Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 5

by Donny Mumford

When Robby asked me, "Whaddaya feel like doing now?" he asked the question in a conciliatory manner, probably feeling guilty about being overly aggressive during our sex-play before dinner. Perhaps his overzealousness was Rob's way of expressing a spat of jealousy, or maybe he was just plain pissed off I stayed with Danny last night. That's okay, I kinda like that he was jealous even though there wasn't anything to be jealous about.

Truthfully, Danny and I sleeping together was a big fat zero! We might as well have been sleeping on different continents but I'll wait awhile before explaining that to Robby; for now, we've moved past it. When an opportunity over the next few days presents its self I'll correct any misconceptions Rob has about it because I'd hate for him to continue believing a scenario in his head that's just plain wrong.

The other thing is, I'm wondering how Rob feels about Danny's part in this overblown drama? And I'm also just now realizing how little insight I have about Rob's and Danny's long-term relationship. I mean other than the obvious buddy sex that's been an on-and-off thing for years. There must be more to their friendship than just that. Hell, they've known each other since middle school and they're basically neighbors. On the other hand, maybe I know all I need or want to know about it...

As to Rob's question, 'what do I feel like doing?' I don't feel like doing much of anything actually and I wouldn't mind staying in tonight. With that in mind, I shrug and suggest, "How about if you and I have a ping pong tournament in the basement?" We're having this discussion a half hour after dinner while sitting in the family room, sort of watching ESPN on TV. Robby goes, "A ping pong tournament? Jesus, are you serious, babe!" What's he mean by that?

I give him a frown as he lightly punches my shoulder, adding, "Ya know, I prefer at least a tiny bit of competition when doing that or anything competitive. Hell, I play you at ping pong using my left hand and the games are still not what you'd call competitive." Acting hurt, I mutter, "Well fuck you then..." and I reach over messing up his hair causing his bangs to drift down almost covering his eyes. He yells, "Yo, leave my hair alone!" and then more quietly, he adds, "My hair looks cool." I'm like, "Okay, no ping pong tournament but your hair does not look cool; it's way out of style, for this century anyway. If we were having this discussion in the 'eighties', well maybe..."

He's still fucking around with his hair a minutes later, but stops and says, "Oh shit! I'm supposed to be online with the other co-captains." I'm like, "What... why?" He pulls on my arm, "C'mon, we'll hang out in our bedroom." As soon as we're in 'our' bedroom I flop on the bed with my head on Rob's pillow and my hands behind my head. Rob sits at his desk logging onto his computer as I ask, "Emails, huh?" He nods, "Yeah, me and the other co-captains from last year are exchanging ideas about fall baseball practice. We started emailing earlier this week." Boring!

After logging on, Rob mutters, "Good, the guys are online." Turning to look at me, he's like, "Hey, babe, did I tell you we've got a new head coach this year. His name is, Coach Davis, and so far, so good." I go, "Oh yeah, where'd he come from?" Rob goes, "He was the hitting coach at West Point for like eight years. Merrimack hired him to be the head guy for our Division II program after last year's coach quit under mysterious circumstances." I'm not asking about the mysterious circumstances because once Rob starts talking about the Merrimack's baseball team he'll go on until my ears bleed.

And another reason I'm steering clear of that topic is personal: to wit, I am not trying out for the team as a walk-on so I avoid all baseball talk when possible! Robby's typing away for a minute, and then he says to me, "Okay, listen to what Coach Davis has to say." I'm like, "Wait a second! Are you guys emailing with this new coach?" Shaking his head, Rob sputters, "No, of course not, don't be lame! Coach posts on the Merrimack baseball site so anyone who's interested can read the info." I'm like, "Oh, well I'm happy for you baseball guys but what's that have to do with me?" He goes, "Well, for one thing, it's lucky for you I'm checking on shit like this. I just found out you'll need to bring your glove and cleats when we go on campus Wednesday morning. It says here the walk-ons will have their first try-out session at one o'clock Wednesday afternoon." I mutter, "Oh, fuck that."

Turning completely around in his chair, Rob's like, "Why do you say that? It works out beautifully for us time-wise. The senior orientation meeting is at eleven o'clock and we'll be done with that before noon. So we grab a quick lunch and we're ready for the try-outs at one o'clock. And don't worry, I'll be there helping the coaches so it's not like you'll be on your own."

Rob's planning on us beginning the semester Wednesday morning, huh? Christ, we don't even have our first class until three o'clock Thursday afternoon. Why in the hell is he so gung-ho about that useless senior orientation? Well, I actually think I know... I'm pretty sure it's because of his Dad's speech about having the best senior year possible and Rob won't leave anything to chance.

Surprisingly Chubby will be on campus Tuesday, so what am I complaining about? Of course, Chub's early arrival has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the dumb-ass orientation! He probably doesn't even know there is a senior orientation, and if he finds out about it he won't give it a second thought anyway. Ah screw it though, I'll deal with that later.

Rob's very much into this online baseball information exchange, muttering absently, "This website is invaluable," and then he says louder, "Uh oh, listen to this, babe: Coach says he wants to eliminate a minimum of fifty percent of you try-out guys the first day! Jesus, this guy means business. He's expecting last year co-captains to take care of most of the eliminations too. Oh boy, that'll be fun..." I flop over on my stomach and, with Rob's pillow under my face, I try to catch his scent off the pillowcase. Ha, except his Mom changed the bedding again. She does that like two or three times a week!

Rob's still muttering, "Okay then, I guess it's a damn good that I'll be there with you, Dylan. Danny and I will be your personal coaches and see to it that you make it to the second day of try-outs at least. Then it's up to the coaches so we won't be able to help you much after that, except of course we'll both put in a good word for you. Heh heh, and oh yeah, that fuckin' Danny is really good at the brown-nose stuff..."

It's tempting to burst Rob's bubble by explaining some facts of life, but I don't want to ruin his fun right now. Instead, I give him a noncommittal shrug. There's a couple of things majorly wrong with Rob's assumptions: his first incorrect assumption is the one about me going to the senior orientation. His second incorrect assumption is that I'm trying out for the team 'cause I'm not doing that either. Other than those two minor things Rob's right on target with some of the rest of the things he's saying.

And the reason I'm not trying out for the team is simply... I acknowledge and accept my limitations! Too many people on this planet never get the hang of accepting their limitations. There are way too many goof-offs routinely making asses of themselves insinuating themselves into situations they have no business being involved with, and therefore embarrassing the shit out of themselves

Of course, I'm aware there are weirdos who simply can't be embarrassed. Nothing embarrasses them! I suppose they're too conceited or clueless to realize when they should be embarrassed. Would-be entertainers routinely fall into that category but there are many others too. Singers on all the amateur shows on TV for example, and what's worse than a stand-up comedian who isn't funny? Omigod, awkward doesn't cover that scene. Nervous chuckles of sympathy from the small audience and then the bad comedian chastising the audience because it couldn't possibly be that he isn't funny, so it must be a stupid audience, right? Well, I'm not gonna be that unfunny comedian trying out for a college baseball team, thank you very much.

Like I said though, I don't need to deal with Rob's incorrect assumptions now. I'm just lying here on the bed happy that my ass feels okay. I suppose I really should give credit to Rob for trying to get me walking bowlegged from our sex this afternoon. He fell short of his goal but he made a valiant effort. The thing is I've been in that sexually-contrived bowlegged condition occasionally so I happen to know it requires more of a concerted effort as a 'top' than Robby put into it. Omigod, nobody was better at that than Willie. Holy shit, in our youth he'd have me walking bowlegged for two days running and think nothing of it. Wilcox was capable of doing that to a lesser degree as well; when he felt like it. With Robby though, all I did was complain, 'Oh Robby, my ass hurts' and he stopped right away. Well, he stopped after my second whining complaint. Heh heh, Willie would have smacked my ass, stuck a sock in my mouth, and continued pounding away. Yeah, I gotta call Willie one of these days...

Hunched over his computer Rob's typing away again and then he stops to read stuff. Looking over at me, he says, "Some of us co-captains have had this back-and-forth email chain going for a few days now and it feels good getting into baseball again." Nodding my head, I mumble, "Oh yeah? I kinda figured that's what's happening, so go for it, boyfriend." Christ though, I gotta smile to myself because Rob's so, oh I don't know, he's so conscientious and reliable, and he takes things he interested in very, very seriously. And there's nothing, except maybe me and his job at Dickers & Son, that Rob's more interested in than baseball... and like I said: even though I kid him about it, I'm happy for him.

