DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR
Chapter 25
by Donny Mumford
Ryan just went off with a friend of his roommate's leaving me all by my lonesome. Well, I'm one of about fifty students scattered here and there in the bleachers at the baseball complex, but since I don't know any of them it's sort of like I'm alone. We're all taking advantage of our free-time to watch Merrimack's baseball team's pick-up game. Of the fifty students in the bleachers only one interest me at the moment. He's a certain British lad who I first noticed in line at the bookstore on registration day. Then I saw him again last night in the hall outside Ryan's dorm when I was high on crack-laced pot. He said something to me last night, although for the life of me I can't recall what it was and now he's sitting by himself at the top of the bleachers. I'm interested in him because he's a cute guy with a cool accent, which is reason enough right there, but there's also something very sexy about him and that of course intrigues me even more. Maybe I'll introduce myself and maybe I won't, but right now Robby's up at the plate so I want to watch him bat. After that I'll see what I'm going to do about the lad at the top of the bleachers. Staring at my boyfriend with the bat on his shoulder, the center of attention in the game at the moment, I have to grin because he's so fucking hot looking. Plus, he also happens to be my own true-love boyfriend, so ya know, that's cool. Looking around briefly to the guys in the stands I can't help but wonder how many of them are gay, in the closet or 'out', and secretly wishing Robby was their boyfriend. Of course there's a possibility no one else here is gay, as unhappy a scenario as that might be.
The pitcher throws a fastball that Robby watches go by for ball one, then another fast ball is fouled off by Robby for strike two. Now a pitch comes in slower and Robby puts a beautiful swing on a change-up hitting a double down the right field line scoring a man from second base. Way to go Robby! In college they use aluminum bats and it makes a cool sound when the bat makes contact with the hardball. Baseball's too slow and tedious for some, but I've always thought it fun to watch and play no matter at what level. That includes sandlot, little league, Babe Ruth, high school, college, minor leagues or the major league. There are lots of levels of play although most of us never even get to play high school baseball, never mind college or higher. My boyfriend's the starting second baseman for our college team and I'm proud of him. Now I want to see him score, but the next guy up pops out to the third baseman and the inning's over.
Okay then, it's back to contemplating my British boy. The question is, should I try making conversation with him or should I sit in his general area and see if he makes conversation with me. That's preferable from my viewpoint. He seems a cool customer though and maybe a little intimidating, or it could be my old nemesis, shyness, is playing with my head again. I'm pretty much over my childish shyness, although it can still sneak up on me from time to time. The past year or so it's more like I'm ballsy and outspoken with cute guys I don't know, but would like to know. This British lad falls into the category of someone I'd like to know and the only question remaining is: will I do anything about it? I'm well aware of the ten to one odds against him being gay, but I've beaten those odds any number of times. Anyway, I'm convinced there are significantly more than one out of ten guys with gay tendencies, although most are hesitant to act upon them. Somehow I've been able to bring those tendencies to life in certain guys, but that doesn't mean I'll be able to do it in this case. Therein lies the challenge of course. Hmmm, how to approach this? Well, finally I tell myself to grow some balls and I stand up. Huh, okay now that I'm standing I need to do something, so I casually light a cigarette trying for cool, then wander down the bleacher bench away from the Brit. It's important I look at anything except a certain lad from England. The perfect scenario would be him noticing me and him finding someway of making contact first. However, he isn't even looking in my direction so I'm going to plan 'B'.
To a novice at this sort of thing, me walking away from the object of my intentions may appear an odd counterproductive strategy, but the whole idea is to give the appearance of a totally random meeting between us. An unexpected coincidence of happenstance bumping into the guy in question. It's like, 'Oh, don't I know you? Funny bumping into you here.' It's that sort of thing and it requires skill and lots of forethought in making it all appear totally random. The novice is advised not to try this at home though, it should only be tried by professional boy-watchers like myself. Amateurs could easily wind-up with a bloody nose. Fortunately there's a booth at the end of the bleachers where a couple of entrepreneurial frat boys are making money selling $1.00 Cokes for $2.50. That gives me a plausible reasons for walking in this direction. I buy a can of Coke and now I have two props, the cigarette and the can of Coke. Taking a sip of soda I ever so casually begin walking up the bleachers. Sip of soda, then a drag on my cigarette, not a care in the world. I'm just someone who's wondering what the view is like from the top bleacher, totally oblivious that anyone is sitting up there way over to my right. I'm just another student bumbling around killing some time watching our college baseball team's pick-up game... rah rah!
