Dylan's Sophomore Year

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR

Chapter 20

by Donny Mumford

As disappointing as it was for me, Chubby and I both fell asleep quickly when we got to bed last night. We went to sleep quickly, but not before sharing the best kiss Chubby and I have ever had together. Before that Chubby said something regarding the two of us and romantic love. It was an offhand, quick subjective comment open to interpretation and I don't know what to make of it. We went to bed immediately after he said it so I didn't get a chance to follow up, but I probably shouldn't read more into it than there is. Now, after a good night's sleep I'm laying here in bed Sunday morning thinking about that and realizing I can't even remember exactly what it was he'd said. We'd been drinking a lot so there's that to consider. Lets see... I had three or four boilermakers, smoked crack-laced weed, had sex with Tom, plus too many beers on top of everything else. Yeah, but did I have fun? It wasn't as much fun certainly as the going away party, but sometimes things just don't click and that was kind of the case last night. As for the sex I don't know how much influence the crack and pot had on me so I don't really know how I feel about the sex with Tom. In hindsight I should have said no. Over all the party was okay if a bit disjointed and, um, choppy. It felt like that mostly because Robby and his father left in the middle of everything for some sort of business meeting, plus Dodger's 'stoner' friends showing up, who most of us don't know. On the other hand it was a party for Dodger and Connor, so the important thing is for them to have a good time.

Because of the weed and all the alcoholic beverages this morning I should feel like shit, and I do. Why is it that bad things like hangovers can always be counted on when good things can't be? Chubby's still sleeping so I check my wristwatch hoping it's too early to get up, but no. It's ten o'clock and we need to get up and shop for brunch fixings. Before waking him I take a minute to stare at his face. He's so good looking! His face has always been my favorite face to see any place, any time. Chubby's brown hair is soft and cool looking so I run my fingers through it looking forward to giving him a haircut. I've always loved doing that and I guess I always will. We're so tight at times it's like we're one person, except we're different too. Maybe not as different as I thought, but the likelihood of that ever being proven is the 'impossibility' Chubby mentioned last night... the 'impossibility' he feels is pointless to contemplate. Is Chubby sacrificing himself so I can be happy? One thing I know is I'll never get the answer to that question from him. What might have been 'romantically' is apparently forbidden territory in Chubby's mind. Knowing how much he loves me is no small consolation though, and that love and friendship is actually the rock I live my life off of. His love and strength allows me the freedom to live a little on the wild side because I know in my heart if I go too far with anything, Chubby is my lifeguard and he'll dive in to save me. Of this I have no doubt, but it's so fucking selfish of me to put him in that position. I need to be a better person, but am I capable of being better? Time will tell.

Laying in bed like this my mind wanders. I'm thinking how strange it is that the Dickers brothers mirror in many ways Chubby's and my feelings of brotherly love. Not many brothers are as tight as we are although Robby and Dodger have been more openly demonstrative about it. I wanted Chubby and me to emulate their affectionate brotherly love and Chubby, like he's done all his life, accommodates me the best way he can in that regard. When I think about it I wonder if the younger brothers are subjugating their own best interest for the benefit of us older brothers? Dodger's resigned himself that he can never come out of the closet because Robby's already done that and Dodger doesn't think his parents could deal with having two gay sons. I can see why he'd think that since his parents weren't too cool about dealing with the fact Robby's gay. They didn't display their concerns to Robby's face, but Dodger overheard his parents voicing concerns to each other. They're seemingly more concerned how Robby's gayness reflects upon them rather than how Robby's handling being gay. I can't imagine my mom and Tris voicing concerns like that. Then I wonder if Dodger's view in that regard is similar to whatever Chubby may be dealing with? Chubby's only two days younger than me, but he is the younger brother just the same. And Dodger was right about Robby and me expecting support and pats on the back for being forthcoming about being gay. On the surface both Robby's parents and mine have basically done that, but Robby's parents lack sincerity in their support. I can't imagine mom and Tris lacking sincerity any more than Robby imagines his parents being like that, which doesn't change the fact that they are. On the other hand Robby's dad is putting ' and Son', on the new signage for the expanded business. That makes one think his dad is proud of Robby. Or maybe his dad is doing that because he feels guilty about his true feelings about his son being gay, or maybe it's not that at all. Confusing shit, and life gets more so the older I get.

Yeah, but fuck this negative thinking! I shake Chubby, "Chub, wake up, it's ten o'clock." He opens one eye and I look at it, saying, "Remember the moms went to bed early last night so they probably won't sleep as late as they

usually do Sunday mornings. We need to get our ass in gear and do some food shopping, bro." He moans, "Oh alright, but how in hell am I gonna do that when I've got a friggin' headache the size of the moon." I mutter, "Really, that big? Well, welcome to the club. Get your ass up! I'll get us some Tylenol and OJ." Taking a deep breath I sit up in bed feeling dizzy, and then hop out of bed which causes my own moon-size headache to pound like a drum. Jesus! Okay, first things first, so I go into the bathroom for a nice long piss. After that, I vigorously wash my face and hands, then brush my teeth. Do I feel better now? No, not that I notice. In the kitchen I grab the bottle of Tylenol and a quart of orange juice and swallow three Tylenol with a glass of OJ. Boom, boom, boom! goes my head. Fucking drum! Bringing the OJ and Tylenol into the bedroom, carefully sidestepping the land mine of discarded clothes on Chubby's bedroom floor, I see Chubby's snuggled himself down under the covers with just the top of his head showing. Swell! Putting the pills and orange juice on the nightstand, I struggle to prop Chubby up with both pillows behind him. He mutters, "Oh goody, breakfast in bed." Ignoring that I pass three Tylenol to Chubby. He gawks at then in the palm of his hand like he's never seen Tylenol before. When I hand him the bottle of orange juice he makes a face, then pops the pills in his mouth and chugs three or four swallow of orange juice. Looking up at me, he mumbles, "Thanks, Dylan," then with a big smile, he goes, "Hey, you look very cute this morning, bro." Taking the OJ bottle, I can't help grinning at his 'cute' comment. His smile turns off, as he says, "Let me have the fucking bottle back," so I pass it back to him and he drinks half a quart of orange juice. "Ahhh, I was so thirsty." He burps a long burp, chuckles, then mumbles, "Now it's a race to see if I can get to the toilet before I piss myself." He steps out of bed, and goes, "Ooh, my fucking head!" then disappears into the bathroom. I gotta wonder if drinking too many alcoholic beverages is worth the fallout the next day. Yeah, but he said I looked cute. I wonder how old I'll be when it's the last time I ever hear someone say that. What the fuck?! Why all these depressing thoughts this morning?