For the record though, it's not like his enthusiasm has ever carried over to schooling per se; it's the baseball team part of high school and now college that Rob cares most about. Oh sure, lately he's gotten a little more serious about his college grades but that's because his Dad told him it reflects on how he'll do during his working career. Huh, and that's what, like I said, I surmise his interest in the senior orientation is all about, although personally, I don't see how one has anything to do with the other. And his Dad told me the same fuckin' thing about college performance indicating how a person will do in the workforce, which I admit gotmy attention too. Yeah, mostly because I'm hoping to work for Dickers & Son after graduation. For one thing, working for Robby will eliminate the need for me to do any awkward interviewing for a job with strangers. I'd like to avoid that shit-storm if possible.

Well let's be serious, it's an understatement to say I see things a little differently than Robby. I'm much more inclined to put things in perspective while Rob tends to get overly conscientious about every fucking thing you can think of. This misguided idea of his about attending the senior orientation is just the latest example of that. I mean why in the fuck would we waste time at an orientation after we've been at Merrimack for three years already? Sure, I went to freshman orientation but who wouldn't go in their first year at college? And even that turned out to be pretty much a waste of time, so going to orientations in subsequent years... you gotta be shitting me.

Laughing, Robby goes, "Oh fuck no! Say it ain't so!" He snorts out another laugh turning around again, saying, "Dylan, you're not gonna believe this shit!" I'm like, "What?" and he says, "Us co-captains are brainstorming, ya know? Coming up with some crazy ideas about bonding as a team. The latest idea is everyone on the team needs to rock an old fashion buzz cut all year to show the world we're the Merrimack baseball team." I mutter, "What the fuck...?" He excitedly goes, "Ya know, to show a unified front. We didn't make the playoffs last season and we need something to bond teammates together as brothers, um, for a common goal." Oh jeez, gag me with a baseball bat! I frown, "Are you people for real? That's idiotic!"

Ignoring my negativity, Rob's chuckling as he reads stuff from his computer, and then he laughs, "Oh fuck, I knew it! That asshole, and my good buddy, Golden Summers, is mostly the one behind promoting this buzz cut idea." Huh, well yeah, that'd be a great idea if I could be the team's barber! Robby goes, "Fuck, and I've been growing my hair out for more than three months now. How ironic is that!" Ironic is one word for it, but I could come up with more appropriate ones.

If they agree to that dumb-ass idea, it'll be just one more reason I'm not trying out for the team! Reason number 648 to be exact. Robby's laughing at something else he's reading and then he turns around to me for the tenth time, "I know this is Golden's way of getting out of being the team's barber like he was last year."

It finally dawns on Robby that I'm not sharing his enthusiasm but he misinterprets my nonplus attitude. Looking serious for a second, and then snickering, he goes, "Don't worry, babe. You won't need to get a buzz cut unless you make the team." I go, "Rob, what the fuck grade are you guys in any way? That's so, um, something you might do in high school; not as college seniors." Rob frowns, muttering, "Major league sports teams do shit like this all the time." I go, "No they don't! Maybe once every ten years some dumb-ass team will do something like, I don't know, maybe everyone grows a beard or something stupid like that." Rob dismissively waves his hand at me and goes back to the co-captains' emails.

Getting off the bed I go over to stand behind him to read some of this nonsense for myself, as I'm thinking, 'Are these guys serious?' Then I run my fingers through Rob's long hair thinking, 'Hey, I'd love to watch Rob's long blond hair falling away from his head'. I say, "Well I'll be glad, although it's basically idiotic, to give you the buzz cut right now." Robby goes, "No, don't be stupid! It's a team thing! We do it for our teammates while drinking a couple of cases of beer, or something. Lots of shouting, bonding, and laughing our asses off." Oh, brother! Jocks can be so cluelessly boring!

I wander around the room getting bored myself, so I whine, "Yo Rob, let's do something," and he says, "I am doing something. I'm helping plan Merrimack's fall baseball practice. Coach Davis' first email asked all the returning co-captains for suggestions on how we think fall practice could be more beneficial, and that's what we're doing." Looking at me then, he smiles and goes, "My best suggestion was for the team to have more bench players this year, meaning walk-ons. Haha, obviously that would help you make the team." Jesus! Rob gets all giddy and wicked happy whenever the subject of the baseball team comes up. He seems like a young kid. Huh, it's kinda cute though, I guess...

From downstairs, Mr. Dickers calls, "Rob, Dylan! Please come down here for a minute." Rob's head snaps around, "What's he want, Dylan?" I shrug, "He wants us to go downstairs, obviously." Making a 'face' Rob types real fast, his fingers again flying over the keyboard in a blur, and then he gets up, and says, "Okay, let's see what's up with that."

Rob does his clump, clump, clump down the stairs real fast with me grinning to myself again. Rob's awesome! And I can tell he's concerned his father will say something about his hair again because Rob's finger-combing it out of his eyes as we walk into his Dad's office.

Mr. Dickers is drinking one of his evening cocktails, this one appears to be an Old Fashion. He doesn't bother with any kind of 'greeting' for us. Instead, he holds up a stack of papers, saying, "Rob, I need you to look through these interviews from this morning and make sure we have the names spelled correctly, um, and I guess the correct social security numbers too." Robby makes an annoyed 'face', mumbling, "Why would I do that?" His Dad says, "Midge, in Human Resources, claims some of our handwritten information is incorrect, or mixed up, or illegible... or some damn thing. Her concerns about the correct information and everything is all spelled out on the cover sheet."

Rob makes another 'face' while taking the papers from Mr. Dickers who's oblivious to Rob's displeasure. Mr. D. mumbles, "That damn nitpicking Human Resources department... gawd!" Looking up at us, he adds, "When I started this company we had one person in what we called the Personnel Department and... oh, never mind that. Um, just make sure everything is accurate and then first thing Monday morning see that it's all updated onto the computer program." Rob whines, "How am I supposed to know what everyone's social security number is?" His father snaps back at him, "If you'll look, you'll see the correct information for everyone is on that top cover sheet... like I already told you." Rob goes, "Jesus, you need this right now? Why can't it wait until Monday morning?" His Dad mumbles, "Just do it!" And then Mr. D. goes, "And you," looking at me, "Sit down and we'll review this, um, 'thing' you wrote about Hartford." Thing?

As I sit down in one of the chairs facing Mr. Dickers' desk, Rob stalks out of the room, muttering, "I'll be in my room." Totally ignoring that, Mr. Dickers surprises me by saying, "You write very well, Dylan." Huh? First he called my report a 'thing' and then he says I write very well; which is it? Um, I'll take the second comment as his final analysis of my work.

He points to my Hartford report. It's the extra copy I was smart enough to print out this afternoon, as he says, "You included the perfect amount of detail without any superfluous conjecture on your part, which obviously you realized would be inappropriate since you aren't aware of the genesis of the Hartford office or, for that matter, the project itself, and I appreciate that." What the fuck does that even mean?

Well, it sounded good, I think. So why'd he refer to my report as a 'thing'? I don't ask though, instead I lean forward showing how interested I am in what he has to say. After a big gulp of his cocktail, he starts reading certain sentences and then he paraphrases the content to be sure he gets the same meaning I intended, which in most cases he does. Some of it, hearing him read it out loud sounds to me like I let a little of my vitriol for those office people show through. Huh, I thought I held back better than that. Anyway, this goes on for a half hour... and it's getting tedious.

When the top of my head is about to explode Rob comes back in the office drinking from a bottle of beer. He unceremoniously drops the stack of papers on his Dad's desk, saying, "There were two, only two incorrect facts out of the forty-one employees' forms. Two facts that were slightly off. What a waste of time that was. I'll never get those thirty minutes of my life back!"

That little tirade of Rob's made absolutely no impact on his Dad who swallows the last of his cocktail and gives Rob a blank 'look'. Rob clears his throat, and goes, "So, I guess Midge had some trouble with the legibility because almost everything was correct except whoever interviewed Connie Burke and left the 'e' off the end of her last name and, um, Wilbur Blacksburg's social security number wasn't included at all. Big deal!" Robby gives me a smirking 'look' which takes me by surprise and I almost snort out a laugh. Dammit, his Dad thinks this is serious stuff!

His father glances at the stack of forms and goes, "Huh. Well, did you correct those mistakes?" Rob chugs some beer and says, "Yes, sir," and then he's grinning at me again, sort of mocking me for saying 'Sir' to his Dad which Rob has never said until now. He adds, "I also rewrote any possibly illegible stuff... everything corrected in red ink so Midge can't miss it," and he sits next to me giving my side an elbow poke as he mugs another 'face' at me. I stifle another snorting laugh as his Dad mumbles, "Thank you, Robert, but I can do very well without your sarcasm."

Mr. Dickers and I finish going through the Hartford report in like five minutes while Robby continues trying to distract me by doing mugging 'faces' at me when his Dad isn't looking. I try frowning hard at Rob to get him to stop. Some hot-shot management material the two of us are, acting like ten-year-olds...

