DYLAN!
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Chubby's and my dinner is in the over, so I'm outside sitting on the steps smoking, trying to blow smoke rings like Willie can do, without success. He's only been smoking for the past six months, but blows perfect smoke rings, three or four in a row, one right after the other.
How the fuck does he do that?
Giving up on the smoke rings, I notice two Hispanic boys, fifteen or sixteen, smoking, too. Oh, jeez, it's cool the exaggerated way they whip the cigarette up to their mouth to take a drag, then whip their hand away after they'd inhaled deeply, and a second later they blow the smoke out through their noses, or talk with the smoke coming out with each word. Yeah, I get impressed with cool-looking young guys, and their flawless light tan skin tone. Gee, hot-looking Latin boys.
I tried to be cool, too, but my coughing caused the two boys to look up at me with bad-boy expressions on their youthful faces. The boy near the street says, "Hey dickhead, what's your fucking problem? You got something you want to say to us, or what? Give us any shit, and I'll smack that smirk off your face."
Giving them a look that I hope was cool/blase, I did two more little coughs to clear the rest of the smoke, then arrogantly replied, "Don't be delusional, asshole! If I want to say something to you two maggots, I'll say it loud and clear. As for smacking the smirk off my face, you better ask your big brother to help you."
They looked at each other and then looked back at me, slightly startled. I'm skinny with a baby face, but pretty tall, and I've always had good guns, which is to say biceps. Nice muscle definition, although I've never worked out. These two were cute and acted tough, but unfortunately for them, they're on the small size.
Yeah, well, together, they could probably kick my ass, but they'd surely take some hits along the way, and who needs that. Their brains analyzed the situation, including major concern about my aggressive verbal come-back and posturing, and came to a logical conclusion... forget about it. Of course, they couldn't lose face entirely, so they both flashed me the finger and simultaneously said, "Fuck you, bolillo!" which I know means white boy.
I smiled and waved, saying, "You boys, run along back to your hood, or you'll be late for supper." I watched them strut away; damn, they're cool. Maybe I should have said, "How about a three-way, boys?" Ha ha, yeah, but I was just thinking that I was sexually satisfied after fucking Elliot? Well, yeah, but that was almost an hour ago.
Back inside the condo, smelling the pork and beans, I'm looking out the window every now and then, waiting for Chubby to get home from work. I finally see Ricky's SUV pull to the curb. Good, but then this happens, and it always pisses me off. Chubby doesn't get out of the SUV for a few minutes. What the fuck does he need to say to Ricky sitting in the car outside our condos? He'd been with Ricky all afternoon on the job; he surely had plenty of time to tell him anything he wanted to.
Staring at that damn car until, sure enough, it was three minutes before Chubby emerged from the passenger side, wiping his mouth and picking at his jeans at his rear end. Now, I'm not dumb, I know there is no way in hell he's wiping his mouth from a kiss. I fucking know that positively, Chubby isn't kissing Ricky. And they didn't have enough time for a blow job, so what is the reason he's wiping his mouth?
And Ricky surely couldn't have fucked Chubby in three minutes, so that's not why he's picking his ass, but then why is he picking his ass? And why am I projecting my sexuality onto Chubby? I'm the boy who'd be getting out of the car after sucking someone's cock, or after getting fucked by Willie, or something... not Chubby.
Yeah, my perverted mind is projecting stuff onto my best friend, and I hate that I'm doing that. But what the fuck? Chubby just walked right by my condo's front door. He came up the steps from the sidewalk, then went right by and upstairs to his condo. This is outrageous! And, after, I cooked one of his favorite dinners, too. Fuck!
I'm steaming mad until five minutes later, I hear him stomping down the stairs to my condo. Well, maybe there isn't any need for me to act pissed off after all. Chubby didn't do anything wrong as far as I know, and it's not just his favorite dinner; it's one of my favorite dinners, too. Chubby comes flying in my front door wearing a fresh T-shirt and nylon sweatpants, yelling, "My favorite homeboy in the world!" Energy crackled all around him.
He looked so cool; I hugged his neck, saying, "What'd you say your name was?" The top of his head was level with my nose. He smelled just like Chubby's supposed to smell... so good. I rubbed my cheek on his silky buzzed-cut hair. It's been almost two weeks since his last haircut with the window washer boys, and the hairs were soft at the tips.
Chubby goes, "For God's sake, don't get fucking carried away here. We're still average, straight teenage boys struggling with the weight of adolescence. We're not a couple of homos, so let me go, okay?"
He was pulling himself away from me as he said that, but I pulled him back into my hug, and said, "Carried away? You mean like this?" and I kissed his forehead until he wrestled free. He was half laughing and half acting pissed off, saying, "You're always doing that gay shit. It's bad enough when it's just you and me, but you've started to do it in front of other people. Dude, you can't do that, or people will get the wrong idea."
I let go and kind of pushed him away, "I missed you, okay?" He softened up and hugged me, saying, "I'm sorry, Dylan. You can't help yourself. Go ahead, kiss me. I can take it."
I kissed him, on his cheek, and I kept at it until he got pissed off again, and we ended up wrestling, winding up on the couch in the living room. Our wrestling always ends with us hugging more than anything else, and this time was no different. Our sweaty faces side by side as Chubby mumbles, "What smells so good?"
"It's me, thanks for noticing," and he said, "No, it's pork and beans," and I said, "Barbecued baby back ribs and beans."