When I'm standing on the top bleacher, but way over to the left of the British student, I pause here a minute smoking and gazing out over the field, then casually glance in his direction projecting at attitude of having nothing particular on my mind. Hmmm, my glance over in his direction indicates that all my clever posturing is going to waste because the cute guy I'm interested in is still not paying the slightest bit of attention to me. He's reading a book, then looking at the guys playing baseball, then back to the book. What the fuck's up with that? Oh well, I'll take this opportunity to get a nice long look at him anyway. From here I'm guessing he's my age, height, and weight. I don't have to guess that he's got a cute face or that he has light brown hair that's too long with a bit of a wave that fortunately for him stops this side of being curly. I can see that, so I don't need to guess. I can't tell the color of his eyes or his exact facial features though. I'll need to be closer for that, but from here he's pretty fucking sharp looking. I'm guessing he has a bit of an attitude too, that's if I'm reading his body language correctly. Very interesting.
Feeling a surge of false confidence I begin wandering down the top bleacher towards him and when I'm within ten feet of him he looks over at me with a questioning expression on his face that seems to infer...'What have we here?'. I stop, and for something to say, ask, "Are you, like me, wondering why they're playing baseball during football season?" His expression changes to one reflecting, 'What the fuck?' as he says in a boyish, friendly voice, "You're asking the wrong person that question, mate. I don't know shit about American sports. I'm trying to figure it out myself," and he holds up his book, 'Baseball for Dummies'. He gives me a little smile, adding, "I'm using this book about baseball to help me figure out who's who on the field down there, and why. Ya know?" I smile at him nodding my head as I continue walking towards him. He's watching me the whole time and looking amused about something. When I'm almost next to him, I ask, "Do you mind if I sit with you?" He shrugs, mumbling, "Sure, take a pew." Take a pew? What the...? I sit down ignoring that and hold my hand out. He takes it in his right hand as I'm saying, "Hi, I'm Dylan Newman." No reaction from him, so I add, "You know what, I think I saw you last night. A friend of mine has a dorm room in Tuckerman Hall and I believe you're one of the guys I saw in the corridor. Either you or your twin." He says, "It wasn't my twin because I don't have one," and he smirks nodding his head like he's now recognized me, "Oh yeah, you're the piss-head in the hall last night. I remember you." Huh, we're still basically holding hands, but not shaking until he tightens his grip and shakes my hand, saying, "Oh fuck, how bloody rude of me! I'm Freddie Holmes, but my friends back in London call me 'Sherlock', for the obvious reason. How's it going, mate?" I'm thinking, 'Sherlock? Obvious reason? Oh wait, Sherlock Holmes, but what a clumsy nickname. I go, "Yeah, it's going good. Nice to meet ya. Um, cool accent ya got there."
He looks at his hand that I'm still holding, then I glance at it and blush letting go of his hand, mumbling, "Ha ha, London, huh?" He says, "Yeah, North London, Muswell Hill to be precise. Have you traveled abroad?" I go, "I've been to Key West. That's as far from Massachusetts as I've ever been." He smirks, mumbling, "So then, the answer to my question would be, 'No', right?" I nod my head, thinking, 'Smart ass!' He looks friendly though and not as intimidating as I thought. Smiling, I ask, "Were we too loud last night?" He shrugs, "Too loud, ha! Does a bear shit in the woods?" I grin, "So the answer to my question would be, 'Yes', right?" He laughs a friendly laugh, muttering, "Touché." Then he goes, "The noise didn't bother me especially, although you might have been a little more neighborly and shared your weed." I blush again, "Oh, you could smell it?" He chuckles, "Mate, it stunk up the place!" I'm like, "Oh, so everyone on the second floor knew we were smoking pot?" He says, "They'd have blocked hooters if they didn't notice it." I'm like, "Hooters? You had girls in your room? I don't understand." He points to his nose, saying, "Hooters, noses." What the...? I ask, "Ah, you call someone's nose a hooter? Hooters are tits." he laughs, "You yanks have fucked-up the English language something awful, haven't you?" I go, "No, I don't think so," and he says, "I'm just fuckin' with ya, Newman. No offense."