Putting on a pair of Chubby's clean boxer shorts, skinny leg jeans, and his long-sleeve t-shirt that reads, 'WARNING: I do stupid things' on the front, I grin to myself because I've picked out some of Chubby's favorite casual clothes. I finish getting dressed by putting on a new pair of his sweat socks and my sneakers, then stand here smirking at Chubby as he slowly staggers out of the bathroom. He stops, does a theatrical double take, then says, "Hey, that's what I was going to wear." I'm like, "Tough shit, bro!" Trying not to grin, he mutters, "Big brothers are always picking on us younger guys." I say, "I'm wearing a clean pair of your boxer shorts too, your favorite blue ones. Got my own sneakers on although I did put on a pair of your sweat socks, the only new ones I could find." He laughs as he starts getting dressed, mumbling, "They were your new sweat socks originally. When I was, um, borrowing a sweater from you last week I saw you had three new pairs of sweat socks in your sock drawer. I thought, what the fuck is this! He has three pairs and I have none. You know, so I felt it only fair I take a pair of yours." I mumble, "Well, you're down to zero new sweat socks again because I'm wearing the stolen pair." He says, "I don't care, I feel awesome! The Tylenol's worked already." Making my headache beat like a drum, I yell, "Liar!" and, as my head goes, "boom, boom, boom," he says, "Hey, I can talk myself into feeling good if I want to. It's called the art of positive thinking, although my choice of the word 'awesome' was a stretch. You're right about that part."

After putting what's left of the OJ back in the refrigerator we go down the outside steps to the Jeep. It's parked almost two feet from the curb. Chubby frowns at that, then yells, "Who the fuck moved the Jeep? It was parked perfectly last night. This sucks!" I mutter, "Uh huh," and get in the passenger side. Chubby's real chatty as he drives us to Stop & Shop. He's talking about his and Marlene's time together last night. I ask, "Are you going to see her again?" and Chubby's like, "I might if I live through this fucking hangover." I asks, "Were two you drinking hard liquor last night?" He goes, "Yeah, unfortunately we did that in the form of way too many gin and fucking tonics. We were at her house, down in their rec room where conveniently they have a well stocked bar." I mumble, "Jesus, gin and tonics, I hate that drink." Inside Stop & Shop I'm doing my usual scanning for something interesting to ogle from the selection of bag boys and register clerks. Hmmm, I see a potentially interesting subject on his way out the door at the other end of the store. He's got short blond hair and a slim body, but I only see his back. He's obviously a part timer because he's wearing the yellow vest that everyone working the parking lot needs to wear. He's also got to be a new hire because I'd remember the blond hair and slim body. Other than Blondie, the pathetic job of hiring at this Stop & Shop continues unabated. What in the world could the personnel people be thinking? Idiots! I say to Chubby, "Look at the dork on register 4." Chubby looks, asking, "The big kid? What about him?" I go, "Big? He's fat and dumpy. Look at his unruly hair and those oversized horn-rim glasses." Chubby goes, "Why do you care? He's somebody's son and they probably love him. The poor fatty." I shake my head, "Shoppers do not want to look at gargoyles while buying food." He mumbles, "That is just so cold, bro. Grab a basket."

Picking up a basket I spot a kid in the pharmacy section who looks like Ryan. Not the same eyeglasses, but the same body size and going by his face he

could be Ryan's brother. Huh, I kinda miss what Ryan and I had at one time. How'd that get lost I wonder? Well nothing stays the same. Ryan's changed and I guess I've changed too. Chubby says, "Bro, what the hell are you looking at now? We gotta figure out what we're doing for brunch." I'm like, "Of course. Um, first we need orange juice. We drank most of the bottle in the refrigerator." After getting the OJ, I go, "Lets get bacon next. I'm in a

bacon frame of mind." Chubby says, "Ah yes, bacon, nature's most perfect food. Bacon for sure." On the way we see Jimmy Dean brand pork breakfast sausages. Chubby goes, "Ah ha, the second most perfect food, breakfast sausages," and he puts a package in the basket. We walk over to look at the varieties of bacon. "You can't go wrong with Oscar Mayer," mumbles Chubby. So we look at a dozen or so packages of Oscar Mayer bacon. There's a little window on the back of the packages allowing you to see a slice of bacon. We keep checking until we see one with at least fifty percent meat. Some of them are mostly fat. Fat taste good, but we're healthy eaters, sort of. In the produce section a big wedge of fresh seedless watermelon and a whole honeydew melon go in the basket. I mumble, "Pale green of the honeydew and dark red of the watermelon. Hmmm, we need some black berries too for a pretty fruit salad." Chubby throws in a bunch of black seedless grapes and a pint of berries. He asks, "Should be get red bliss or Yukon gold potatoes?" I say, "Lets do a potato hash with onion and pepper, so either kind of potato will work," and Chubby goes, "Red bliss potatoes are right in front of us." He puts some in a plastic bag, and asks, "Red or green pepper?" We get a red one and an orange one for color. I say, "Food should look good. You eat with your eyes first." Chubby mutters, "No shit, Emeril." We've got fruit, protein, and hash brown potatoes so far. Chubby says, "Eggs of course," and we head for the dairy section. On the way I see Ryan's look alike again. I call over to him, "Excuse me," and he looks over and points to himself. I go, "Yes, you. Do you have a brother?" He shakes his head and I notice he's got a hearing aid in both his ears. Well, now I don't feel right fucking with him at all, so I quietly say, "I'm sorry, you looked like someone I know." He grins, shrugging. Maybe he can't talk. God, I feel bad for him. I smile at him, again mumbling, "Sorry to have bothered you." Another grin from him and he's on his way. Damn, that was a downer. The poor guy. I need to count my blessings more often.