Chubby goes, "Yum! Dude, you rock!" We let each other go and got up off the couch. I had a boner, amazing since I'd just fucked Elliot twice less than two hours or so ago. Oh well, I am eighteen. Horny teens, you know...
Chubby went into the bathroom to jerk off because he was so aroused from wrestling with me. Actually, he went in to take a leak; I was projecting my fantasies on him again. I'm in a goofy mood, what a day this has been! Chubby and I got the dinner on the table, and what a great dinner it was. Iced tea was our beverage and factoids provided the conversation. Many factoids, but ten minutes after dinner, I could only remember two.
The first one is, "It takes food seven seconds to get from your mouth to your stomach," and the other one is, "If saliva can't dissolve something, you won't taste whatever that something is." I groaned at all the right times, listening to his factoids. Chubby's eyes shined because he was happy that we were eating together again. After dinner, we did homework, and after that, we watched a Red Sox Spring Training game from Fort Myers, Florida.
We watched the game sitting together in the recliner the way we always watch television. By the seventh inning, there wasn't a single player in the game we recognized, all minor leaguers, so we went to bed. Chubby slept with me again after first telling me that Friday night, tomorrow night, was his last sleepover. "Enough is enough, Dylan! We're too old to sleep together, and I'm all about tough love starting Saturday! No more sleeping together."
I said, "Well, can we kiss goodnight at least?" He did a long, exasperated exhale and said, "Absolutely not, what did I just say a couple of hours ago about that?" I got him in a headlock and managed to do a sliding kiss on his forehead, with him calling me, "Such a dick."
Without much choice, we slept close together in my twin bed. With major stimulations like having Chubby against my body and me thinking about the dried cum on the sheets from fucking Elliot, I had a helluva time getting to sleep, although I did have a nice boner keeping me company.
When I woke up the next morning, Chubby had already left for school because he had an early class, and I had none. I pulled the pillow he'd slept on over to me and buried my face in it. Chubby's clean-hair smell... hmmm, so nice. It was Friday and I had all day to do nothing but lay around waiting for Jay and Elliot to come over after school. Chubby, of course, goes to work after school. Wish I knew what else is going on after school with those window washer boys. There I go again with my paranoia about anything involving Ricky. I gotta get a grip.
I screwed around on my computer rechecking asshole-phobias for Jay, then gave some attention to work for school. The day dragged by but eventually I heard a light knock on the front door and knew it would be Elliot. I'd purposely stayed in the living room until he got here for fear I wouldn't hear his tap of a knock. Surprisingly, Elliot was alone. I thought Jay would be with him.
We were awkward with each other initially, which is weird considering we had sex yesterday. We tried doing a half-assed one-arm hug, which got messed up, then I went to give him a kiss as he was moving his head away, then he moved his head back towards me too quickly, and his nose almost ended up in my mouth, and I wetly kissed the end of his nose, which further added to the awkwardness.
We both started to say something at the same time, then both stopped, and I yelled, "Enough! Go outside, Elliot, and knock again." He grinned and did that. I opened the door and went, "Elliot! Great to see you! Give me a kiss, dude," and we did a very quick kiss on the lips and pat on each other's back. Elliot said, "Yes, that was better," but he was still blushing a bright rosy color.
He told me Jay would be over later, that Jay had left school early for a doctor's appointment. Elliot and I messed around on the computer until Jay showed up. No problem with his teeth now; it was just a routine cleaning. I got right to his phobia going directly to the websites I'd found about phobias. Jay's phobia is a fear of anything anal, which is called recto phobia or photophobia. It poses little or no danger except if one wants to be able to please his gay sex partner, which, by the way, isn't discussed on any of the websites. What was discussed in all of them was what to do if one wants to get over a phobia, almost any phobia. The recommended approach is desensitization through exposure. In Jay's case, exposure to someone's asshole, or even his own asshole. Preferably Elliot's asshole.
In other words, the therapy is to gradually experience exposure to what frightens the person with the phobia, and that would be Jay's fear of Elliot's asshole. There are breathing exercises for relaxation to help reduce anxiety and other ancillary procedures, but most of all, it's imperative one continues gradually exposing one's self to their fear until it begins to fade, and it will fade.
Jay and Elliot stared at my computer screen with their mouths hanging open, speechless. They finally looked at each other, shaking their heads. Jay, using a doofus voice, said, "What is this mysterious apparatus you have here, Dylan? This machine has so much information available for free."
Elliot quietly murmured, "I can't believe we didn't think of Googling this problem. Thank you, Dylan. We're dumb. Right, Jay?"
Mimicking the doofus voice, I say to Jay, "This is called a computer, and it's hooked up to something called the World Wide Web... AKA, the Internet."
Jay says, "Wait, you're going too fast." He was laughing now but serious about how stupid he felt for not thinking of this obvious approach for a solution. All along, the boys thought if they pushed it, if Jay forced himself to do things with Elliot's asshole, it would make everything worse instead of better. We read from other sites, and the boys planned their strategy, which seemed a slow, drawn-out process to me, but Jay was really hung up on the rectum, so they were going to begin with Jay first getting used to touching his own ass.
Sarcastically, I said, "Excellent plan, guys. Um, without touching your ass in the past, how did you wipe yourself after taking a shit? Just wondered.
He said, "You're supposed to wipe after taking a shit? What?"
We laughed, and I said, "You'll be moving toward togetherness at approximately the speed of a glacier; you boys should be screwing each other before you're collecting Social Security or soon afterward."