Finished my report, Mr. Dickers goes, "Good, that was good, Dylan. I'll run through the rest of department reports you've provided and get you back in here if I need clarification on anything. For obvious reasons it's the Hartford one I was most concerned with." Rob goes to get out of his chair as Mr. D. almost smiles, asking me, "Did Rob tell you about the morale survey he completed last week?" I look at Rob who's sitting back down and before I can say anything, Rob goes, "No, I didn't get a chance, Dad. Jesus, Dylan just got back today!" Oh man, what's this about? I can't imagine but did Mr. D. almost smile? So maybe it's good...

His Dad sucks on a piece of ice from the empty glass, and goes, "Well, the results of the survey were disappointing as they always are. Any minor complaint employees have over the past year is what they mostly remember, and then everyone thinks they're underpaid, but here's the thing: while the company's approval rating was only 79% company-wide, that's still the best rating we've ever had." Pointing at me, he adds, "I'm telling you this because a lot of the employees mentioned your benefits presentation as the reason for a partially positive overall rating. So nice job, Dylan!" Well okay!

That is until Rob goes, "No, that's not exactly correct, Dad! Most of the employees didn't say anything about Dylan's interviews until I mentioned the interviews to remind them!" His Dad shrugs, muttering, "The same thing basically..."

Even though Rob tried taking some credit for it, I'm basking in the glow of that rare compliment from Mr. Dickers; two compliments tonight actually. I mean if I separate the benefit reports from my benefit presentations. Yeah, that qualifies as two! Rob and I continue sitting here as his Dad is organizing papers on his desk. Rob apparently wants to explain further, as he says, "In case you're not aware of it, Dad, I handled the moral survey differently than it's been done in the past. I acted like I was on the employees' side by not making it seem like their jobs were on the eff'in line. You know, like past morale surveys as I recall." Mr. Dickers emphatically says, "None of our past morale surveys gave the impression anyone's job was on the line, and for your information..."

And I tune completely out of that argument between father and son. By now I'm used to the Dickers' bickering. To them their contentious manner of speaking doesn't really mean anything; it's merely how they often communicate.

As for my Hartford report, Mr. Dickers didn't give any indication what's going to happen to the Hartford employees, good or bad... but then why would he? Maybe the decision will be that those employees way out there in Hartford have in fact been left out on their own without proper leadership from the home office group and consequently better communication will result, or maybe Mr. Dickers will fire the lot of them. One guess is as good as another. I'm just happy for the pat on the back, and the $500 bonus.

When Rob and his Dad are done arguing they seem fine with one another, as I expected they would be. His Dad says, "Thanks to both you boys. Nice job!" Rob and I stand, as I'm saying, "Oh, I want to thank you very much for the bonus, Mr. Dickers." He goes, "Oh yeah, how much did you get?" I must look startled that he doesn't know, so he says, "I mostly only sign-off on bonuses. Micromanaging isn't what I do. Ronald Gifford would probably have been the manager who came up with your bonus, Dylan." I nod my head and mutter, "Well thank you, um, anyway."

Mr. D. drains the melted ice in his drink now, and mutters, "How much did you say it was; your bonus?" As he asks that, I'm thinking that I've never heard the name Ronald Gifford before in my life. Anyway, I say, "It was, um, $500," and Rob goes, "Hey! What the hell? Dylan got $500?" His Dad actually laughs briefly, and then says, "I just told you, Rob, I merely sign off on what's put in front of me." Robby goes, "I know summer employees get bonuses on Monday, but I was told what I'm getting, and never mind who told me, but it's less than Dylan got." His Dad actually chuckles again, which as I said is kinda rare, and then he mumbles, "Discuss your bonus Monday morning with Cal if you must." Or another way he could have put that was: 'Discuss it with someone who gives a shit'. Rob goes, "Damn right I will, but not because Dylan got $500! That's beside the point. I deserve more than I heard I'm getting, that's all." I control the smirk that my brain wants me to make.

And then, a little belatedly, Rob says to me, "Um, congratulations by the way. That's awesome, Dylan." Mr. Dickers goes, "Okay, will you two boys get outta here now and let me finish my work, please." As if it was our idea to be in here in the first place! As we're leaving Mrs. Dickers is walking in with a platter of sandwiches and a fresh Old Fashion cocktail for her hubby. She sets the platter on the desk and says to me, "Dylan, will you please give your boyfriend a haircut. I don't like that look on Rob at all." Rob goes, "Mother, is it remotely possible for you to, for once in your life, mind your own damn business! It's my hair and I'm an adult, so ya know..." and his Dad, ignoring Rob's rudeness, goes, "Yes, Dylan, tie him down if necessary." That's right, put me in the middle of this family's latest argument.

I follow Rob as he stomps upstairs, mumbling, "I'm twenty-two fucking years old and my parents still think I'm ten." Oh yeah, it can definitely get tedious around here at times. In his bedroom Rob's combing his hair in front of the mirror, asking, 'Seriously, Dylan, do you think my hair looks that bad?" I go, "It looks like shit, but you like it so that's good enough for me." He says, "Thank you, um, for the last part," and then he logs-in onto his computer again as I flop on the bed again.

Okay, so every minute isn't fun and games or shits and giggles for Rob and me, but nobody's life is like that. We end up staying home for the night with Rob calling Danny to come over so I guess he isn't all that pissed-off at Danny after all. Danny's still suffering from his hangover though and doesn't want to come out tonight. I suggest calling Hayden but Rob mumbles something under his breath and doesn't call. Whatever...

We go out to the pool house for a smoke and stay out here while Rob drinks six or seven beers and I sip on a couple of Cokes. We're smoking and shooting darts as Rob does some bitching about his Dad's refusal to buy a $4600 pool table. He goes, "A pool table would obviously be perfect in here. There's plenty of room if we move the bar to the back, and then the fucking pool table I found online is on sale too! It's actually a $6400 pool table. Can you believe that?" I go, "Jeez!" and then take a sip of Rob's beers so his beer-breath doesn't knock me out.

We get to bed around ten-thirty and just cuddle before going to sleep. No sex, but then we had plenty of that earlier. Saturday morning we're awake at nine o'clock and I for one am feeling awesome! Nothing like a good night's sleep in my own, um, our own bed. Plus no hint of a hangover for me. Unfortunately, Robby can't say the same as the seven beers he had last night have his head pounding a little and consequently he's a tad grouchy.

I leave him lying in bed as I take care of the stuff I need to do in the bathroom, including a shower. Getting dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt I'm really anxious to see Chubby... and I'm looking forward to driving our new car too! New to us anyway. When I'm dressed I drag Rob out of bed, "C'mon, Rob! Don't you want to take a ride in Chub's and my new car?" He pretends he can barely stand lying against me with me mostly holding him up, as he mumbles, "You smell like shampoo," and then he kisses me quickly, murmuring, "I can almost feel that baby mustache of yours." I go, "Gawd Rob! Your breath!' Chuckling, he messes-up my just-combed hair and I go, "Ha, now your hand is wet. I just got out of the shower." Wiping his wet hand on his boxer shorts, he goes, 'Wait for me, okay? Don't eat anything... we'll get breakfast at the Pancake House. My treat."

While he's in the bathroom I go online for my emails and the first one I see is from Connor Neary. He says he's looking forward to seeing me at Merrimack. Omigod, that's right! Connor got out of the Army a year early, same as Dodger, although Connor stayed in Texas with his boyfriend until now. Well, he always said he was eventually gonna graduate college and now he's beginning to do that as a sophomore at Merrimack. Good for him, not that I'm surprised.

I send him an enthusiastic greeting telling him I can hardly wait to see him and then asks some questions about how he's doing, where's he staying on campus, and things like that. No response so he's not online, but I'll hear from him later. Gee, Connor... what a nice person he is, and what a hard life he's lived through during all of his childhood. Well hell, during his freshman year at Merrimack it was wicked bad for him at home too. His home life has sucked like, well forever! Always with a smile on Connor's cute face though, and he was always the first person willing to help out anyone who needed some help.

Rob comes in the bedroom still drying himself after his shower and I tell him about Connor. He goes, "Oh yeah? Isn't he's another one of those guys who's in love with you? A nice-looking kid with the druggie mother; is that him?" I make a 'face' at him, "Yes, but he's not in love with me! Where'd you get that idea?" and then I add, "His Mother was a real cunt though... and a druggie. Connor doesn't even know if she's alive." Rob goes, "Jesus, really?"

Actually, I guess Connor did say he loved me a few times and I always said, 'Right back at you, Connor'. He's awesome! Robby's putting on underpants, saying, 'Hey babe, how about collecting your suits and dress shirts and we'll drop those things, along with two of my suits and shirts at the cleaners on the way to the Pancake House." I get an armful of clothes and Robby's keys and then go downstairs and outside to drop everything in the little backseat of the pickup. Going back inside I'm hoping Mrs. D. doesn't get up because she'll insist on making us breakfast, and that'll take forever. Her breakfasts are really good but I wanna get going to see Chubby... and the new car.