Chubby asks, "Did you see his ears?" I mumble, "Yeah, that's sad. The poor kid. I hope he's not self conscious about the hearing aids. Do you think he looks like Ryan?" Chubby goes, "I didn't notice, but remember what we talked about last night? We we're describing the reasons for angst among teens, but we never considered being a teen going through everything we all had to go through, plus having a handicap. Man, life ain't fair." I nod my head, still feeling bad for that kid. In a bit of a somber mood now we get the eggs and Chubby's favorite breakfast food, Pillsbury cinnamon rolls with icing. They always smell like breakfast when they're baking in the oven. On our way to the check-out lines I look for the Ryan look alike kid still feeling bad for him. I'd like to hug him and tell him he's cool. There are people waiting in line at the four self check-out lanes, so I go, "See that, Chubby! All these people are avoiding the store's unfortunate choices for register and bag boys. They don't want to look at the disturbing assortment of grumpy housewives, retired men who feel this job is beneath them, and the raggedy ass collection of high school kids assembled in this Stop & Shop. It's probably a nefarious plot to reduce the amount of usage of the register lines. Cut down on store personnel by getting the customers to do it themselves." Chubby gives me a 'look', then goes, "Just get the fuck in the twelve-items-or-less express line." We get in that line with me adding, "Someone in the personnel department of this store needs a good talking to. I'm not kidding. This is getting serious and I just might take my business elsewhere." I turn around and see Chubby isn't even listening to me. He's talking with a nice looking African American girl who's in line right behind us. Chubby says, "Leonda, say hi to my brother, Dylan," she's like, "Hi! Nice to meet you, Dylan." I go, "Likewise, Leonda,"and Chubby says, "Leonda's in my

marketing class," then he asks her, "Do you live around here or are you just visiting?" She goes, "Man, I've lived here all my life. I'm only sorry I

didn't get to meet you Romaro boys sooner. You dudes are eye candy hunk a beefcake hotties!" Chubby asks, "Um, is that good?" and she pretends to slap his arm, "You better believe it, Jeffrey."

Out of the corner of my eye I see the blond hair kid I saw leaving out the far door when we came in. I'm casually turning his way to check him out more closely when the housewife, who's our register clerk, calls to him, "Hey,

Bruce, get over here, I need a bagger." Blondie comes over, muttering, "Gene sent me out to collect shopping carts. I can't do two things at once, ya

know." She goes, "Just bag the things on the belt. That's what you're getting paid to do." Huh, what shopper wants to witness disgruntled employees bitching at each other? It's one wrong thing after another in this store. Oh well, I steal some glances at Bruce who appears to be sixteen or seventeen. Damn! He'd be cute except his nose is fucking up his appearance. Bad noses are the number one reason guys and girls remain outside the cuteness classification. In Bruce's case it's not the hook, big, or crooked nose that's mostly the problem when noses go bad. Nope, his nose is too small and it's pointed, plus he doesn't appear to have nostrils. What a waste of a slim body and blond hair. He's got the blue eyes to make it work too, and a cute mouth and chin, but it's impossible to get past the little pointy nose of his. Jesus, I wonder which one of his parents is responsible for that nose? It's a shame really. Bruce says to me, kinda snotty-like, "What are you looking at?" I didn't realize I was staring at him. I put a tough expression on my face, saying, "Don't worry about what I'm looking at, blondie, just bag the damn groceries like she told you to do. Oh, and don't forget to tell us, 'Have a good one,' when you're done bagging." Surprising the hell out of me he laughs out loud. Then ginning at me, he says, "You must have worked here, right?" Jesus, what a cute grin! He's bagging our items as I tell him, "Yeah, I did, Bruce, but it was some years back." He says, "What? Some years back you say? Oh, when you were twelve years old, ya mean?" Ya see, wise-ass bag boys are not what we're looking for.

Chubby pays and say goodbye to Leonda. I give her and Bruce a little wave, and Bruce says, "Have a good one, guys." Chubby says, "Thanks, you too." Chubby doesn't get the sarcasm in Bruce's, 'have a good one'. On our way out I carry the plastic bags of groceries as Chubby's saying, "That girl, Leonda, is funny. She sits next to me and we laugh our way through a lot of the marketing class." I ask, "Laugh? Aren't you taking notes?" He goes, "I take notes!" Then outside he says, "I'm thinking of asking her out. Do you think she'd go out with me?" I say, "If she doesn't there's something wrong with her." He says, "I've never dated a black girl before. It shouldn't be any different though, right?" I mumble, "You take Leonda out and you still haven't dated a black girl. She's the color of coffee with lots of cream. Pretty complexion." Chubby says, "She's African American. She told me so." I go, "She's not black,"and he goes "And we're not white, are we?" I mumble, "No, we're not albinos," and then feel bad remembering a really nice albino kid I knew in middle school. His name, ironically, was Danny White. God, I felt bad for him... he was always alone. Nice kid though and I'd always invite him to eat lunch with us. He'd look down and nod his head, mumbling, "Thanks, Dylan," and never say another word. It made my eyes water. There's few things sadder in high school than seeing some kid at a lunch table eating alone. So many things in life can break your heart, ya know? Jeez! We get to the Jeep and I say, "Let me drive, I wanna see if I remember how." Chubby takes the groceries from me, mumbling, "It's like riding a bike, you never forget." I go, "Where does the key go? you'd think I'd know since it's half my car." Chubby mutters, "Hardy, har, har, har."