We were in good moods because, even if it took a while to see results, the boys' intimacy solution was heading in the right direction at last. The three of us generally goofed around together in a non-sexual way for another hour until Jay had to leave. Jay's mother was a hair stylist, and after graduation Jay is going to school to be a professional hair stylist himself. For now, he cut, colored, straightened, or permed girls and boys' hair for free. He was very good too and two clients were meeting him at his house in a few minutes, so off he ran.
Well, I regularly cut the Dickers brothers' hair, and I'm pretty good at it, too. That's mostly true because Chubby and I have been giving each other haircuts for years. Well, I used to cut Chubby's hair, but now Ricky's in charge of that. Don't get me started.
After a computer game, Elliot left for his house. I was disappointed he hadn't mentioned me fucking him. I watched Elliot disappear down the steps, and thought about a jerkoff, but then spotted Chubby walking down the sidewalk. He's coming from his part-time job around six o'clock as usual, but not in Ricky's SUV tonight. Hmm! Chubby didn't say anything about that, I didn't pry, but I wanted to. We shared a pizza for dinner and then went to the Loop, where we hooked up with a group of guys and girls from school.
Later we all went to the movies. I prefer just Chubby and me hanging together, but he's a fucking social butterfly, especially around the girls, making them laugh at his corny factoids and jokes. To avoid the giggling girls, I mostly hung out with Gene Bowman, who might or might not be gay. He's a bit on the heavy side, but so was Carl Denton and I came to admire and look up to him in a serious way. Yeah, but Gene also has bad skin, so not the greatest viewing buddy for the evening.
Unfortunately, it was a case of hanging with Gene or being Chubby's shadow, and he doesn't like it when I do that. What pisses me off is this situation where I've got two boyfriends and neither of them is around on a Friday night. That really sucks!
I'll see Willie next Saturday, and I'll see Robby at school on Monday.
The Dickers are away for a weekend in New York, which the boys didn't want to be part of, but had no choice in the matter. During dinner, Chubby had filled me in that Mr. and Mrs. Dickers were surprised that Robby was balking at going; he'd never indicated in the past he didn't want to participate in a family trip. Of course, Robby's parents don't realize that this is the first year Robby's had a boyfriend, which I'm sure is one of the big reasons he didn't want to go away for the weekend. That, plus he's a senior in high school, for Christ's sake, and family trips are for little kids.
The movie turned out to be good, though, and we had somegood food fast at Wendy's after the movie. Plus, my supposedly LAST sleep-over with Chubby was nice. Then, Saturday morning, Chubby was off to work and I had to help Mom paint her bedroom. Not much fun.
Saturday nights are Chubby's window-washer boys' night out. On the weekends, when Willie's home from Prep school, we go out on a date. I wish it was this weekend! Not to be, though, so I stayed home alone and watched two movies on cable. Then, all day Sunday, Chubby and I hung out together, just the two of us, exactly the way I like it. No, we didn't do anything except goof around, but it was still an awesome day.
(A DAY AT FRAMINGHAM HIGH SCHOOL LIFE)
Early Monday, Chubby drove us to school in our Jeep, me riding shotgun. Pulling up the driveway to the school, I lit a cigarette, and Chubby immediately yells, "Dylaaaaaan! Not in our car!"
I muttered, "Oh yeah, I forgot, Chub," and I hurriedly flicked the cigarette out the window only to have it hit the top of the window frame, bounce back onto the dashboard and then carom onto Chubby's lap. He screeched the car to a stop halfway up the grass border of the driveway while frantically brushing the front of his pants and cursing, "God dammit, Dylan, you can be such a dick sometimes!"
No damage, but I felt like a dork. Chubby got it together, parked the car, and while we're walking across the parking lot, he squeezed my hand, mumbling, "Sorry I yelled at you, Dylan."
I smiled and said, "I'm a wingnut when it comes to flicking cigarette butts, dude. I'm the one who's sorry." Before Chubby could say anything else, one of his school friends shouted over, "Yo, Jeffrey, word up, dude?"
Chubby bumped fists with the kid, and said, "Not much, what's going on with you, Tank?" The three of us went behind the football field refreshment stand to sneak a cigarette, which is obviously a no-no on school property. High School is a place where the stress of growing up and fitting in combines with the need to get good grades, while doing what you're told, and it all creates a severe test for even the strongest-minded of us kids. Most of the time spent here isn't about learning, but about socializing, getting away with stuff, and trying to make friends who aren't complete douchebags.
High School is all about pop quizzes, large, outdated textbooks, sadistic teachers, long boring classes, drugs, peer pressure, bullies, homework, lockers, and not enough time to get from one class to the next. Framingham High School, the one we all go to, is an urban, suburban high school located about twenty miles west of Boston, Massachusetts. It has over twenty-one hundred students of diverse backgrounds and ethnicities.
Nine percent African American, five percent Asian, sixteen percent Hispanic, and sixty-eight percent white. Other small ethnic groups makeup the other two percent.
Towns bordering Framingham are populated with more affluent residences and have high schools with about one-third the number of students Framingham High has. The student body in those schools is about ninety-eight percent white. Personally, I like looking at the Hispanic boys just fine. I've been in only two fights with those guys in four years, which is a good record considering they do not like being dissed and have been known to be a tiny bit thinned-skinned around us white boys.
Breaking into my daydreaming, Tank says to me, "Newman, sup with the hair, Dude? You going emo on us?"
