent that are letters, half are capitalized and half lower case so quite a challenge to the intellect... duh!

Yeah, but the best part is I get into a groove when doing this kind of repetitive activity and it passes the time very well. It requires just barely enough concentration that I can't fantasize about me and Mr. Trimbole, which is just as well because I'd probably bring on a spontaneous ejaculation in my pants if I thought about him and me doing 'it' long enough. Maybe my sexual infatuation with Mr. Trimbole comes down to me realizing I'm running out of time for one last mind-blasting domination fuck. Just one more before I retire the desire entirely, and settle for being content with my mind-enhanced versions of sub/dom sex with Robby and my buddy-sex buddy, Danny. Both of them, especially Danny, do have a little bit of a dominant attitude when 'topping'... and I like it fine. Mr. Trimbole though... holy shit! That's if I haven't misread him from the start.

And then Robby sticks his head in the doorway, saying, "Ready for lunch, Dylan?" Wow, that's amazing! Looking quickly at my watch I see it's five-of-twelve! That's awesome! Yeah, but I'll only have one page left when I finish this one, so I go, "Can you give me two minutes?" Rob goes, "Of course," and he talks with Carolyn, sounding very professional while doing it.

I finish up and get Rob to wait while I print out everything and then take the stack of printouts upstairs to Dottie. She goes, "Really? You finished it all?" I nod and say, "It's been a pleasure, Dottie," and she goes, "You're a good worker, Dylan." Robby says, "Dottie, um, dad wants me to tell you to please call him when the figures come in for last month's overtime." She nods her head and writes something on a notepad as I say, "See ya next time, Dottie." She waves a hand and we walk down the hall with me asking, "How'd everything go with you this morning Rob?" He nods, "Good, it was good."

We eat at a sub shop on Chestnut Street sitting at a table looking out at the sidewalk. As we eat, both of us getting Italian subs, Rob gets a call on his cell phone and as he talks into it I look out the window at a fat lady walking a short squatty dog... a bulldog, I think it's a bulldog. The dog sniffs the little patch of dirt around the base of a tree. Trees are planted every fifty feet or so, planted in a small batch of dirt between the street and the sidewalk.

The fat lady stops right in front of this window while the dog expels an enormous physics-defying dump right there and then sniffs it before looking up at the lady as if to say, 'Take care of that', and then she does. She has her hand in an inverted plastic bag and gets most of the pile of dog shit in her fist and then pulls the top of the bag over it and goes off carrying it as the dog strains on its leash. Actually, the dog is taking the fat lady for a walk.

I'm laughing and as soon as Rob finishes his call, he asks, "What's so funny?" I tell him and he mutters, "Oh God, that's gross!" Yeah, it was. Done my sub, I'm wiping my mouth with a paper napkin, asking, "That guy, Mr. Trimbole. What's his story?" Rob's still eating so he waits until he's done swallowing and goes, "You mean Russ, um, whaddaya mean what's his story?" I shrug, "He's a huge guy, huh? Has he worked for the company long?" Rob goes, "Almost two years now. Dad hired him right out of college." I'm fishing here, obviously, as I go, "Get outta here. He's only twenty-four?" Robby's like, "Yep, although he does look older." I'm like, "Is he a married man?" Robby shrugs again, "How the fuck would I know? Probably not though. Not too many guys are married at that age." Hmm, except Rob wants us to marry at twenty-two.

On the way back to the office Robby reminds me of what I'm supposed to do during the meeting. Meanwhile, I'm wondering if Mr. Trimbole will be in the meeting. Wouldn't that be something? When all eight managers are seated, Mr. Trimbole is not one of them. All eight managers or vice presidents or whatever the fuck their titles are, sort of look at Robby. He stands up and reads what I assume are notes from his dad. There's some note-taking by a couple of managers and then Robby introduces me as his roommate at college and then he chuckles, saying, "You may wonder what my roommate is doing here. Well..." and he tells them what he told me he was going to say.

There are four women and four men interspersed on either side of the long table. It's not a man, a woman, a man, a woman... not that kind of thing. And it's not all women on one side and men or the other... they're interspersed as I said. And, according to Rob, they always sit in the same seats. When Rob's through explaining my presence here there's some eye-rolling and that's my first note. I inconspicuously note that numbers 2,5, 6, and 7 seemed to roll their eyes or snort at Rob's explanation. And then the meeting goes on for a few hours with me, surprisingly, having a good time writing notes that might get some of these assholes in trouble.

It occurs to me during the first hour that there are no ex-Mensa members in this management group, and they like to argue, or it seems that way to me. It's like they never outgrew the arguing they did at pick-up games when they were younger. I didn't realize all the arguing we did during the years of playing in unorganized pick-up games as kids meant we'd eventually be sitting in meetings still arguing as adults.

Three of the managers make presentations and I note their numbers, meaning where they're sitting in the numbered blocks Rob drew-up for me. And I identify early on who the biggest assholes are. The ones that just seem to enjoy disagreeing with whatever conclusions the presenters come up with and two of the women seem to be the most aggressive in the group... unnecessarily aggressive as if they're trying to prove something. Also, by the third hour I've picked out who hates who... rivalries or something. None of these people are very physically attractive but none of them are especially ugly either. Nothing unusual there although one husky guy sweats a ridiculous amount.

No one mentions me or seems to know I'm here after the first fifteen minutes of sneaking looks at me. They get wound-up in protecting their point of view and quite often one of them will say, "I want that recorded, Rob. Did you get what Blake said about early hiring?" Rob was super cool each time. He'd lift his pen and say, "Yes. I noted it, Bob," or whoever. It went on like that and, as I said, I enjoyed myself. Of course, I had no responsibilities and couldn't care less who won the arguments, although often it was hard to tell who won anyhow. I have lots of doodles along with my notes and it'll be a blast showing everything to Robby.

A tall guy who looked a little like Abraham Lincoln finally said, "We're just rehashing what we decided two hours ago," and then he goes, "Rob?" like he needed Rob's okay to call the meeting off. Robby stands up and said, "Does anybody have anything else they want to say tonight?" and before anyone can say anything, he adds, "Okay, then. Thanks! Nick, you're right, we're wasting time. See you all at nine tomorrow morning when we're starting with Mylo's report." I hear one guy say to the group, "Gambol's anyone?" and almost everyone muttered some affirmative response. Gambol's is an upscale bar and restaurant in Framingham about two miles from the office.

While driving home, I go, "I admit I don't know what I'm talking about, but they don't seem an especially impressive group. That management group." Robby goes, "Well, ya gotta remember four of them are from the business when it was primarily only a lawn service and landscape design company plus snow plowing in the winter. There was nothing like the Westborough project or this new Falmouth thing back then. Dad's reluctant to let the old timers go. And the meetings are much more organized when dad's there."

Yeah, I guess. Jeez, I hope my notes aren't too out of line. I goofed around a little. Robby says, "We'll compare our notes and consolidate them as soon as we get home. Ya know, before showing them to dad." I go, "Yeah, sure." Jeez, it sounds like we'll be working for a few more hours. I guess that's the business world, ya know? Huh, I wonder if Mr. Trimbole will be working tomorrow? Probably not on a Saturday, and I'm not asking Rob. That'd be awkward.

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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