Back at the condos, we're walking up the steps when Chubby asks, "Your place or mine?" I go, "We're at mine so lets make the brunch here." As we're going inside, my cell phone rings. It's Robby and I cheerfully say, "Hi there, Rob. Whassup?" He's like, "Good morning, Dylan. Um, I was wondering if I'm still invited for brunch?" I go, "Boyfriend, it's a standing invitation for every brunch we ever have. Of course you're invited! We just got back from Stop and Shop with the goodies and I saw a kid in the store who looks just like Ryan, but this guy has a hearing aid in each ear." Robby goes, "Gee, really? That's a shame. Um, should I come over now?" I go, "Of course, and tell Dodger and Connor they're invited too." He goes, "They're still sleeping. They didn't get home until almost three o'clock." I go, "Jeez! Army brats, ya know. See you soon. Love you." Chubby's taking the food out of the bags and lining everything up on the counter. He says, "You do the hash brown potatoes and I'll get the cinnamon rolls ready for the oven." I mumble, "Okay, boss, but don't put the icing on those babies until after they're baked." He mutters, "No shit, Sherlock," but he did put the icing on before baking them last time and it melded away to nothing. Mom comes out of her bedroom talking on her cell phone. She's wearing PJ's and a bathrobe talking to, who else, Tris. With the cell phone to her ear she puts her arm around my neck smiling at me, hugging me as she's kissing me, then she says into the phone, "I just kissed my handsome son good morning and your handsome son is next." Chubby hugs mom back as he gets his kiss hello. We continue making breakfast smirking at each other. It's nice being loved and adored.

Robby rings the front doorbell as I'm putting the shredded potato, onion, and pepper cakes in a cast iron skillet. I answer the door and give Robby a big kiss. We hug for a few seconds, then Chubby calls over, "Hi Robby! Come on over here and cut up some fresh fruit." My mom's still on the phone as she gives Robby a big smile and a kiss on his cheek, saying, "Hi, Robby, you're looking as handsome as ever." Robby blushes, mumbling, "Hi, nice to see you, and thanks." Mom smiles and kisses everybody, no one escapes her affection. We're doing scrambled eggs this morning which I like on the wet side. This is a big dispute between Chubby and me favoring the wet side for scrambled eggs and the moms who favor dry, which just means cooking them a little longer. Scrambling eggs should be done with the eggs constantly in motion and no browning. Brown scrambled eggs are just plain wrong. As we make brunch Robby, Chubby, and I are discussing the party highlights, which means anything that made us laugh. Laughable material invariably entails an unfortunate incident happening to someone, any one of us. Tris lets herself in, still talking on her cell phone with mom. The moms laugh about that, although they do the same thing every brunch.

We serve Sunday's brunch at eleven-thirty. It consist of bottled OJ, mixed fresh fruit, coffee, cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hash brown potatoes, and toast with raspberry jam. As we sit around the kitchen table eating the moms express an endless list of compliments about the brunch. Cleverly interspersed with the compliments is a seemingly endless list of questions for us guys about our personal lives. Chubby and I take turns deflecting and talking around these questions whenever necessary. Along with

that Chubby makes us all laugh seemingly whenever he wants to, and the moms have nary a negative word to say about anything. They always talk about their jobs, but the things they have to say about being waitresses makes one think they're having the most fun anyone could possible have on the job. Neither would ever mention any of the negatives that surely must occur when constantly dealing with the public and the all types of customers they encounter daily. We take almost an hour talking and eating before we're ready to put brunch behind us. After cleaning up the kitchen we separate for purposes of sneaking cigarettes. Us guys wander up the outdoor stairs to Chubby and Tris' condo. We go out on the balcony as the moms are going out on our balcony right below us. We all light up cigarettes knowing full well what everyone's doing. It's just our normal routine. I assume this is when the moms will tell each other about any negative aspects of their work experiences, assuming they have any to tell. They're both so upbeat, smiley, and happy it's a joy to see them and fun spending time with them, but still we continue this facade that none of us smokes. It's sort of a running gag. The moms have never added to any stress Chubby and I might have and we never add to any they may have. Some could say it's an artificial relationship if we don't share our troubles along with the bright spots in our lives, but we've always been like this and if it ain't broke don't fix it. Chubby and I, almost from necessity, became autonomous early in life. Autonomous in the sense we're independent. We take care of ourselves and the moms obviously noticed this from when we were quite young. I assume since we never presented them with problems they followed suit in that regard. Unusual arrangement perhaps for child and parent, but it's worked beautifully for our little family. For example, when I came 'out' as gay it was as an already dealt with situation. I presented it to the moms as a resolved situation that's fully under control and not a problem they need to be concerned with on my account. There's this unspoken understanding that if there ever was a problem one of us four couldn't handle, then it would be shared. Happily, so far nothing like that has ever come up.