I mumble, "Are you shitting me, Tank. My haircut is retro, man. It's cool nineteen seventies."
We started walking toward the steps leading to the front door when Chubby goes, "There's Ron Miller, he looks trashed at quarter of eight in the morning."
I asked, "How can anybody be drunk in the morning?"
Chubby mumbles, "Fuck, Miller, did you see Rita Wright saunter by over there? She's looking way hot this morning!"
I say, "Chubby, she's a hootchie, ya know" and he's like, "I know that, dude. She's a whore, but she looks hot, don't ya think?"
As we walked through the front door, Ray Ellis bumped into me, and mutters, "Yo, Dylan, sorry, dude. See you after school? You going down to the paper, right? I finally got that story for you. The one about High School being a social and cultural experience and how it needs to refocus as an academic experience."
Tank says, "What the fuck are you talking about, man?"
Thinking about what Elliot told me about his brother, Ray, I yell over the cacophony in the hallway, "Ignore him, Ray, I'll see you later. By the way, that sounds like something you copied right off the internet," and he yells back, "Well, yeah... where else. See you later."
Tank, Chubby, and I split up, heading for our lockers, which were at different locations in the building. High School is crowded. That's something you always notice: it's very, very crowded in the halls. So many kids, all wearing backpacks, take up a lot of space. Twenty-one hundred backpacks, give me a break! It's also very noisy and rushed. Everyone is always rushing somewhere and the decimal level gets up there pretty high, lots and lots of yelling.
For the most part, I feel secure in here, though, but with school shootings, you always have that worry in the back of your mind because an unhinged fellow student with a hair up his ass could go crazy insane and, boom!
Walking to my locker, I pass kids I know, and we bump fist, muttering, "Sup?" or "How they hanging?" or simply, "Dude!" The first semester of my freshman year here was a bitch, and very intimidating, but now I'm a senior, so no problems. After spending four years with the same five hundred or so kids I've made friends, but to be honest, mostly they're more like acquaintances than friends. Guys to say "hi" to and to share mutual experiences with, bitching about the teachers and the boredom and such.
There are distinct groups in high schools in addition to the various ethnic groups. There are nerds, cools, goths, punks, jocks, preppies, and combinations, or half breeds. Then, there are subgroups. The most noticeable are the wiggers, who are white kids pretending to be black. They're big into rap music, dressing, and using the slang of blacks; it gets my eyes rolling like, "What the fuck is that all about?"
Anyway, I'm looking around for Robby Dickers, who sits in front of me in homeroom. I've missed that boy. Then, a hand on the back of my neck and a one-arm hug from behind. I know it's Robby, so I quickly turn around and get my arm around his neck, saying, "Dude, I missed you this weekend," and we hugged quickly right in the middle of the room. Mrs. Fletcher says, "Okay, guys, the bell rang, take your seats, please."
The noise calmed down some in the room, and the morning went by okay. Between the second and third periods, Dodger captured me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, trying to pick me up off the floor.
He's a strong little fucker, but he hadn't gotten a good hold, so he failed to get me off my feet. Instead, he let go of me and goosed my ass and then reached under, between my legs, and massaged my dick and one of my nuts.
It all happened so fast that no one in the crowded corridor even commented. I'd gotten myself turned around so Dodger and I could do a tight hug with him, saying, "You and I need to spend some time together." He's very sexually orientated, which I find attractive. I had to force myself to let up on the hug; he's so good-looking, so cute it can shock you if you're taken by surprise with all of it. His brother, Robby, same thing.
Plus, Dodger's body is like a steel spring, so fit, so tight, so very hot to hug. He's wicked athletic, primarily a swimmer, but good at all sports. The shame of it is, he's apparently stopped growing too soon.
His brother Robby is my size, five-foot-ten, but it's beginning to look like Dodger is done at five-foot-seven, and he hates that.
During the hug, the sides of our faces rubbed together, and as we pulled apart, the feel, the scent, and the look of him was electric to me. I hadn't seen him for over a week now. I mumbled, "Sure we do, Dodger." He squeezed my cheeks together with the thumb and index finger of his right hand and said, "You're so cute, Dylan."
One of the anonymous faces passing by, yelled, "Fag alert," but no one paid any mind. The corridor was really thinning out now; seconds away from the bell, Dodger said, "I gotta run upstairs, Dylan... see you later, dude!" He walked backward a few steps, heading for the staircase. I wiggled my fingers in a dumb goodbye wave, and Dodger yelled, "I still need that haircut," which made me notice that Dodger's hair was longer than I'd ever seen, and yet it was barely over an inch.
I yelled, "Tomorrow, Dodger." The bell rang, and I was late again.
My third class is the one Elliot and I have together. My last class of the day is Language Arts which Chubby and I are in together, so those two classes are my favorites. Chubby and I have a half-hour study hall after lunch together, which is nice, too. I was late for class but the teacher, an older man, Mr. Cromell, just frowned and said, "Glad you could make it, Newman."
I nodded and mumbled, "Sorry I'm late" and then sat down right behind Elliot and immediately got a boner thinking about fucking his fabulous ass last Thursday, fucking it twice. As for Elliot, he'd given me a shy smile as I passed by his desk and then blushed, so he'd probably thought about us fucking, too. I stared at the back of his head. His skinny neck, his pretty light red hair, his slumping shoulders, his ears that stick out slightly. Damn, I want to jerk off so badly. Or, better yet, fuck Elliot again.