Freddie's wearing a gray hoodie over a t-shirt with writing on the front, but I can't make out what it says. He's got skinny faded jean on and hightop sneakers. In other words, the same thing guys around here wear. He's back to looking at his baseball book, so I say, "Um, Freddie, I can explain anything about baseball you want to know. You don't need no stinking book." He closes the book, mumbling, "It's all bollocks anyway." I exhale some smoke wondering, 'What the fuck does 'bollocks' mean?' He looks at me, "Can I bum a fag off you? Would ya mind?" What the fuck... fag? I frown at him and he points to the cigarette between my fingers. I look at my cigarette, then at him, asking, "You call cigarettes 'fags'?" He goes, "Not always, sometimes I call them 'ciggies'." Frowning at him, I take my Marlboro box from my pocket as he grins a seriously cute grin with awesomely boyish dimples, saying, "Or sometimes I call cigarettes Marlboros, as in... may I bum a Marlboro from you?" I'm staring at his mouth. There are little spaces between his super-white top teeth. Wow, that is so fucking cute. I'm a little flustered
by him because he's uber relaxed and comfortable and seemingly very sure of himself, and he used that word, 'fag'. So, the first cigarette I take from the pack drops from my fingers and rolls off the bleachers falling to the ground below us about twenty feet down. Freddie's grinning as he watches me watching the cigarette disappear. He goes, "Oops" as I mutter, "Fuck." I look over at him shrugging, like... so-what?, and then hold the pack out for him to take a cigarette. He manages not to drop it, puts it between his lips, saying, "I don't have a light either." Lighting his cigarette with my Bic lighter, I'm asking, "You want me to smoke it for you too?" He chuckles, "I can take it from here."
An awkward silence follows with him looking at me and blowing smoke my way, so I drop my cigarette butt and light another one, just for something to do. Still nothing from him except more of his exhaled smoke circling my head, so I ask, "I'm guessing you're not a smoker on a regular basis, right? Cigarettes too expensive here, are they?" With exhaled smoke drifting from his nose and mouth, he says, "I smoked my last one an hour ago and then threw my matches away because I smoke too fucking much. I'm fuckin' addicted to the ciggies." I go, "Huh," and he grins, adding, "They're actually a lot cheaper here, ya know. In London a pack of Marlboro cost eight pounds, which is about $13.00 American. A pack here is under $10.00." I go, "No shit! That's highway robbery in London, and so is $10.00 a pack here. You gotta come with me to Salem, New Hampshire, where a carton of Marlboro goes for $55.00." His eyebrows go up, "Really? That's like $5.50 per pack. Bollocks!" There's that word again. I say, "Do you have a car on campus?" He shakes his head, 'no', so I say, "No problem, you can come with me. I'll need to go sometime this week anyway." He's like, "Awesome, mate! Nobody told me about Salem." I shrug, "It's like a fifteen minute ride, no big deal. Booze is a lot cheaper there too." We smoke looking at each other until the silence makes me uncomfortable again, so I ask, "How about gasoline? How much does it cost per gallon in London?" He grins at me for reasons unknown, then says, "It cost, in American dollars, about $2.28 per liter, why do you wanna know?" I shrug, "Just curious. I like to know what things cost. So a liter is like a gallon?" He laughs, "You muppet, a liter is one-forth gallon." I'm shocked, "You're saying a gallon of gas cost ten fucking dollars over there? He says, "Yeah, and you Americans whine about paying three dollars and change per gallon, don't ya?"