Chubby lights a cigarette and tells Robby and me, "It's weird how much the food helped me get over my hangover." I exhale some smoke, saying, "The food plus your positive thinking, right?" As I say that I realize my hangover is mostly gone too. Robby says, "I didn't even have a hangover this morning, although I almost wish I did. I spent half the night with dad listening to the financial backers stipulating what they need to make the deal work for them." I ask, "Do you do a deal like that on a handshake?" He goes, "Oh God no! The lawyers take it from here. That's what next Saturdays's meeting's about." Chubby asks, "Do you like being involved in this business stuff? I mean, you're still in college, fer chrissakes." Robby goes, "I'd rather not be involved if I had my druthers. Well, I'm not really involved anyway other than dad wanting me to observe and learn. It's not like I say anything. Dad will tell me, 'Write that down please, Rob'. Stuff like that." Chubby and I don't know anything about having a financial business meeting so we change the subject and talk about our first week at Merrimack as sophomores. As usual we rehash the funny or weird stuff that happened. It's not too long before Chubby gets a call on his cell phone. He answers it wandering inside laughing at whatever the person on the other end of the line said. While Chubby's inside talking on the phone, Robby asks me, 'What would you like to do this afternoon?" I shrug, "I don't know. What would you like to do?" With smoke drifting from his mouth, he says, "Um, I've been thinking about what you said last night and I'm really curious what things about our, um, marriage plans you want to tweak." I nod my head, "Yeah, I don't blame you, but I'd like to think about it some more, Rob. Would you mind if we left it until we go out to dinner next week?" He says, "Okay, I guess. The thing is though, if there's something that's bothering you, something I'm doing, I want to stop doing whatever it is." I say, "It's nothing that can't wait, Robby. Really!" He smiles at me and I think it's because I called him 'Robby' again. "Sure," he says, "Whenever you're ready to talk about it, but what'll we do today?" Chubby comes out to the balcony, saying, "I'm off to take Marlene to the mall. What are you guys gonna do?" I say, "We're trying to decide," and he goes, "Why don't you meet us at the mall." Although we probably won't do that, I say, "Yeah, maybe we'll see you there, Chub. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?" He chuckles, "Oh goodie, anything goes then." I'm like, "Hey, there are things I won't do." He gives me a quick hug, "I know that, Dylan. I should try to be as good a person as you." I m umble, "Oh sure." I always say, 'oh sure' when I don't know what else to say to something. It's a noncommittal, catch-all phrase. Robby and I bump fist with Chubby and then he bounces. Bouncing is another way of saying, 'he leaves'. Chubby's smiling as he goes, always ready for a good time. Huh, a part of me wishes Chubby and I were going someplace together like we used to so long ago, when we were young.

I take a deep breath, then look at Robby, shrugging, "What's it gonna be, boyfriend?" He says, "Let me see what Dodger's up to," and he calls him on his cell phone. Not really wanting it, I light another cigarette for something to do. I'm looking out over the balcony feeling good about things, but in a melancholy way. That's one more oxymoron of my life... happy/melancholy. While Robby's talking with Dodger, my mom comes through the front door with Tris so I drop my cigarette over the balcony railing and go in to talk with her. She tells me her and Tris are going shopping and after that they want to treat Chubby and me to dinner at their restaurant. I text Chubby and

he's all for a nice dinner there. We agree to meet the moms at the restaurant around seven o'clock. Tris goes in her bedroom to change as mom's cell phone rings. As she answers it I drift back out on the balcony, and Robby tells me, "Dodger, Vinnie, and Connor are going to the movies. Wanna go?" I'm like, "Yeah, we don't see enough movies and it'll be fun being with the Army boys," and so that's what we do. We meet the boys outside the multiplex at the Natick mall. Lots of smiles, hugs, and pats on the back before we go inside with me asking Connor, "Have a good time last night?" Big smile while blushing a dark shade of red as he nods his head, "Un huh, how 'bout you?" I say, "It was a good time, but I wish I saw more of you." We all get our ticket and then stand in line for popcorn. Movies are awesome, but it cost an outrageous amount of money for a little bag of popcorn and a small fountain soda. It's insane and yet I've never been at the movies without buying a $4.50 little bag of popcorn and a $4.00 cup of soda. I need the soda because I always add a lot of that special fine popcorn salt from the canister on the counter. The movie is an action flick in which maybe thirty bad guys get killed, there's the obligatory love angle between unlikely characters, and then the obligatory car chase, but the movie's fun and we all enjoy it. We've goofing around on our way out reliving some of the action scenes when I hear, "Dylan!" Looking over I see Sonny, Dawg, and Devon of the now-defunct posse boys. I tell Robby, "I'll meet you guys in Dunkin Donuts. I wanna say hi to the boys." We decided we need cold coffee drinks at Dunkin Donuts, which is right down from the movie theater.

Going over to the guys, I'm like, "The posse boys!" and we do the old posse boy greeting with Sonny asking, "Who fucked up your haircut, Dylan?" Nobody except Sonny and me knows he's been giving me haircuts for the last six or seven weeks of summer vacation. I say, "Yeah it's fucked-up, Sonny, I should have gone back to my regular barber." He goes, "Yeah, you really should

have," and he pinches my butt cheek. The boys tell me about what's been happening since school started. Nobody's seen Ray, but they've hooked up with

Bean and the rest of the gang a couple of times. It looks like Ray's the odd man out. They're seeing the same movie we just saw and it's going to start soon so we can't talk long, but it's way cool seeing them again. They all make me feel liked and missed. They'll call me to arrange for haircuts next Saturday while Robby's at his meeting. I'm looking forward to that. We do the posse boys' goodbye too, just like old times. I get a wet kiss and then a tongue lick on my cheek from Sonny and, wow, he smells good. It makes my dick move. There's just something about Sonny that rings all my bells, and he knows it too. He has always had that awesomely sexy natural scent and it brought my mind back to the dreamy sexual trances he has a way of putting me in. What a hot sexy kid!