Robby's already clumping downstairs, so that's good: we'll get out of here before his Mom gets up. Yeah, Rob has a heavy foot on the stairs but he's light on his feet playing sports. After he takes two Advil we're on our way to drop off the clothes at a dry cleaner in town. When he's parked in front of Nguyen's Dry Cleaners, Rob asks me to handle this because he still has a headache. No problem. I carry all our suits and shirts inside and then stand there holding everything waiting for a woman with a pissy attitude who's taking forever arguing that there's a missing shirt from her dry cleaning. No, she doesn't have a receipt for it. The ordeal is made more complicated because the Vietnamese woman behind the counter has apparently forgotten a lot of the English I heard her use the last time I was in here.

When that's finally resolved, meaning the woman just gave up because she couldn't understand what the counter lady was saying, I drop off Rob's and my clothes. Amazingly the nice women again remembers how to speak pretty damn good English and asks if I want same-day service. I don't because it costs twice as much as four-day service and I won't need a suit for months and months, never mind later today.

Back in the pickup, I give Rob the ticket and he looks at it, asking, "Why didn't you get same-day service?" I tell him why and he shrugs, mumbling, "Yeah okay, my Mom can pick this stuff up for us. We'll be at college." Jeez, I never thought of that. Then it's a ten-minute ride to the Pancake House. There's not much talking during the ride except for a little of Rob's additional bitching about his headache.

Pulling into the parking lot I see a young guy going inside the restaurant who I think I know. He looked like my bus buddy, Ryan Gagnon. How I remembered his name I have no idea. I'm sure that's his name though. Damn, I've missed our mornings together on the bus although I'm not so sure he missed me all that much... heh heh. I teased him a lot.

Out of the pickup, walking to the front door of the restaurant, I say, "Hey, I rode the bus with that kid who just went inside." Robby goes, "No shit? I'm sure you rode the bus with lots of people," and going inside, I say, "Yeah, but we sat together every morning and I wanna say 'Hi' to him." Robby sighs, "You and your cute boyfriends on the side." I go, "No, it's not like that! That kid's straight. We were bus buddies that's all." Rob goes, "Bus buddies? What the fuck is that?" and I say, "You've never even been on a bus so you wouldn't understand." He's like, "I've been on buses!"

We're at the front desk waiting because, as hard to believe as it is, the Pancake House pretentiously requires that they 'seat' you for breakfast. You can't just go in and sit at an empty table. After waiting thirty seconds, I go, "You get our table, okay? I'm going over and say 'Hi' to my bus buddy." Robby shakes his head a little, muttering, "Go ahead, babe. You're really something, ya know that?" Smiling at him, I mutter, "Thanks," although I know what he said wasn't meant as a compliment.

Walking past the receptionist desk to where I see Ryan's sitting at a table with a woman, who's probably his mother, I can't help but smile remembering Ryan's cute grouchy expressions. He always tried to act grouchy every morning when I'd sit next to him. It didn't take me long to get him grinning though, even though he tried not to. Yeah, he's a cute little fucker!

Looking back, I see Rob's still trying to get the attention of the young lady at the desk, who's probably eighteen years old and definitely more interested in giggling with a waitress than seating a customer. Meanwhile, I walk down the aisle to the table Ryan's sitting at with his back is to me. Grinning, I give the back of his neck a little squeeze and the woman sitting across from him hesitatingly half-grins back at me with a questioning expression on her face. Ryan naturally hunches his shoulders sticking his head forward like he always did on the bus, as I go, "Well, I had to say 'hi' to my all-time favorite bus buddy," and I rub his head messing-up his dark hair a little.

Turning to look up at me, he grins and goes, "Of course it had to be you, Dylan! And where have you been all summer?" and then he remembers he's normally stoic so he frowns as I say to the woman, "I used to ride the bus to work with your, um, brother, every morning. We always sat together," and Ryan mutters, "He always sat next to me. I got on the bus stop before his." She's laughing in a friendly manner, saying, "Oh, please! My brother! Really?" Ryan's got his frown firmly in place by now, as he mumbles, "That's my Mom." No shit.

Ryan seems smaller than I remember. Maybe it's the t-shirt he's wearing and his skinny arms sticking out. He's shorter than me but not by a lot, mostly it's his frame that's small. Big, dark brown eyes. Brown hair too and it's the same shade of brown as his pretty eyes. He's got the smoothest olive complexion too, and of course very cute facial features. And, Jesus, I almost forgot those pouty, sexy lips of his. I don't know why, but I always thought he had this really cute grumpy personality too. I just really liked him right off the bat.

I ask Ryan, "Did you miss me when I stopped taking the bus to work?" He's trying to finger-comb his hair back in place, grumpily muttering, "No, not at all," and I grin and chuckle, "Liar," and then I squeeze the back of his neck lightly again, adding, "Be honest! You're Mom's sitting right there," and that makes him do that grin he doesn't wanna do, as he says, "Yeah, I did miss you, but not much." His Mom smiles, saying to me, "You must be the boy Rye talked so much about," and I hold my hand out, saying, "Dylan Newman, nice to meet you, Mrs. Gagnon," and again I surprise myself that I remembered the name. That's weird!

Ryan goes, "Do you want to have breakfast with us, Dylan? Is that why you're bothering us?" I make a 'face' at him and he does the half-grin again as his Mom says, "Yes, please join us, Dylan." I go, "Thank you but I'm with my boyfriend," and Ryan says, "Seriously, um, when are you gonna start taking the bus again? Not that I care." I tell him my summer job is over and that I had a ride to work most of the summer, but that I really missed our bus rides together.

Ryan does his shrug and then, ya know, it's getting awkward with me just standing here, so I go, "Just wanted to say 'Hi' and that I've missed our morning bus rides, Ryan. And nice meeting you Mrs. Gagnon." I pat Ryan's shoulder and he shrugs his shoulder and then looks at me, and says, "Why don't you ask your friend to come down here. I wouldn't mind meeting him." I go, "He's very shy," and Ryan goes, "So am I." Damn, I look back and see Rob's already seated with coffees for him and me on the table. I say, "Next time. Great seeing you again... I hope I see you around town." He says, "I'll be leaving for college in ten days," and I go, "Oh yeah? I'll be going next week too. Good luck at college! Um, I'll look for you next summer then," and with another pat on his shoulder and a smile at his Mom, I walk up to where Rob's sitting. Damn, I didn't expect Ryan would want us to eat with them, but Rob would have a bird if I suggest it.

Sitting down, I say, "That was fun. He's the kid I rode the bus with at the beginning of the summer." Robby goes, "Yeah, ya already told me that." I go, "Oh, the Advil isn't working yet, is that the problem, Robert?" He mumbles, "Sorry for being a dick, but you keep running into these cute guys you probably... well never mind that." I go, "I do not 'keep running into' anybody. You know ten times more guys than I do." He says, "I know them from sports teams I've been on, but I already said I was sorry for being a dick, so let's drop it."

We drop the subject and then have a tasty breakfast. Rob's in a much better mood talking again about the baseball team and the new coach. I pretend I'm interested because it makes Rob happy talking about that. Then, like he said he was going to do he insists on treating me to this breakfast even though I know he's already spent the thousand bucks Dodger gave him. I'm glad my boyfriend is working his way out of the 'cheapskate' category, one he's been widely known for. He's better than that.

We're on our way to my condo now. First, I'll want to see if maybe my Mom's awake and then we'll probably need to wake-up Chubby for the ride in our new car since it's only ten-thirty. As we're parking behind my condo, Rob asks, "Isn't this kind of early for your Mom to be up on a Saturday morning?" As we're going in through the basement door to my condo, I tell him, "Yes, but she could be up." I'm thinking, 'If she's even here... and not at her fiancé's.'

I'm smelling coffee while going up the steps so I know Mom's not only home but she's also awake. I'm in a great mood now. If I'm ever feeling down-and-out though I know all I need to do is say 'Hi' to my Mom and she'd make me feel like the best, most awesome person who ever lived. As I walk out of the basement Mom gets this huge, happy smile on her face hurrying over to meet me halfway across the living room for a really good hug and a few kisses. She rubs my shoulders asking how I'm doing and we exchange assurances we're both doing really good and then Mom turns her attention to Robby. He was innocently standing there as Mom wraps him in a hug... and it's all very fuzzy, warm, and nice.

Rob and I sit with Mom at the kitchen table drinking coffee and eating the delicious cinnamon buns she got at an Amish bakery and brought home with her last might. Neither Robby nor I are hungry after our pancake and sausage breakfast but these cinnamon buns are so stickily delicious with the plump raisins we can't resist. We stay an hour catching up on all Mom's news from the past week, plus we give some of our own.