I thought about my horniness for a while, and then snapped out of it to take notes from Mr. Cromell's lecture. After class, Elliot and I did a one arm hug and pat on the back, then began making our way through the throng of teenagers to the cafeteria for our lunch break. As we progressed down the corridor, I had my arm around his shoulder and my head next to his asking if there was any progress with Jay's phobia.
Elliot said it was too soon and then, just because I liked having my face close to the side of Elliot's, I kept it there whispering, "When do you think you might want to... you know, you and me again? Ah, I'm here for you, Elliot. It was a pretty good time, buddy-wise, I mean. Huh, Elliot?"
He turned his head toward mine and my nose rubbed across the side of his face, that kid smells so fucking good. He said, "Dylan, we just did that a couple days ago. I went two years in between the time before and us doing it, you know?"
We were at the cafeteria, so I took my arm off his shoulder smirking at him like, who are you kidding? It ain't gonna be no two years this time around, and in a normal voice said, "What are you gonna have for lunch?"
Elliot and I have the first senior's lunch schedule, and we always eat with Chubby and Robby. Jay has the second senior lunch schedule and Dodger's a sophomore, so they eat earlier. The freshman eat lunch around ten thirty in the morning, if you can believe that. It's because the school day begins before eight and we're out at two, so it ain't easy squeezing twenty-one hundred kids through one cafeteria. This high school was built to accommodate about half the current student population, such is the way of poor communities like ours.
Following Elliot into the soup-smelling cafeteria, I see Robby is already at our regular table eating a cheeseburger. His third period class is two doors away from the cafeteria, so he gets here fast. Chubby is in line ahead of us, we all look around until we've made eye contact checking that everyone is where they should be.
Now, what to eat? Everyday there's a choice of sandwich wraps, salad and soups, or you can get the lunch special of the day that always includes a salad and canned fruit. The rest of the lunch special varies from day to day. American chop suey, pizza, fish sticks, cheeseburgers, roast chicken. I stick with the wraps, usually ham and cheese or turkey, potato chips, and a Snapple. Elliot always gets the lunch special. We all get pretty much the same lunch every day.
Carrying our tray of food to the table and exchanging friendly insults with a few kids along the way, we sit in the same seat we sit in every lunch period. Then, everyone but Elliot, eats and talks at the same time. Elliot eats and listens. Most of the talking is rag-time bullshit trying to insult each other and God forbid if you've got a piece of lettuce on your tooth, or you sneeze at the table, or you left your fly open, or anything that the other guys can blow-up into a major ball-breaker. If we're not breaking each other's balls we're bitching about a teacher or an asshole student.
After eating we sneak out behind the refreshment stand down near the football field and smoke. Elliot comes with us but he doesn't smoke. At school, Robby is quiet and kind of shy most of the time, the exceptions being when he's with the baseball team, or with us guys at lunch. During those times, he's as confident and outgoing as anyone, especially on the baseball diamond. Elliot is shy all the time at school, less shy with us guys, but not a lot less. I love to stare at the boys smoking. It's so cool the way the smoke drifts out of their noses or is forcefully exhaled after a deep drag. Robby and I like to blow smoke in each other's face, but only when we're alone. It's too obviously sexy to do it in front of others.
After our smoke we're heading back to classes when Robby grabs my arm to hold me back a little so he can whisper, "Dylan, meet me at the equipment room right after last class. We'll sneak a kiss, okay?"
I'm like, "I got to be at the school paper after school, but I'll still meet you for a quick make-out like we used to do last summer before work."
Robby smiled, nodded, and mumbled, "I'm so hot for you," and jogged away.
His first class after lunch is on the other side of the building, so he's gotta run to beat the bell. Chubby was waiting for me at the side door so we could walk to study hall together. "Do you got a ride home after school, Dylan?" I told him I did. Chubby, of course, goes directly to the window washing job after school. Every other day I have the car after school and Chubby gets a ride with Ricky, but when he does, it means he needs to wait around until Ricky's done brown-nosing the teachers.
It's Chubby preference to get off school property as quickly as possible because he's got a problem with adult authority figures, and around a high school there are a helluva lot of that particular specie. I was getting a ride home later from Jay, who's staying after school to practice the high school drama company's Spring Musical presentation of The Sound Of Music. I can't remember what part Jay has, probably one of the leads.
After school today, Elliot has marching band practice and then he'll get a ride home with Jay, too. Lots of things need to be thought out ahead of time in high school because all of it: homework, studying for test, getting to places on time, the many school-related activities, part-time jobs, detention halls and the like require planning.
Inside the school's side doors, I bumped into Alex, Elliot's friend, who asks, "How you doing, man?" As he's moving away with the crowd, I say, "I'm fine, dude. Hey, are you working at Stop & Shop later?" Heading for the stairs he yells back, "No, tomorrow. You're on tomorrow, too."
Alex is a tall thin kid, who can be a bit of a wiseass if you let him, but he's got a cute way about him, too. I can find something cute about almost every boy I meet, and damn, some of those straight boys can be cute in more ways than one. Funny thing is, most of them haven't a clue that they're sexy and cute and hot. They haven't a clue what they're missing by passing up a bit of gay sex. That's too bad boys!
Jeez, here's another crazy thought; I bet Alex has a long dick like Willie's. You know, because everything else on Alex is longish, just like on Willie. When you think a kid has no redeeming features, appearance-wise, check him out again. You probably missed his eyes, or his especially nice hair, or you didn't see his boyish grin, or his taut body, or something because the only exception to my general rule that there's something worth ogling in every boy, and I mean every boy of any ethnicity, is fat guys. They're the exception. I feel bad for them.