In Dunkin Donuts the guys are up to the counter ready to order when I walk in so I call over my choice of iced coffee to Robby. He buys it for me and we all sit at a table inside to enjoy our drinks. Dodger asks, "How's your hangover, Dylan?" I mumble, "Merely an unpleasant memory, Dodger." Connor says, "Alcohol doesn't solve any problems, that's for sure." I go, "I don't know about that. Maybe it doesn't solve any problems per se, but then neither does milk, ya know. Alcohol at least can help you put a problem in the back of your mind for an evening." Robby asks, "What problem do you want to put at the back of your mind, Dylan?" He's still thinking about what I said last night regarding tweaking some things about our marriage plans. I smile at him, "No problems at all, Rob. I was speaking hypothetically." Vinnie says, "Get this! I was at the eye doctor when an old Chinese man comes out of the doctor's office with drops in his eyes. He sits down in the waiting room and tells his wife he has to go back in to see the doctor in twenty minutes. Then he says, 'Doctor mistaken, he say I have 'catawrack', but I tell him, no, I got rinkin continental." Dodger says, "What'd I tell you about telling jokes, Vinnie?" Vinnie frowns, "You said not to," and Connor mumbles, "Good advice."

I think about the joke and snicker, "That's pretty funny, Vinnie." Dodger says, "Don't encourage him, Dylan, please," then he asks, "Robby, did you know Linda Blair's pregnant?" Robby goes, "The neighborhood girl that moved away a couple of years ago? When did you see her?" Dodger says, "I ran into her when Connor, Vinnie, and I were at the mall Friday afternoon. She's married now. Got married two months ago. I touched her basketball size pregnant stomach and felt the baby kick. Freaky! That girl's way further along than two months." Connor says, "Everyone feels comfortable touching a pregnant

lady's stomach and congratulating her, but I wonder why they don't touch the husband's dick and congratulate him." Vinnie says, "They touch her stomach, Connor, not her twat. If people touched her twat then it'd be alright to touch the guy's cock." Robby and I exchange glances, then I say, "Connor, you've been immersed in Dodger's and Vinnie's world too deeply, and it's starting to show." He chuckles, mumbling, "Those guys are awesome." We light cigarettes and the guy behind the counter yells, "No smoking in here, guys. Take it outside... now!" Dodger mumbles under his breath, "Fuck you, and your donuts," but we get up and carry our drinks outside.

We finish our iced coffees outside the coffee shop while we smoke. After throwing our empty cups in the trash barrel near the door, Robby says, "How 'bout keeping me company, Dylan? I need to drop something off at the office for dad." I say, "Sure," and as we're bumping fists with the others, I go, "See you goof balls later, we're bouncing," Dodger mumbles, "Bounce this," grinning and holding his crotch. I go, "Nobody ever said you didn't have class, Dodger." Naturally, as we walk away, he and Vinnie give us the bird, both of them grinning and holding their crotches. Robby mutters, "Pete and repeat." As we walk towards the pickup, Robby's saying, "Dodger seemed like his old self tonight. He's like that when other guys are around, but when it's just him and me there seems to be a wall or something between us. It's so odd." I shrug, not wanting to take sides between brothers. If I commiserate too much with one or the other, sooner or later they'll reconcile and whatever I said might come back to haunt me. Best to be mum. Robby asks, "Don't you think it's odd Dodger's acting funny towards me? You know how tight he and I have always been." I open the passenger door of the pickup, and to avoid the question, I say, "Have you asked him what's wrong?" We both get in the pickup with Robby saying, "Yeah, I asked him and he said something like, 'What could possibly be wrong?' as if I should know what it is. Can you think of anything he said to you that might be bothering him?" Again avoiding the question, I go, "Huh, what do you think it could be?" I find if I ask a question instead of giving an answer to a question, one I'd rather not answer, it can sidestep the original question. Robby says, "I can't imagine unless it's what I wondered about before. Could he be pissed off that you and me came out of the closet together? Although why would that piss him off?" I shrug, asking, "What do you need to drop off at the office?" He says, "Oh yeah, it's the first draft copies of the outline for the financial arrangement from the notes I took last night. Dad wants the top managers to have copies first thing tomorrow so they can read it before the nine o'clock Monday morning manager's meeting." I'm like, "Huh. Um, how long is the outline?" and Robby goes into it much deeper than I care to hear, but it's got him onto the subject of business, and off of the subject of Dodger.

It's after six o'clock when we drive onto the parking lot of Dickers Landscape and Design. I gaze around and it all looks so familiar to me and brings back mostly fond memories of last summer. The job was more fun than work. That's because I became very fond of the guys I worked with. I was already in love with Robby and my love for Chubby knows no boundaries, but I became fond of the other guys who came and went last summer as well. Most of them were great to work with. Memories of the hot sexy times some of us had in the back of the truck going out in the mornings get me adjusting my junk. We get out of the pickup at the main building and I look at the big sign on top of the building, asking, "When's the new sign go up that says, 'And Son'?" He goes, "Oh man, not for six to eight months. The new building is staked out where the trailer used to be. It'll almost double the square footage of the original main building." It's just the very beginning of dusk, plus the now cloudy sky caused the security lights to automatically come on and dimly light the area. I can still see the stakes outlining the new building though. I say, "Oh, the new building will take up some of the parking lot too." He nods his head as we walk to the main door. " Robby's keying in the code on the keypad for the electronic main lock, saying, "This cuts off the alarm system and unlocks the front door at the same time." I follow him inside letting the door go behind me. It's kind of eerie in here with only the faint night lights on. We walk from office to office so Robby can drop a set of papers on each office's desk. I ask, "Will you have your own office?" He goes, "When I graduate, yeah. Until then, no office for me. I'm just dad's shadow."