It's nice to see Rob's being this relaxed and comfortable around my Mom... and all of my family actually. That's probably a result of our Sunday brunches when the Moms, the twin fiances, and Chubby have all made a concerted effort to include Rob in everything. And also, the dinners on the weekends that Robby and I sometimes attended this summer at the twins' condos with the same good vibes from everyone. This morning Rob actually does more talking than me. It's pretty sweet listening to him bragging to my Mom about the job I did in Hartford the past week, but even better is how obvious it is to me that Mom and Robby really like each other, but then who wouldn't like my Mom? She's the best.

We would have stayed longer but Mom is meeting Tris for lunch... there's a shocker! My Mom needs at least an hour to get ready for almost anything, even a casual lunch. It's just as well we leave now though because we're supposed to play a pick-up baseball game, um, it's a softball game actually at the high school around two o'clock and I want enough time before that to drive the Kia Soul. After more hugs from Mom, while saying 'goodbye', Rob and I go up the outside steps to Chubby's condo.

Tris answers the door so we get more hugs from her, but she shortly excuses herself, saying, "I'm very late, guys. I need to get ready for lunch with your mom, Dylan." I nod and say, "Yeah, we were just there," and then I mumble, "Um, okay if I go into Chub's room?" She's like, "Since when do you need to ask permission to do that, dear?"

Chub's bedroom door is closed but when we go inside we find him up and showered. He's dressed too and just now putting on his sneakers. Chub and I hug without saying anything for maybe ten seconds and then, after a quick brotherly kiss, he says, "I've missed you, brother." There's a mysterious glow I always feel when seeing Chubby, especially after we've been apart for a few days. There's something almost mystical about our connection. I feel it in every part of my being and we don't need to say much to one another either, that mysterious something is just there lingering around us. I know unequivocally that we're both feeling how much love we have for one another. Okay, I'd feel weird trying to explain that any further, if I even could. Chub and I sort of grin at one another and do a little nod of our head 'cause we both know it's a unique bond we have.

It was maybe a total of only a fifteen-second greeting with Chub but that's all it takes to make everything seem right in our private world. Chub gives Robby a smiling 'hello' as they grasp hands and sort of bump against one another and then Chub's off and running telling us stuff in his excited and humorous manner.

I already have a grin on my face as he finishes tying the laces on his sneakers, saying, "Bro, our car is primo but the 'check engine' light flashed on... and then off. It happened a couple of days ago. Naturally, I'm like what the fuck is that all about, ya know? After work I take it over to the service department at the dealership and they wanna know if I have an appointment. I told the guy at the desk very nicely how we just bought the car three days ago, supposedly in perfect condition, and then the check engine light comes on so I don't need no fucking appointment. Either check this out or take the fucking car back." Chub's not saying any of this angrily or trying to be funny, but I'm already holding in a laugh because of the way he naturally speaks in his matter-of-fact manner, which happens to be naturally funny, plus I'm picturing him dealing with some guy who has no idea what he's up against.

Leaving the bedroom, Chub gets the car keys and hands me my set of keys, continuing his story, "So the guy tells me that's not how things work and I tell him that he's been an extremely helpful fellow but I'm still gonna need to see someone a little further up the food-chain of importance in this fucking dealership. Oh, and by the way, bro, this guy was the baldest man I've ever seen in my life, not that that has anything to do with anything. After I insisted a few times that I need to see someone who at least graduated from grade school, and okay, maybe I was yelling a little bit too, baldy got a tad testy but finally decided that I don't need an appointment after all. A mechanic appeared and he drives the car away. Well, I don't wanna be there all fucking night so after a while, I wander into the actual garage and see our car just sitting there. I'm like, huh! I go up to a guy who was working on another car, something to do with the car's brakes. Anyway, I tap him on the shoulder asking if he'd mind not doing that anymore and dealing instead with our 'check engine' light."

Now we're outside walking down the steps in front of my condo to the street where our car is parked. Chub goes, "Believe it or not the guy told me to go fuck myself, so I go to another guy but before I get there the garage boss intercepts me and says customers aren't allowed in the garage for insurance reasons. I tell him that the guy at the service desk said it was alright for me to come in here and that I should insist my car be checked out immediately. Well, the guy found that hard to believe so I start yelling as I'm tapping on my cell phone claiming I'm calling the salesman who sold us this piece of shit and getting our money back and buying a car someplace else."

We're standing next to our car now with Chubby pressing on the key thingie and the doors unlock with a 'click'. I'm like, "And what happened?" Chub goes, "Oh, they attached some kind of cable to our car's computer and changed a bulb or some fucking thing. And let me tell ya, they weren't nearly as friendly as the sales people were when we bought the car." I can't help laughing and Chub mutters, "Surely somewhere there are villages missing their idiots. Ya know, they're all working at that dealership." It's Chub's mannerisms and the way he changes the inflection of his voice, and his facial expressions and I don't know but he has Rob and me laughing as we get in the car with me in the driver's seat.

Oh boy, it still smells a tiny bit like a new car but when I mention that, Chub mumbles, "I think it's just your imagination, bro," and Robby goes, "No, I think there is a new car smell," and then Rob mutters, "What the hell am I sitting on," as he pulls a BurgerKing bag out from under him where he sat in the back seat. I go, "Chub! You're not going to use this car as a trash barrel like our Jeep, are you?" He pats my shoulder, "Absolutely not, Dylan. When I find out who left that rubbish in the back seat they're never getting in this car again. Now go ahead, bro, start her up."

When I was walking down the steps a minute ago I thought our car looked greener than I remembered it being when we bought it. Probably the light or something. It's a boxy, 2014 Kia Soul with 15000 miles on it, so that's low mileage and we got it at a really good price too. It's a funky looking car, I gotta admit that, but at the same time, it is kinda unique and therefore kinda cool too. As soon as I get inside I'm thinking it feels and looks like a new car, especially compared to our Jeep which never felt or looked new.

The radio sounds great too and when I pull away from the curb there's a totally different feel to this car as compared to the Jeep... totally! Smooth ride and when I step on the gas there's some guts in this bitch. Well okay! I drive down the entire length of route 30 past the cutoff for Dodger's place and then over to route 9 and back up into Framingham. Sweet ride! All the while Rob is talking Chubby into joining us for the softball pick-up game a little later.

We stop for a quick lunch at McDonald's near the high school and while waiting in line an older woman in front of us is telling her husband something about how their son is getting a raw deal from his lawyer about his divorce. The man goes, "Oh, for Christ sake, lawyers are all assholes," and Chubby yells, "Hey! That offends me!" The man turns around and sees Chubby. Sort of incredulously, he asks, "You're a lawyer?" and Chub goes, "Nooo! I'm an asshole." The man pauses a second and then laughs and does a sort of high five with Chub.

That would have been kinda cool except the man is one of those people who feels when laughing it's necessary for him to have his mouth wide open showing his big square, off-colored teeth plus that disgusting skinny, dangly thingie at the top of his throat that's covered in mucous membrane... not what you ever wanna be looking at, and certainly not just before lunch! I think that dangling thing in the mouth is called the 'uvula'.

That was the highlight, or lowlight, of lunch because there were a couple of tables pulled together near our table with a rather large group of eight six-year-old kids who are apparently in a yelling contest. Actually it was a kiddie soccer team with the two adult 'coaches' off to the side obviously resigned to being unable to control these kids. Kids that age can hit very shrill, high notes when yelling or laughing.

Happy to be out of there I drive us to the high school for the pick-up softball game. None of us thought to bring gloves but you really don't need gloves playing softball. It is better if you have a glove naturally, but it's not totally necessary. The first guy I see who I know is Hayden. He's shagging flies in the outfield looking like a girl, running funny with his slim body and long curly hair flowing behind him. I mutter to Rob, "Is that what your final hairstyle goal is? To have hair like Hayden's." Rob goes, "Jesus, no!"

We're standing around talking and goofing off, fifteen of us, until Danny and a good looking black dude name Ronny-something, who I know from him being on the high school basketball team, begin organizing things. Those two choose sides alternating 'picks' from the rest of us. When it gets down to the last three un-picked guys, they flip coins and the odd man out will be the softball pitcher for both teams. That means there are seven guys on each side which covers the outfield and infield position but leaves both teams without a catcher. There's mumblings about, "Who's the genius who figured seven-man teams would work?"

That's until a kid about fifteen, wearing eyeglasses and a sweatshirt three sizes too big for him, rides near the basketball courts and then makes the mistake of coming over when Chubby calls him. Chub talks to the kid, who keeps shaking his head 'no' until Chub announces to all of us, "This is, J. Walter Moore, and he'll be the catcher for both teams. Right, Wally?" The kid adjusts his glasses, and says, "I've gotta be home by four o'clock." Chub pats his back, saying, "Don't worry about the small stuff, dude. You're awesome!" and then, "Who's gonna let Wally use their glove?"