Chubby and I have this short study hall every day after lunch and then the last class of the day together; language arts. As I said, we're headed for that study hall, and he looks back to see me daydreaming and says, "Are you in another daze, Dylan? Come on, bro, we don't want to get detention for being late."
I snapped out of it and caught up with Chubby. We made it to study hall and were in our seats before the bell. Immediately this girl, Rita Hayden, comes up and stands in front of Chubby's desk to say, "Jeffrey, sup?" and Chubby looks at her with a slightly annoyed expression, then says, "Yo, girl. Are you aware your body is using three hundred muscles to balance you while you're standing there?"
She goes, Huh?" and Chubby says, "Yeah, that's right, and you as a female have a heart that beats faster than male's hearts. Did you know any of this shit?"
Rita frowns, wrinkling her bulbous nose as Chubby points at her feet and, with his eyes open wide, as if astounded by his own factoid, says "There are about a trillion bacteria on each of your dainty feet."
She looks down at her size nine sneakers, then looks back at Chubby. He says, "And that's what's sup, Rita." The bell rings and she says, "You're so fucking funny, Jeff! Hey, is all that stuff really true?"
He nods that it is, and in a bored voice, the study-hall monitor says, "Take your seats, students." When Rita walks back to her seat, Chubby says to me, "I can't stand her, you see the size of her feet?"
I shake my head slightly as dweeb Arthur Sirenos, from one desk over, says, "Are there really a trillion bacteria on her feet, Jeffrey?"
Chubby looks at Arthur's feet and says, "Yours too, dude. I'll bet your feet smell bad, too. You've got those heavy socks on. Do you have foot odor?"
Arthur looks at Chubby and says, "Yeah, bad foot odor. How'd you know?" Chubby points at him with his index finger and whispers, "Bacteria can have an offensive odor and you look like a candidate for lots of bacteria." Arthur's eyes get big as he mouths, "Fuck you, Jeffrey," but he's smirking.
Chubby goes, "No, I really mean it, Artie," and then he turns to me chuckling as he says, "Bet Arthur could use a nice foot massage, huh?" I can't think of a snappy retort, but manage to smile. Actually, I'll bet he'd like to smell those big feet of Arthur's. Chubby and his foot fetish, sheech!
He'd turned around and is busily doing his Literature homework for next class. Chubby almost always does that class's homework in study hall. Mine was done last night, so I'm free to use this study hall to go back to daydreaming about boys. Chubby sits right in front of me, which I love because, while daydreaming, I can also stare openly at the back of his head or the side of his face, depending on how he's sitting in his seat.
He has the most perfectly shaped head of anyone I've ever seen. Any time spent with Chubby is a fun time for me. It's the most fun for me when it's just the two of us doing something, but so many times someone like that skank Rita will steal my time with Chubby; he's popular with the girls.
Girls sense something in me, I guess, because they're usually uneasy around me. I'm friendly on the outside, but don't really care for most girls, especially ones who try to act like boys. Rita saying the f-bomb is a good example of that.
Anyway, I have my Lit book open, pretending to study something, but I'm actually thinking about me fucking Elliot. In my fantasy, I've switched Chubby for Elliot. Got a great hard boner for my trouble, too. Great fantasy, me fucking Chubby. I'd love to fuck Chubby, but I'd rather have Chubby fuck me hard and rough. Oh boy, he could do it, too.
My hand in my pocket and damn, this boner of mine feels good. The half hour study hall flies by and at the bell, with my hand still in my pocket, keeping my boner over to the side, Chubby and I fight our way through the corridors to our Language Arts class, yelling "Yo, dude!" or "Yo, sup?" or "Mark, you rock, dude!" and so forth to guys we pass along the way.
Inside the classroom, Chubby squeezes my free hand, and says, "You're quiet today, Dylan. Are you alright?" I go, "Yeah, sure." Chubby goes, "Last class, dude."
It was nice he showed concern for me. Soon as the class began, I started daydreaming about him and me again. What I'd really like is for me and Chubby to be stranded on a nice tropical island, just us two. In my fantasy we'd both be really gay and even though we're on an island we'd still have all the modern conveniences of home, like TV and computer access, plus tons of our favorite food, and what else? Hmm?"
I fantasized about that until I got called-on in class and I'm like, "Huh? What's that....?" Mrs. Pendergrass says, "Didn't mean to wake you Mr. Newman." Jesus! My face was red and hot as I mumbled, "No, I was. Um, that is..." but my voice just trailed away. This last class went slowly as I became more and more anxious to meet with Robby after class.
(SCHOOL'S OUT)
The sound of the bell has me groping myself, thinking about meeting with Robby Dickers. Chubby waved goodbye to me as he's running out the door trying to get to our car, and beat the traffic jam that quickly forms getting out of the parking lot. I began running for the athletic department's equipment room to meet Robby. It's a struggle running because everyone is heading out and I'm heading the wrong way to get deeper into the building.
There were a few "fuck you" comments exchanged, and a couple of shoves and threats, but nothing serious. Once I turned the corner, it was relatively quiet. Robby's a co-captain of the baseball team so he has a key to the equipment room. Approaching the room, a raspy voice says, "Oh, you made it, good," and Robby smiles.