I don't know if I care for that attitude, so I ask, "What, are you un-American or something?" He grins at me, then says, "Um, I assume you know that un-American is a pejorative political term in discourse for US citizens who are perceived as diverting from American culture and political values. Since I'm not a US citizen I can't be un-American, can I?" I mutter, "Oh, no shit? But I knew that," and he laughs squeezing my leg making my dick move around some in my pants. I say, "Well, is there anything you like about America?" He goes, "Of course! I like a lot of things here in the states. I like Americans generally speaking, we're allies, ya know." He's smirking at me again as he reaches over and picks up my can of Coke that I set down next to me, asking, "Do you mind?" I shake my head, "Help yourself," and he drinks from the can. I like that he didn't wipe the opening with his hand as if I had cooties. I ask, "I'm a curious guy, what specifically do you like about America?" Dragging off his cigarette, he says, "Well, I only know a little about Boston and North Andover so I can't speak generally about your country. I like the places I've been though." He takes another swallow of Coke and hands the can back to me. As I'm drinking some Coke, he says, "For one thing you've got a lot of beef here in the states. Big steaks, which I love! I've eaten at that steak house down route 114 twice already and loved it. Reasonably priced too." What the fuck? That place is expensive. I ask, "You mean Burtons?" and he goes, "Yeah, that's the restaurant, Burtons. Awesome." It is not reasonably priced. Price wise it's similar to Boston prices which is expensive for a suburban restaurant.
Freddie Holmes takes a final drag off his cigarette and blows the exhaled smoke towards me, grinning again, then he drops the butt off the bleachers. I'm only halfway finished my second cigarette but I've had enough of it, so I drop mine too, asking, "What else do you like here, Freddie?" He smiles, "Oh, the availability of all kinds of meat, not just beef, which as I've said is number one in my carnivore heart, but that Entenmen's brand crumb cake is fuckin' awesome too. I could gorge myself that." Hmmm, I chuckle, asking, "Are you jerking me off now with that crumb cake thing?" He goes, "No, not at all, I love it, but would you like me to jerk you off for real?" I'm like, "What's that....?" as my face gets red again. He shakes his head smiling, like 'Oh, nothing.' Then he says, "Cost of living is great here too, and you've got lots of wide roads and highways, and all kinds of good stuff. Stuff I'm sure you take for granted." I shrug as he adds, "Plus all you
American fawn all over my British accent. It's quaint of you." We're quaint?! Oh fuck! I let that go because who knows what he means by it. "Hooters' are 'noses' and we're quaint? Get fucking real! "Um, Freddie, are there things you don't like about America?" A shrug, "My number one complaint has got to be the drinking age over here. It's behind the times and makes no fucking sense whatsoever. At eighteen years of age you American boys can get killed in a war, but you can't get a pint in a pub until you're twenty-one. Stupid! Also, the low speed limits on those fine highways is dumb too. And lets see, oh yeah, when I can get a pint, the fuckin' beer is weak, your coffee's weak too, and you've got bland tasting cheeses here. They're some of the things that annoy me about America, such as I've experienced so far anyway." I go, "What the fuck you talking about? Weak coffee? Have you tried Starbucks?" He asks, "Do you think bitter coffee is the same fucking thing as strong coffee?" I mumbling, "I don't know. I hate Starbucks though. I drink Dunkin' Donuts coffee." Freddie chuckles, muttering, "Swill." It makes me laugh and I repeat, "Swill? Really?" Then I tell him, "Us guys get around the stupid drinking age by having guys who look twenty-one, or who have good fake ID, buy beer and booze for us and we buy it from them." He shrugs, "Okay, but then ya gotta sneak it into your dorm room like it's a machine gun or something, and anyway it's not the same experience as going to the pub with your mates. Totally different atmosphere and all." I say, "Yeah, I guess. I live in an off-campus apartment with my brother and, um, friend. Not a dorm." Dammit! I should have said 'boyfriend'. I'm not ashamed of it, I'm proud of it. Kinda late to go back and say 'boyfriend' now though. I'd look like a geek.