Yeah, half the guys remembered to bring their baseball mitts and Chubby puts his arm across the slim shoulders of one of them; a young kid with sixteen million freckles. Chub asks the kid, "What's your name, dude?" The kid shrugs his shoulders away from Chub's arm, frowning and muttering, "What's it to ya?" Chub says, "Well names aren't actually all that important. How 'bout letting the catcher use your glove?" and another kid says, "He can use mine." So, we're ready to start.

The game goes about the way I expect a pick-up softball game to go, meaning lots of scoring and lots of arguing about who's safe and who's out at first base? It's a nice day and sports are fun so we play eight innings before guys start needing to leave for one reason or another, and the game breaks up. There's a discrepancy in the scorekeeping so Danny's team, which I was on, either won by two runs or lost by one run. After a too-contentious discussion about that, with all fifteen guys yelling at the same time, nothing is settled so I guess both teams won.

The guys who are at least twenty-one years old, including Danny, Hayden, Robby, Chubby and I, all go to the bar closest to the high school, Mike's Tavern. It's the bar we'd go to after our summer league games for a few draft beers. While drinking our second beers Hayden invites Chubby to his Labor Day cookout and I get reminded of something I forgot. Chub goes, "Thanks, dude, but I'll be at Merrimack getting my dorm room set up on Tuesday." This will be the first year Chub and I don't return to college together. It's something set up by that ass, John Beverly.

It surprises me that Chub would show up on campus two days before he needs to be there. I asked him about it and he explained that his dormitory roommate, the aforementioned ass, John Beverly, has something going on with a couple of senior girls who are having their own version of a Labor Day cookout on campus. It sounds like something John Beverly would be involved with! I don't ask for details because it's obviously sex-related. What the fuck, I suppose John Beverly is okay but like I said Chub and I usually go back to college together, and on the last day possible. It's pathetic of me to be jealous of John Beverly, so I'm not... not much anyway.

We stay at the bar for four or five beers and it's a pretty good time until Rob gets a text from his Mom saying dinner is at six o'clock, which is earlier than most Saturday night dinners. Rob invites Chub to dinner and since the Moms are eating with Tom and Tim at the Hilton restaurant tonight, Chub accepts the invitation. Before leaving we, all agreed to meet at the Framingham Mall for a movie later tonight. Chub, Rob, and I slap hands with Hayden and Danny and a lot of the other guys, most of whom are on their way to tying on an afternoon load. After the lengthy 'goodbyes' we walk back to the high school where I parked the car. As we get in the car, Rob says, "Good day, huh?" And it was too.

As I'm driving the three of us home Rob texts, belatedly, asking his Mom if it's okay to invite Chub to dinner. Fortunately, it's a roast beef dinner so one more at the table doesn't really matter. If the dinner was steaks on the grill, for instance, we'd be one steak short which is why Rob's phone call home was tardy. On the other hand, in Rob's defense, his Mom is always telling us to invite my brother for dinner, so we're good...

Before dinner, Mr. Dickers makes a big batch of whiskey sours using fresh orange and lemon juice, plus a packaged whiskey sour mix. These cocktails are almost as good as the ones we had at the shore. The problem with alcoholic beverages that taste too good is you tend to forget there's alcohol in them. Consequently, us guys were happily smashed when we met Danny, Hayden, and Hayden's friend, Terrence, at the movies. Rob falls asleep halfway through the movie, his lap covered in the popcorn that fell out of the bag he was holding, haha. The movie is really funny too. The star is that fat, funny lady, Melissa McCarthy. Those of us who are still awake laugh our nuts off... not really. Being hammered tends to make things funnier than maybe they actually are.

By the time the movie is over, it'd been two hours of withdrawal from alcohol and we were all noticing the beginnings of a hangover so we all go home. Rob and I sleep until almost ten o'clock Sunday morning and then, slightly hungover, we shop for brunch fixings. At the condo, Chub helps us do Sunday brunch for the Moms, Tim, and Tom. After that we all hang around, laying around is more like it watching a Patriot preseason game dozing off occasionally in between hydrating and swallowing Advil. That night Tom has us all over for Sunday dinner at his condo. Chicken on the grill with grilled potatoes, peppers and onion, and corn on the cob.

To be sociable Chub, Rob, and I suck on a couple of beers and then the three of us leave around nine o'clock. Chub wants to begin getting his shit together because he's heading to Merrimack Tuesday. His last day of work is tomorrow so he won't have much free time then. I won't see him so we hug and promised to have dinner together when I get to college on Wednesday. I'm thinking Thursday sounds like the ideal day for arriving on campus but Rob's hot to get there Wednesday for the aforementioned senior orientation and the walk-on baseball tryouts. Somehow I'm losing my objection to those ordeals the closer they get to being reality...

Monday morning I ride along with Robby to work because I want to have the use of his pickup truck today. This is Rob's last day of work for the summer and he thinks he'll be getting done earlier than normal. That's no problem, whenever he's done work he'll text me. While driving away after dropping Rob off I realize I have no plans. I'm certainly not going back to the Dickers. I mean, what would I do there, help Mrs. D. do the laundry? Not likely.

This is a situation where some prior planning on my part would have been helpful. Eating alone in a restaurant is out of the question so I go to my condo and make myself breakfast. My Mom's bedroom door is closed so I know she's here and I get the idea to bring back lunch for her and Tris. I figure to do that around one o'clock because I'm sure they'll both be up and ready for lunch by then.

After eating scrambled eggs and toast, along with a cup of coffee from the Keurig machine, I clean-up my mess and have a cigarette on the balcony. Thinking about Chubby gives me an idea for one thing I can do this morning, and it's to start getting my shit together to bring with me to Merrimack. There's stuff here at the condo that I haven't transferred home, um, to Rob's house I mean that needs to go with me to college.

Mostly that consists of warmer clothing I'll want to have with me because fall weather is only a few weeks away. I put a lot of things, including my favorite three hoodie sweatshirts, two lightweight jackets, and three pairs of cargo jeans in a duffle bag. As I go through my clothes I'm surprised how much of my stuff already has migrated to Rob's this summer, mostly in small batches. Every time Rob and I stopped in here for whatever reason I'd take an armful of stuff back to Rob's house.

From the basement I take the Keurig machine we all chipped in for freshman year for college and my backup barber stuff and haul it out to the pickup. Looking around the basement for anything else I might want to bring with me I grab a football, the portable radio we take to the shore with us, a frisbee, and a flashlight and put those things in the truck. It seems weird not doing this with Chubby helping. I stuff my favorite comforter in a duffle bag along with a set of sheets. They're for a twin bed but in case some time we have company sleepover we can make up the sofa with this set of twin sheets. Thinking about that I stuff a pillow and blanket in with the comforter. Before I know it I've stuffed two duffle bags full of things I probably won't use so I stop.

Ya know what, I'd almost rather be at work than be on my own doing things. Fuck this, I go upstairs and write a note to Mom saying I'm treating her and Tris to lunch and that I'll be back at one o'clock. After that, I look around one last time and then decide the hell with it and get in the pickup to drive around. If I'd slept at my condo last night I could have driven Chubby to work this morning and then had our new Soul all day to drive around in. Yeah, but I wanted to be with Robby last night.

For over an hour I cruise around in the pickup driving past places where there's a chance I'll see someone I know. For instance cruising past the high school, the Dairy Queen, and out to the ice cream parlor/sports complex. Actually, I do see guys I sort of know at all those spots but none of them would I feel comfortable stopping and hooking-up with. That's kind of a weird realization! So what I do instead is think about what to bring back to the Moms for lunch.

Unable to think of anything original, rejecting the obvious pizza solution, I decide to go to a sub shop. I go out of my way to my favorite sub shop that's inconveniently downtown. I'm planning to get three different large subs. I'll have the guy cut each sub into thirds and we can all have some of each. Italian sub, cheesesteak sub, and they make a good meatball sub too. When I'm parking near the sub shop at twenty-after-twelve I'm realizing it's lunchtime for everybody! That includes the people who frequent this place on a regular basis, construction guys, and kids from the high school up the road, plus salesmen and all kinds of pains in the asses. Yeah, the place is crowded. Newsflash! Duh!

So I don't want to wait in line but, hey, why not take the Moms 'out' for lunch? Yeah, that's a better idea anyway! They won't need to be back at the house for work until four o'clock. That will give them a good hour or more getting ready for work. So we'll have plenty of time for a leisurely lunch at a restaurant. Say the Olive Garden, or someplace like that. Okay, that's what I'll do. I'm not dressed for any place fancy, but they won't be either.