I say, "Yeah, I made it, but that ass-wipe, Walt Snyder, almost took my fucking head off when I bumped into him at his locker, but..." and I shrugged and smiled. It's awkward because we haven't been alone together for a week. At lunch I'd noticed that Robby's silly flattop was really long, and kind of shaggy, but he still looked cool.
There wasn't any real light in the room except light from the small lavatory in the back, so I said, "Let's go in there and lock the door, just in case."
Robby murmurs, "Oh, okay," sounding breathless. We go in and Robby pushes the button on the doorknob. It's a small room, so we're close to one another. I mumbled, "Missed you, dude, and... you know." He was into his shy act, frowning, looking down, so I go, "Hey, I saw Dodger earlier and he wants to come over for a haircut after school tomorrow; how about you?" Robby nodded, ran his fingers through his longish blond hair on top of his head, and mumbles, "Sure, but I wish it was just you and me."
Thinking that there wasn't much air in this little lavatory, I said, "I need to be at work by four tomorrow, so come over right after school, okay?" Robby's face was flush as he nodded, leaning toward me, saying something that I didn't hear. Instead of asking him to say it again, I got his face between my hands, our lips coming together. Kissing gently and breathing huffs of breath into each other's face, Robby put his arms loosely around my neck, and I got a handful of his ass in both hands, and our tongues began a slow dance, warm and wet.
Robby has recently been chewing peppermint gum which is nice, but I prefer his regular saliva taste. The mint taste will be licked away soon enough, though, as our faces are pressed together tightly now and the kissing, licking, and sucking has our mixed-up saliva all around our mouths, and quickly I can smell his subtle saliva scent. The taste and smell of it is so sexy to me, it's so crisp and bubbly and clear. Our noses rub together spreading the spit as I massage his ass with both hands. After ninety seconds or so, with a sense of urgency, he says, "Fuck me, Dylan. We need it; you and me need it, Dylan."
This was probably his plan all along, and what a good plan it is, too. I was slightly frantic at the thought because time was short and I was very horny for Robby. Pulling the elastic waistband of my sweatpants down, I said, "Suck my cock, Robby. Get it slimy with spit, it's our only lube."
He was on his knees in a flash. Oh, what a great feeling having a boy suck your dick! Oh, my God, it's so hot, so good. Both my hands on his head, my fingers playing with his lush blond hair. Robby really goes after my dick with his mouth, his tongue. Sucking, the subtle wet sounds, the fantastic sensations on my cock. He went at it like he's famished for my cock, like he's starving to death for my cock, and now, here it's available to him, but time is short. That's how he's going about sucking my cock. Half the time his nose is pressed into my shaved groin with my stiffening cock in his throat, his arms around my ass holding his face against my groin.
I take a handful of Robby's beautiful thick, silky hair and pulled his head away and, while panting, mumble, "Get up, get your pants down, and grab hold of the sink." Spit is shining all around his lips and I feel an urgent need to taste him again, so right after I tell him to get his pants down, I pulled his head up to stick my tongue in his mouth, and we're right back to making-out again. This time we both have pulsating boners, though. Our faces moving against one another, slippery and messy and wonderful. Fuck the high school newspaper, it can wait!
Making little squeaking sounds as we make-out, I get a finger at his asshole and poke at it through his pants, then squeeze my hand between our bodies to grope his rock hard cock, and finally get a handful of his nuts and squeeze them till Robby groans, "Harder! Really squeeze them, Dylan." I bared-down thinking about Dodger saying the same thing to me, daring me to squeeze his nuts really hard last summer. Robby moans, "Oww! Fuck!" just like his brother.
I let up on his balls, and rubbed his boner. Robby goes, "Mmm, yes,
ahhhh! That feels good." After some more spit swapping, with me lapping his tongue and sucking on his upper lip, he pulls away, mumbling, "I'm gonna cum, Dylan. Is it okay if we wait a second?"
He always acts submissive to me during sex, asking permission, and stuff like that. I don't necessarily need him to be submissive, he just is, and I've become used to it by now. I say, "No, pull your pants down right now, Robby. I need to fuck you right now. If you cum right away, I'll be right behind you. You are so hot!"
He got this excited look on his face as he pulled his pants down to his knees, turned around, and leaned over to grab the edge of the sink. He said, "I'm not kidding. If either of us touches my dick I'll cum, so please don't. Okay?"
I didn't even bother to answer that, just pushed up his Polo golf shirt in the back and spanked his bare ass a half dozen times until he got the message and pushed his ass back and up towards me. And what a great ass it is, too. Tight, round, pink, hairless mounds. Bigger than Elliot's but not much, more muscular, but still a great handful.
I could see my hand prints on both buttocks as Robby strained to arch his back getting his asshole higher and making quiet "Ow, ow, ow.." with each smack. Smacking his left cheek one more time, I noticed his short boner bobbing up and down, wet at the head. Robby moaned louder at that last smack and mumbled my name and a whining, "Fuck me...."
I drooled a string of saliva on his hole and spread it around with my finger before pushing the finger in up to my knuckle. Robby groans, "Ahhh.... Dylan, do me." I finger fucked him, Robby wiggling his ass and going up and down on his toes. In goes another finger, and Robby made this long exhale sound while saying "Yesssssss..."
By now, I'm the one who's afraid I'll cum in my pants. Cum before I even get around to sticking my cock up his ass, so, pretending I was stalling for Robby's sake, I ask, "You need a minute more, Robby?" He grunted out something I didn't understand, then reached down and stroked his short boner once, he used only his thumb and two fingers, moaning as he did it, saying, "You make me feel better than I ever thought I could feel. Oh, this is soooo good, Dylan."