Freddie taps his 'Baseball for Dummies' book and asks me some questions about the game of baseball. We talk about that for awhile passing the can of Coke back and forth. Freddie's very likable, but I'm guessing some of the things he's says are tongue in cheek, or maybe they're not. I'm just not sure. I also think he makes up words as he goes along. In some ways it's almost a language barrier, but I enjoy looking and listening to him; I'm sure about that much. He has the sexiest mouth too, it's all bright pink with his white teeth and the little spaces between the top ones, and his lips are sexy and as kissable as any I've ever seen. Awesome pale clear complexion too. Talking baseball though isn't going too well. What seems obvious to me about the game's nuances just confuse him. I say, "Yeah, there are exceptions to the rules in baseball, fer sure," and I try explaining a few of them, but mostly I'm focusing on his sexy soft-looking short, sorta scruffy whiskers. Pale brown whiskers in all the places you'd expect to see them, not that his beard is thick at all. It's sparse and sort of curly like his wavy hair. I interrupt our baseball discussion completely now, asking, "Do you always rock this three day whisker look ya got going for yourself today?" He laughs, "Whiskers are on cats, I have a beard. And no, I don't always ignore my beard, just some days when I'm too lazy to shave. It appears I'm not alone in that regard considering the number of short beards I see on guys here at Merrimack. How about you, Newman?" I say, "You can call me, Dylan, Holmes." He smiles, "Right, Dylan it is. Do you always rock the clean shaved look?" and he reaches over to slowly rubs two fingers down my cheek, asking, "Or aren't you old enough to shave yet?" I never know if this dude is putting me on, or what. He's grinning, mumbling, "You must be eighteen to be in college, right?" I go, "What the fuck ya talking about? I'm twenty years old as of last month. It's just that my dad didn't have much facial hair. Me and my brother take after him, that's all." His fingers continue lightly running down my cheek in a sexy way as he says, "Shit, I wish my dad was like that, shaving is a pain in my arse," and his two fingers slide off my jaw leaving my cheek tingling. I do a fake cough or two wishing I could adjust my junk.
Hmmm, him touching my cheeks like that, plus earlier he asked if I wanted him to jerk me off, and then using 'fag' as the word for a cigarette. It all makes me wonder, ya know? I take a chance, testing my theory he may be gay by reaching over and rubbing my fingers through his short curly whiskers. He doesn't move his head as he smirks cutely at me. His whiskers are very soft as I rub the back of my fingers up his cheek. Grinning at me now, he asks, "How do they feel?" I blush again, mumbling, "They feel alright, they're cool." He just stares at me making me uncomfortably self-conscious so I drop my hand, asking, "You a freshman?" and he's like, "No, I'm what's called a sophomore here." I go, "Oh, yeah, that's right you're in Ryan's dorm. Ryan's the friend I mentioned earlier. He's a sophomore too, like me." He smirks at me again nodding his head a little like he's confirming something to himself. I smell the back of my hand and we're quiet again. Hmmm, Freddie's apparently quite comfortable saying nothing. I don't believe I've ever had a discussion with a stranger who's as relaxed and comfortable as he is. Maybe it's a cultural thing. It's almost like he knows me or something.