When I'm just about to pull away from the sub shop I see Sonny and Ray walk out and they see me. They wave and walk over as I gulp because I'm looking at all that orange hair on Sonny's head! Then there's Ray with his arrogant, confident look about him as he struts over to the pickup. My heart beats a little faster thinking about giving Sonny a haircut and then experiencing one of his awesome hard fucks on my ass. I don't even dare think thoughts like that about Ray.

Ray, with a smirk on his face, brazenly opens the driver's door of the pickup, saying, "Get your ass out here, Dylan! Say 'Hi' to your friends." I go, "Oh, sure," as he adds, muttering, "Ya anti-social mother-fucker." When I'm out Ray does the old-time posse boy greeting of a handshake and quick hug. It's nothing most guys don't do in greeting someone they haven't seen for a while except Ray holds me way too long and too tightly while rubbing the side of his face against mine, murmuring, "Don't pull away, Dylan. Just fucking relax."

He has the five-day beard thing going for him and it feels scratchy on my cheek. I'm like, "Nice seeing you, Ray." He squeezes me harder lifting me off the ground a few inches before letting me go and then goosing my ass hard. Jesus! Sonny does the handshake and hug too, saying excitedly, "Great I ran into you, Dylan. I need a haircut before going back to school." I mutter, "I'll say you do. Hey, is it true you dropped out of college last Christmas, Sonny."

As he lets go of me he gooses my crotch, laughing and saying, "Yeah, I did drop out of college, but I'm enrolled at New England Tech. That's the automobile mechanic school. It's what I have a passion for." He gives my shoulders a one arm hug, adding, "That and you of course." Ray says, "Yeah, Dylan, Sonny and I need haircuts so let's go." Ray does not need a haircut! I say, "You just got a haircut recently, Ray." He naturally has the latest fad style haircut, which is to say it's shaved, or almost shaved, on the sides and back with a mop of hair on top. I can't believe how that hairstyle has swept the fucking world! We're a world of human lemmings.

Ray goes, "Yeah, I guess I did get a haircut Friday, now that you mention it. Not that that's what I was actually referring to anyhow... heh heh. You know what I'm referring to and just thinking about it probably makes your little dick get hard. Sonny and I will take turns stimulating your pussy." Sonny goes, "You're a disgusting pig, Ray. Pay no attention to him, Dylan. I'll call you later for a haircut when I'm not with this degenerate. Good to see you," and he drags Ray with him as Ray says, "You know you want me to do it, Newman!" My lip is curling with revulsion without me even realizing it.

Getting back in the pickup I'm just now realizing Sonny put-down Ray, dissing the shit out of him and Ray just took it. That's new! I guess Sonny's finally realizing Ray is the last guy in the neighborhood he should idolize like he did as a kid. Driving back to the condo I'm hoping Sonny does call for a haircut. He's grown-up now but gee, I've had some explosive climaxes with that kid. He's a natural dominate guy but he has a way of being dominant during sex while being very nice about it too. And he's still as cute as ever, even though he could use a shave to recapture his youthful appearance, the one I admire so much.

Yeah, whatever happened to our youth? Everything seemed more fun three, or four, or five years ago. Hotter and sexier and more thrilling. Of course, memories tend to focus on the good times, enhancing them as well. I don't know, but good memories somehow improve my sense of, um, wellbeing I guess. They make me feel good, memories do.

When I'm back at the condo Mom and Tris are waiting for me and I get the full double-barreled hugging treatment. They're both excited about the three of us going out to lunch and think it's an absolutely, "Marvelous idea, sweetheart!" They both said going out to lunch' too, so I'm glad I didn't bring back sub sandwiches. I pretend going out was my intention from the start.

The three of us get in the pickup and the Moms ask if it would be alright to have lunch at the restaurant they've worked at for over twenty years. Tris says, "We want to show you off to the lunch shift waitresses, Dylan. The girls on our shift have met you and Jeffrey many times but these girls haven't." I go, "Oh, you flatter me something awful." And embarrass the shit out of me at the same time, but I keep that thought to myself.

Our lunch turns out good except for the lunch-shift waitresses all coming over, one at a time, to rub my shoulders and give my Mom compliments about how good looking and polite I am, and how proud she must be that I'm a college student. Tris could only take so much of that before bringing out pictures of Chubby from her big fat wallet, saying, "This is my Jeffrey," and, yeah, it was tedious for a while there, but only for the ten minutes before we ordered lunch. Obviously, it seemed much longer to me.

Luckily conversation is never a problem when I'm with the Moms because they like to talk... and ask questions. I bragged about my $500 bonus at one point and Omigod, they were both impressed with that. I was mad at myself for mentioning it after I said it though because I'm not sure how much the Moms make each week.

It was a good time overall and I felt good being with them. We stayed right through dessert which both Moms said they shouldn't have, but they both did, and then they didn't fight me about my intentions of paying for the lunch either. Probably me bragging about the bonus had something to do with that. Anyway, it wasn't that expensive since we all drank iced tea. It's the cocktails that jerk up the cost of eating out. When I dropped them off I felt truly awesome about spending this time with both of them.

Without anything else to do, I head back home to Rob's place to wait for his call. I planned on packing some of my clothes at Rob's for the trip to Merrimack but before I get home he texts that I should come get him. His text: 'I'm done for the summer!' We're both done for the summer and somehow now I'm seriously getting into a college frame of mind. Now I don't even mind going on campus early. I want to move on from this summer. It was a pretty damn good summer, although without side or buddy sex in any noteworthy amount.

Hmmm, maybe my change of attitude about going on campus early has something to do with driving around and, of course, seeing Ray today didn't help at all. Today sort of convinced me there isn't really anything special for me here anymore. And when I'm working or at college, I hardly see the Moms anyway, and who is there from my acquaintances in Framingham that really matters to me? Chubby, Rob, and Danny are with me in college along with other guys I care more about than anyone back home. Sure, Sonny's cool and saying 'Hi' to him and some of the other posse boys when I ran into them this summer was fine and cool, but I have no desire to hang out with any of them.

After picking up Rob at work I tell him about taking the Moms to lunch and he goes, "Gee, why didn't you invite my Mom too? She likes your Mom and Jeff's Mom." Fuck yeah, why didn't I think of that? I go, "Shit, you're right, Rob. God, I feel bad now," and he says, "Ah, just don't mention it to Mom. She'd be hurt." Holy shit, I never considered doing that, but Rob's right. His Mom's been super nice to me. Damn, I feel awful about not including her... for real! But on the other hand, what would my Mom think? I'll take Mrs. Dickers to lunch some other time...

Rob doesn't mention the lunch again and, aside from that little awkward moment, he seems, um, like the cat who ate the canary. I ask, "Everything go good at work, Rob?" He nods his head and says, "Yep, I'd say so. Good last day overall. It was a good summer, don't ya think?" I go, "Sure," and he goes, "And I like being chauffeured, Dylan, it's cool checking stuff out along the way while you drive. Did you see those two guys we just past? They both had this really long hair; they looked like twins with awesome asses!" Glancing at Rob I frown, muttering, "My eyes are on the road," and he mutters, "Too bad, these dudes were cute!" I can't resist asking, "How old do you think they we're?" He laughs, "Maybe fourteen," and he smirks at me and squeezes my shoulder. Is he insinuating something?

At a traffic light, I look over at Robby and ask, "Do you have a secret or something you want to tell me? You look mighty pleased about something." Robby looks at me with fake innocence, saying, "Gee, whatever do you mean?" and I don't know how I know it, maybe mental telepathy or something, I ask, "Did you get a chance to talk to that guy about your bonus like you told your Dad you were gonna?" Rob tries not to, but he breaks out in a big smile, saying, "Funny you should ask, babe. Yeah, I stopped in Cal's office around, oh I don't know, I guess it was one minute after eight-thirty. We had a chat and he admitted he blew it when assigning my summer bonus amount. I'm quite pleased with the corrected amount."

Haha, he wants me to ask how much it is, but I go, "I'm happy for you, boss." We ride for another minute and Robby takes out an envelope that looks exactly like the envelope my bonus check was in, and he looks inside it making me snort out a laugh and mutter, "Okay, how much did you get?" He snickers, mumbling, "I'm such a jerk-off about this but we settled on $501.00. Nice bonus, don't you think?" I go, "You're worth every penny of it." He chuckles and goes, "I think my Dad talked to Cal before I did," and I go, "Noooo, I'm sure it's a coincidence."

At the house, we both grab a Coke and two cupcakes each from a plate of them. Vanilla cupcakes with vanilla icing and sprinkles. Mrs. D. must have baked sometime today... yum! Without saying anything we go up to our bedroom chomping away. After making short work of his two cupcakes Rob's wiping icing off his fingers with some Kleenex, mumbling, "I hate packing, how about you, Dylan?" I shrug, "I've already done the packing I needed to do at my condo this afternoon. I guess I don't mind it too much." His pink tongue moves around his lips searching for some remnants of icing and then he goes, "Well, let's get to it then."