"Well, that's that," Robby mumbles, looking around. Then he takes my hand, saying, "Come on, lets see if there's any beer in the manager's lounge." It's creepy walking through these dimly lit buildings, connected one to the other, by dark corridors. The manager's lounge isn't big, but it's done up pretty nicely. There's a connected bathroom with a number of private showers, and a kitchen area. Robby says, "This lounge was renovated last season. Nice huh?" I go, "Yeah, it's a couple of steps up from the locker room us peons use." He chuckles, "Don't let on to the workers bees or they might go on strike... ha ha." In the kitchen off the lounge there's a big refrigerator stocked with plenty of beers and sodas. Robby grabs two bottles of Coors and twists

off the caps handing a bottle to me. We tap bottles saying, "To us," and take a swallow. I could easily do without this beer even though I'm still thirsty because of the salty popcorn. Actually one of those sodas would have been more enjoyable, but drinking a soda is not as cool as a having beer. We gotta go for being cool. Robby lights a cigarette as he stares at me. With smoke coming out of his nose and mouth, he murmurs, "You're so good looking, Dylan, it sometimes takes my breath away. I love your cute nose. It's cute and tough looking at the same time." I go, "Ha! My nose was broken in a fight during the first semester of my high school sophomore year, but Chubby and me got even with the fucker who broke it. Got even really good two weeks later. His name was Nick Dawyer. Yeah, he was the senior class bully at the time. We ran into him off school grounds and beat the living shit out of him. Same for the toad he was with, Nick Somebody, I forget his last name. Worst fight I've ever been in and my nose was still sore as hell from when Dawyer broke it. Didn't matter though, Chubby and I went nuclear on their asses. Very satisfying, but it's a good thing it was off school grounds or we'd have been suspended." Robby's nodding his head, "Yeah, you two were the talk of the sophomore class for awhile. Of course some pussies thought it was you two who were the bullies." I chuckle, "Some of the pussies you hung out with, huh?" He says, 'Yeah, I guess, although jocks aren't usually thought of as pussies. I knew who you were of course. I already had a crush on you. I thought you were the coolest kid in the world. Cutest too. Nothing has changed my mind about that." I had no idea who Robby was in my sophomore year. Chubby and I were still inseparable in those days and didn't let anyone into our little clique. It wasn't until junior year that Chubby and I branched out. Robby became the starting second basemen in our junior year and began getting accolades for his baseball activities in the school paper, and later in the local Framingham paper that covered high school sports. That's when I started noticing him.

We share a cigarette, then Robby takes my hand again and leads me to the sofa in the lounge. We sit down with Robby's arm going around my neck pulling me against his side. We both drink from the bottles of Coors beer while grinning at each other. Robby kisses my cheek, then says, "Dylan, I've never been as happy as I've been recently. If Dodger wasn't acting funny everything would be perfect." He leans his head over for a kiss on the lips that's so sweet and loving my eyes water. "You're my dream come true, Dylan. My fantasy that's become real. Few people ever realize their fantasies, but I have, and it's all because of you. I'll cherish you every day of my life," and another lover's kiss with our faces moving against one another, our noses

bumping and our lips sucking. My cock gets hard, Robby's taste is in my mouth, and his scent is in my head. My free arm is around his neck with the sides of our faces coming together now. Robby murmurs in my ear, "I love you more than life itself. You're so perfectly desirable and as sexually yummy as Swedish fish is sweet." Swedish fish are red gummy candies shaped like a little fish and they're Robby's favorite candy of all time. They're pretty high up on my list too. I go, "Ahh, a compliment that's hard to top, Robby." Robby says in a comical way, "Oh, he called me Robby," like it's a special treat. I grin, "Yep, Rob, that compliment deserved a 'Robby' reference." He chuckles, kissing my ear, then we sit back and drink some beer. It tastes better now. I say, "I'm happy too, Robby. It's not only you who is excited and thrilled by our love. It's my dream come true too, ya know." He says, "That just adds to my happiness." It's okay to overdo the mushy stuff once in a while, just don't make a habit of it. We know how to do it just right.

Another swallow of beer, then I ask, "Isn't it a little scary the two of us being in this big, barely lit office building? You know, are you sure we're alone? Listen to that." We're both quiet as we listen to the ambient sounds of the heating system automatically cycling on causing a little air motion that results in a quietly closing door somewhere in the corridor outside this lounge, and then there's the quiet creaking of the building. Robby says, "Fuck it, we're the only ones here. Who else would be here on a Sunday night?" I shrug and we finish our beers while talking quietly about next week's dinner date at our favorite Italian restaurant that serves us cocktails just as if we're twenty-one. We'll be getting legal drinking age in less then a year now. We're talking quietly for no reason at all, and that adds to the creepiness of being in this building alone. Robby takes my empty beer bottle from my fingers and puts it on and end table, then smiles at me, asking, "Do ya want another beer, or anything?" I mumble, "I wouldn't mind some Swedish fish." He chuckles and leans over to me, murmuring, "You're better tasting than Swedish fish," and we kiss lovingly again with our arms going around each other. I go, "Mmmm, Robby," and our tongues lick together just before a long official French kiss. He tastes so good, beer and all. His hands rub up the back of my head as I slowly fall over on my side laying on the sofa with Robby on top of me. "I love you, Dylan," and our kissing gets more intense as my cock gets harder. Our faces rub together and it feels so sexy being desired the way Robby makes me feel. He squirms on top of me until I'm laying on my back, one of his legs between mine pressing against my hard cock. "Mmmmm," as we kiss our faces continue to move together, our noses bumping together, with Robby's doing gentle humps against my groin.

Kissing is so wonderful and Robby's so delicious, I moan, "Ooooh, aaah, mmmm." Feeling out of breath, I slide my lips across his cheek while inhaling deeply. The sides of our faces now slide together. He smells so sexy, so good. We breath deeply together without hearts pounding fast against each other's chest. Robby's hard cock pokes mine through our pants as our faces slide back to the front so our lips and tongues can come together for sucking