He was obviously passed the threat of early ejaculation as he stroked his small cock twice more and then grabbed the sink again, all the time keeping his ass up, the way I want it. I waited a few seconds and asked again, "You ready?" and he nodded, moving his ass around some more, still going up on his toes. I reached over, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the crown of his head, his hair is almost two inches long by now, sticking straight up. With the fistful of hair, I pulled his head back hard until, in the mirror over the sink I could see his Adams apple protruding slightly.
He grunts, "Aww..." but stopped moving his ass around, and stopped going up on his toes, so I was able to line up my boner. With the head of my cock pressing against his asshole, and me maintaining pressure with my fistful of his hair, I took a deep breath and pushed my boner in four inches past his sphincter muscle, and pulled it right out.
Robby groans, "Oh my God, that felt good!" so I shoved my cock right back up his ass and pulled it all the way out again. Jesus, I'm really aroused! In goes my cock again, this time it goes in all the way, causing Robby to squeal out, "That burns, that fucking burns, but I love it.
Fuck me, man, fuck me..." and I started humping my hips, thrusting my hard six-inch cock way up his ass, and then almost completely out. Up his ass and almost out, over and over, all the time pulling on his hair and smacking his ass.
He got into a mantra of, "Ahh!, ooh," the "Ahh!" when I drove my cock up his hole, my balls plunking against the back of his thigh, and the "Ooh" as I pulled back with another smack on his ass cheek. It was all done very quickly. It was almost out of control fucking, the way I love Willie fucks me. Robby's body bouncing back and forth, both his hands holding onto that sink for dear life. The sounds and smell of fucking can get me near crazy. I love it!
My boner was wet from precum and ass juice, it shined making a slick wet sound every time it was shoved up his ass and every time I pulled it back. Robby strained to straighten his head but I pulled his head further back with my fistful of his hair and fucked him harder. In the mirror, I saw his eyes close after that last yank on his hair, and he became docile to my dominance, saliva shining on his face, a little smile of pleasure, his boner as hard as a four-inch dick can get. This is how he likes it, and so do I. The smack, smack, smack, sounds of my hand against his buttocks, my groin smacking against his wet, red ass cheeks as my hard boner plows relentlessly up his ass.
Robby's grunting out his, "Ahh!" and his "Ooh!" and occasionally a, "Fuck me hard, Dylan... yes, yes, yes... oh, oh, oh."
Sweat burned my eyes, the feeling in my balls, my whole groin, the head of my boner; all of it is so fantastic I had tears in my eyes as I slammed my cock up his ass time after time. Too soon, Robby grunts, "Here I go, Dylan. I can't hold it in..." and as he squeezed shut his sphincter ring on the shaft of my cock, I saw his cum splatter the mirror, Robby making the sound an alley cat in a cat fight makes. Then he did it again, following the first stream of spunk with a weaker spurt and then shot off his third spurt, closing down his sphincter with each shot.
Omigod, I was seeing dots in front of my eyes as the head of my pecker expended and I poured cum into Robby's rectum. It felt so good I blew a lot of saliva filled air out between my teeth onto the back of Robby's shirt, and started humping in and out again, faster with each blast, shooting my last load of creamy cum into his bowels. We were both shuttering, our shoulders shaking, and our spine tingling. We were standing still but our bodies seemingly in constant motion. Electric currents ran up and down the inside of my thighs and all around my nuts.
Dazed with sexual pleasure, I pulled almost all the way out and then roughly slammed my cock back up inside him trying for another good spurt of cum. Robby milked his balls, stroking this short penis tightly and groaning with every stroke as little drools of cum splattered on his thumb. He'd let go of the sink with one hand so he could jerk his cock, milking his nuts of every drop.
I'd let go of his hair about the same time he started pulling his pud, and was holding his hips with both hands at climax. Then, without planning to, I rabbit quick-fucked his hole for thirty seconds, cum splattering around his buttocks making him re-grip the sink with both hands. After thirty seconds I needed to slow down because I was feeling dizzy. The after-shock shiver started at my shoulders and traveled down to my toes making them all curl-up inside my sneakers.
Robby was mumbling something that sounded positive, not a complaint of any kind, so I didn't bother to find out what it was he'd mumbled. All I know is I couldn't get enough air into my lungs, and I was exhausted. After the shiver-thing happened a second time, my body got fairly stable and I lazily humped his hole because it still felt so good on my still semi-hard cock. Winding-down, I pulled my dick out, and mumbled, "Sorry about pulling your hair, Robby. I got carried away. It was really a hot fuck though, wasn't it."
"It was awesome, Dylan! You really came through for me. Wish we had time to do it again this afternoon, and I liked that you pulled my hair. I like it when you treat me rough, it's hot."
I leaned forward and laid against his back, saying, "I love you, Robby.
You know that, right?" Right away, I felt self-conscious for having said that. He must have felt a little bit that way too because he just mumbled, "Sure, you too..."
I watched cum roll down the back of his legs, my cock feeling chilly out in the open air. Robby went on to gush excitedly about how hot the fuck had been and then, as I used wet paper towels to clean my cock, he told me he was getting a little suspicious of Dodger and Dodger's friend, Vinnie De Marco.
I'm thinking, 'Uh-oh.' Playing dumb, I say, "Vinnie De Marco? What do you mean?"
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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