Rob knows just where to go to find four different sized satchels, and what looks like two new duffle bags. At my house, it usually takes Chubby and me half an hour to find things to pack our stuff in. He's used shopping bags at times. Well, this year Chubby and I aren't doing it together,

Robby's still licking his lips looking for more icing and then he looks over at me, grins and lean forward to lick my chin just below my bottom lip. He chuckles, saying, "Just helping to get the icing off your chin." I'm nodding my head, mumbling, "That wasn't creepy at all, Rob, noooo!" He snickers and then points at two mismatched satchels, saying, "Okay, let's do this. You can use those two bags and we'll share the duffle bags for stuff other than clothes." Grabbing one of the satchels, I mumble, "Yeah, okay."

Robby, with a resigned tone of voice, probably because he's not crazy about going to Hayden tomorrow, says, "We gotta do all of this today since we'll be at Hayden's for his damn Labor Day cookout tomorrow. And obviously, we need to leave early Wednesday morning to drop our stuff off at the apartment and then get our asses to the orientation." Oh fuck, I guess I'll go to that dumb-ass orientation. I'm not feeling confrontational and how long could the orientation last, an hour at the most? Probably less...

Maybe I'm giving in to the dumb orientation so easily because I'm feeling a tad guilty for not inviting Rob's Mom to the Mom's luncheon. Ya know, I don't want Rob thinking anything else sort of negative about me. Actually, I wish I hadn't told him about that damn lunch in the first place! The other thing is Rob assumes I'm fine with going since I've barely voiced any opposition to it. So why wouldn't he think I'm good to go? See, putting things off, like I did by not objecting to the orientation, isn't usually a smart move. It's a lazy move actually.

After forty minutes of mostly silent packing, Rob stops and says, "Jeez babe, this sucks, huh? Um, I don't want to forget and since you're further along with the packing than me, how about if you get our baseball gear. It's all in that blue duffle bag in the pool house... and don't forget your new bat. You'll want that during your try-out. Also, I bought a new batting glove and I may have left it in the pool house on the bar. If not there, check the basement, okay?" Nodding my head, I decide not to argue about the baseball try-outs either. Why was I so set on not doing that anyway? I mean, Rob and Danny want me to be with them on the team, so I should appreciate that. I know I'm not college baseball material but I can try out for Rob's benefit, and Danny's too... and then that'll be that.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, and mumble, 'Yeah okay, I'll get the baseball gear. Um, but what's taking you so long with your packing?" He shrugs, "I don't know. You're just faster I guess." He looks around and says, "And look at all the stuff we want to take with us. It's really piling up, huh?' Zippering his first satchel, he mutters, "Good thing we've got the pickup." Nodding, I look at the things stacked next to the door. Things I didn't think of earlier today like our bedding, two TV's, our computers, the X-box, and other electronics, plus there's stuff I put in the pickup from my house. I say, "Yeah well, we do have the pickup. Um, I'll get the baseball gear in a minute, Rob. I wanna finish packing my t-shirts."

He's drinking from a bottle of water watching me push some clothes in a satchel. After a few seconds, he goes, "No, Dylan! Jesus, no wonder you're so far ahead of me. You're not folding anything. Just stuffing everything into the satchels. It's all gonna be wrinkled when you go to wear it. You'll need to iron everything first. Take the time to fold things properly and you won't need to iron. And don't overstuff the satchels like you did with your first one." I'm frowning at him, muttering, 'What? Who cares if a t-shirt is wrinkled?"

Putting the water bottle down, he comes over as I make a 'face' at him. Shaking his head slowly he takes the t-shirt I'm about to stuff in the satchel and says, "I don't mean to be a pain in the ass, Dylan, but it only takes two seconds to fold this. Look," and he takes two seconds to fold the t-shirt, but when he goes to lie it in the satchel he shakes his head, mumbling, "Oh no," and he dumps everything out on the bed, adding, "Humor me, okay? Fold all these things like I just did for the blue t-shirt." Shrugging, I start folding everything as he watches and then he pats my shoulder, mumbling, "There, that's the ticket, babe." He's right, but... oh fuck it.

When I've folded everything neatly, which takes longer than two seconds for each item, I gotta admit it really does make sense to do it right the first time. After everything is folded I look at Rob and he goes, "Thank you. Now get the baseball gear." After smirking at him and getting a grin from Rob, I go downstairs and out to the pool house for our baseball equipment. Rob's new batting glove, still in its wrapper, is on the bar. I grab it and put it in the duffle bag with all the other sports gear and then drag the duffle bag down the driveway and dump it in the bed of the pickup. Looking around and grinning to myself I'm feeling strangely good about everything. I just do!

Yeah, this has been a cool couple of months living with the Dickers. Jeez, the house looks big and the pool house at the end of the driveway contains tons of recent, as well as, long-term awesome memories going back over four years. Man, I'm glad I followed Rob's advice and moved in with him this summer. And whether he realizes it or not Rob's definitely fallen into the solid lead role in our relationship. It's natural that he would since I'm the guest in his house and he needed to show me, um, I don't know but the procedures or whatever is normal for this family, but new to me.

Yeah, and I admit I wasn't clever enough to foresee that me moving in would result in establishing Rob's leadership role but it's worked out perfectly. Rob is 'the man' whether he knows it or not... haha. He's not some kind of ogre or hard-ass bossy fucker though; not at all. Anyway, it was sort of a necessity he leads the way in his own friggin' house. This is where he's most comfortable and therefore the most confident in himself. Where else would the vast majority of people in the world feel the most relaxed and comfortable if not in their own homes?

So it's natural that Rob is therefore comfortable about being a little bossy here, and it's also carried over a little bit, generally speaking, in our everyday activities together. I seldom have a complaint about that although once in a while I will and then Rob's never a hard ass about anything, or he hardly is anyway, and consequently, like I already said, it's worked out very well for me. That's no small thing either and I'm not taking it for granted. Jesus, when I think back to our first summer and how hesitant Robby was about everything, how shy he was. Now there's no comparison between that Robby and the present Rob. I liked and fell in love with that Rob, but I'm even happier with this Rob! Damn, things are working out so well for me... yeah that's right, I'm a lucky fucker!

Back inside the house, I go upstairs to our bedroom and then just stand inside the door for a minute looking around and enjoying feeling good about things. Rob, who's still neatly folding his clothes, looks up with a smile, and says, "Oh, you're back. Any problems? Did you get the baseball gear in the truck?" I nod and he goes, "Good. Did you find my new batting glove?" I nod, "Yep, it's on top of everything in its unopened package." He goes, "Thanks, um, why are you just standing there? We're not done," and I go, "Oh, I did a lot of this packing earlier today at the condo and," grinning, I add, "I'm sick of doing it." He points to the pile of underwear I put on the bed, and says, "C'mon, Dylan, we're almost done." Jeez, I loved that! He doesn't let me get away with my spoiled-brat act... heh heh. Grinning, I pick up a pair of boxer shorts and exaggeratingly fold it as Rob shakes his head again slowly, but he doesn't say anything. Haha.

Ten minutes later he stops what he's doing, and says, "Ya know, Dylan, I've been thinking that while it's very unlikely we'll need them, I want you to pick out one of my sports coat for each of us along with dress shirts and ties, slacks and whatever the fuck goes well with the sports coats. It couldn't hurt to have them with us just in case. Keep the cleaners' plastic cover on each outfit. Okay?" I go, "You're kidding, Right?"

He chuckles, "Yeah, it sounds crazy but who knows why or when we'd need to dress up, but we'll have them with us if the unimaginable happens. How can it hurt?" I give him a 'look' muttering, "Really? Um, well I didn't bring my sports coat and anyway most everything else of mine is basically at the dry cleaners." He looks up, a little stressed from the packing I guess, saying, "Jesus Christ, babe, it's not rocket science! Just choose from my sports coats, like I told you. Gawd, um, please... just do what I asked." He sounded just like his Dad.

I don't argue because I hate when he gets mad at me. As I do that I wonder why I'm so accommodating? it's the mood I'm in I guess. Maybe I'm realizing this is my real life so I better get on board and live it. Chub will be at college tomorrow and as I concluded a little while ago, there's no one here at home I want to hook-up with and, of fuck, I don't know exactly... but I need Robby. He's everything to me and I'm fucking lucky that he loves me so much.

We still don't have everything packed when Rob stops again, and says, "What a huge pain in the ass this is every year, huh?" I shrug and he grins at me, "Sorry I snapped at you, Dylan. I love you," and we hug as we hear his Mom yelling up the stairs, "Boys, I'm going to the market. Do you need anything?" Rob calls down, "No thanks, Mom," and then he looks really cute, asking me, "Do you wanna?" I grin, nodding my head too fast, and he goes, "Drop your pants, no... first get the Astroglide..."

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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