deep kisses. We're desperate now and overwhelmed with sexual desire. We squirm against one another moaning and getting sloppy with our kissing and tongue sucking, spit all around both of our mouths and down our chins. Robby licks up the front of my nose leaving it saturated with his sweet smelling saliva, it almost smells as if he has been eating Swedish fish. He's fumbling to undo my pants, then pulls down my zipper. Sitting up, he mumbles, "Take your pants off, baby, please." Then he stands up and drops his pants, stepping out of them. As I sit on the sofa, my pants around my ankles, I stare at his fat cock that's amazingly hard. It's sticking straight out from his body like a short fat wooden pole. A big drop of precum forms at the head of his pole with his piss slit opening wide and closing sporadically. I make a whining sound of arousal leaning over and dropping off the sofa to my knees. I take his hard fat boner in my mouth and suck off the precum. Another long drool of precum follows the first one as Robby runs his fingers through my hair, then pushes my head away and grabs my shoulders to turn me around. "I'm gonna fuck you now, baby. Get around there," as he pushes me, chest down, on the sofa. Still on my knees, he says, "Get you ass up, baby!" I lift my ass up for him to mount as another whining sound escapes my throat, "Ummmm, aaah, Robby." I sound pathetic to myself, but my arousal is extremely high. Robby leans against me with his hard cock pressed upwards between my butt cheeks. He humps it up and then drags it down against the smooth skin of my ass. Robby groans, "Ooooh, this feels good," as his cock wetly drags up and down my ass crack again. Then it's the, "Smack! Smack! Smack!" sounds of a hard spanking that rings in my ears with a stinging on my butt cheeks that get me lifting my ass a little higher. He mumbles, "Good," and the head of his cock spread the lips of my asshole, then the head's in past my sphincter muscle and he's gripping my hips, pushing his cock steadily up my ass.

Robby pushes it all the way in, spreading the walls of my rectum as he makes a low, "Ooooo," moaning sound of sexual pleasure. One final hump and he leans over my back to rub my shoulders while I quietly moan at how wonderful

it feels. So good is the feeling of his fat cock inside me I'm pressing my ass back into him. It's an unparalleled sexy sensation being dominated by my lover. Oh God it's so hot the way he took control. I moan with arousal as my rectum adjusts quickly to the fat intrusion and embraces it now while sending scintillating sensations outward. My prostate throbs causing my shoulders to shudder under Robby's hand with my cock so hard it throbs along with my prostate. He murmurs, "You're so special, Dylan," and then he snuggles his face against the side of my neck, his hair tickling the side of my jaw, as he murmurs, "You smell so wonderfully sexy." He drags his hands tightly down my sides straightening-up to grab my hips again while slowly withdrawing his hard cock until the engorged head is distending the lips of my anus. I gasp looking back at his cute face and he grins at me before pushes his boner back up my ass and leans over me again with his chest resting on my back this time. Robby asks in a whisper, "Who fucks you best, baby?" I mutter, "Ahh, oooh. Ummm, it's you, Rob, you fuck me best." Kissing the side of my face he moves his hips back as I whine in pleasure, "Oooooh, mmmm." His cock slowly pulls back and then goes back in smoother this time. In addition to the sensations from millions of nerve endings being tantalized by Robby's iron boner there's also some kind of psychological thrill on top of that because this is sex with my true love, Robby. It adds to my sexual pleasure to share sex with him especially when he does it lovingly dominant, and confidently in-charge.Then, with Robby still laying his chest on my back, he begins humping his hips in a steady fucking motion creating the sounds of flesh colliding from parts of two naked male bodies, "Slap, slap, slap, slap." I'm sucking on my lips concentrating on how good it feels. So good I can't put it into words. Robby grunts quietly with each thrust of his wooden boner up my ass... a wooden boner covered with tight skin that slides tightly and steadily up my ass until I could scream with sexual pleasure. "Slap, slap, slap, slap," hypnotically rhythmic slapping sounds to go with an ocean of intense sexual pleasure stimulating the multitude of nerve endings surrounding my rectum, a serious erogenous zone.

Steady fucking for quite awhile with Robby's chest against my back before he straightens up again, now making an, "Ump," sound with each hard thrusts as his orgasm builds. His fingers digging into my hips as I hear Robby's groan and the hypnotic, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds of males fucking. "It feels so good, Robby." "Ump, ump, ump, ah, aah, aah," "slap, slap, slap, slap," "Ah, ah, ah." My orgasm builds and builds until my eyes squeeze closed as the metabolic activity in the limbic area of my brain has more activity than it can handle and, "Aaaaah, oooh," my back arches and my cock throbs as cum shoots out hard against the front of the sofa. Then, "Ooooh," and more cum shoots out, and what a sexual high it is. My body shakes as sexual sensations explode supernova style. So many sensations of firing nerve endings they cause tingling all over my body and then a gasp from Robby and desperate humps against me until he leans against my ass shaking while filling me up with creamy spunk, then again as he gasps for breath. His cum pours inside my ass and then drools out around his cock as he pumps his cock back and forth inside me. "Oooh, fuck, Dylan! Jesus, I almost passed out. Oh man, that was awesome." I'm nodding my head still feeling swirling orgasmic sensations that are quickly fading in my rectum. Sensations on my cock settle down and it begins to soften as the last of orgasmic pleasures drift away into the air. One last shoulder shudder and I shake my head, "Oh, Robby, that's was so fucking hot." He thrusts his cock up my ass a few more times and then pulls out completely sitting on the sofa next to my head stroking his cock, murmuring, "Holy shit, it gets better every time."

Cum drools down my butt cheeks onto the back of my legs as I stand up slowly. "I'm weak, Rob, wow. Good fucking, boyfriend. Whoa, that never gets old." He holds a box of Kleenex towards me and I take a half dozen and wipe my ass, saying, "The first four or five times I got fucked I thought I needed to take a crap, but that hasn't happened but a couple of times since then. My ass has been seasoned for this by now and it's awesome. I love being a bottom to your top, Rob." He mutters, "Call me, Robby," and he pats the cushion next to him, mumbling, "Sit down so I can hug your awesome body and kiss your candy lips." Grabbing some more Kleenex to sit on, I go, "That's an offer I can't refuse...," then stop talking when I see a flashlight beam bouncing in the corridor. What the fuck?

to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com

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Thanks.

Donny Mumford

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