I do another fake cough, then smell the back of my wrist for a few seconds while he continues staring at me. He's looking into my eyes and I'm trying not to look down although that was my initial inclination. Freddie casually reaches over and runs his fingers through my hair now. As usual he's grinning while I stupidly hold my head as still as a statue. My mouth's open slightly as I stare back into his sexy green eyes. It's like I'm in one of my trances, then his eyes shift to my hair as he asks, "No offense, Newman, but who's your barber?" I mutter, "Huh, what?" He grins, "I need to know so I can stay far away from that butcher whoever he or she is." It's been like one blush after another for me ever since I sat down with him. I mumble, "Oh, yeah, my haircut," and his fist closes on a fistful of short hairs on top of my head. "Um, ha ha, a so-called friend of mine, Ryan actually, gave me this haircut. Um, a mistake obviously." Then in self defense I go, "You don't appear to frequent barbershops too often though, what with your long hair and all." His hand is still gripping a fistful of my hair as he quietly asks, "Don't you like my hair style, Newman?" I mumble, "It's 'Dylan', and yeah your hair's cool. I like it." He grins jerking my hair, pulling it, so I grin and get a fistful of his hair. He laughs, then says, "You didn't seem sincere about liking my long hair, so how should I get it cut?" I pull his hair again, grinning, "No, Holmes, it's fine! I just fuckin' told you that." He pulls my hair hard, saying, "Aren't we the most mature college students on this campus, pulling each others hair?" and he laughs. So I smirk at him, "You mean you don't do this with fellow students in London?" He laughs again, "Nah, not likely. I wouldn't think of doing this, but it's different with you, isn't it, eh?" Again I don't know what he means, but I'm pretty sure he's making fun of me again. He says, "Seriously, Newman, I've noticed many American college students, and I guess younger kids here too, lean toward shorter hair styles than I'm used to." I do my forth or fifth fake cough in the last couple of minutes thinking how I wish I could tell him about my awesome barbering skills, but with Ryan's messed up home haircut in view, I don't dare. I let go of his hair, saying, "I don't know, Holmes. There are a lot of guys here with longer hair too. Anything goes I guess."
Letting go of my hair, Freddie leans back against the railing at the top of the bleachers, saying, "You're cool, mate. Um, can I bum another fag, er, cigarette off you. I'll pay you back." I go, "Sure, but you don't need to pay me back," and pass him a Marlboro, then my lighter. He lights his cigarette, inhales, and says, "That's a pretty damn slow game ya got going on down there, you have to admit that. It's like fifteen or twenty seconds between each pitch. That's if the batsman doesn't step away from the plate, then it's even longer." I shrug, "I'm used to it. I grew up with baseball. Do pitchers in cricket pitch faster?" He chuckles, "In cricket the person throwing the ball is called a 'bowler'. Your catcher is a 'wicket-keeper' in cricket, and hitters are called 'batsmen'." I go, "Huh, weird," and he shrugs, saying, "Actually I don't watched much cricket either, to be honest about it." I ask, "What sports do you watch?" He says, "Football mostly, but I don't mean American football. You call it soccer over here. Why you call American football 'football' baffles me because the ball hardly ever touches a player's foot." I mumble, "Soccer's boring. There's no scoring." He grins, "It's what I grew up with," mimicking what I said about baseball. Then he adds, "The closest to your football we have is rugby. Totally different game of course although there's tackling and passing the ball, but never forward. And rugby is played without all that armor your girlie football players wear." He laughs, "Our boys are too tough to wear all that shit." I ask, "What do they wear, just a jockstrap?" He drags on his cigarette chuckling, "I'd like to watch that match. It'd be fun, eh?" I've got nothing to say to that, so Freddie adds, "Rugby players wear a jersey, shorts, maybe a jockstrap, socks and boots. That's about it." Huh, I've heard rugby's a rough sport although I've never seen a rugby match.
Freddie finishes his cigarette and drops it off the bleachers, saying, "I've enjoyed our time here, Dylan, but I've watched all the baseball I care to see. It's bollocks! Heh heh." I wonder again what bollocks means. It seems he uses it to indicate something that's awesome and then another times he uses it to indicate something that sucks. Freddie gets up so I ask, "Where you going now?" and he stretches, saying, "I've gotta study in my dorm for a quiz tomorrow." I go, "I'll walk with you if you don't mind. I've had enough baseball this afternoon myself." He smiles at me putting his arm across my shoulders, asking, "Are we going to be mates then?" I go, "Sure, why not?" and he says, "Good, you're by far the most interesting person I've run into so far at Merrimack. My roommate's a cunt." We're walking down the bleachers to ground level with me going, "Oooh, don't let the PC police hear you say that bad word." He goes, "Oh bollocks! PC bullshit's has invaded Europe too. I guess I should have said, 'My roommates a twat' instead of cunt." I laugh, "That's no good either," and we both laugh with Freddie hugging my side against his. At the bottom of the bleacher we head up toward the dorms with his arm still across my shoulders. I guess this is how 'mates' walk together in London. He says, "How about you and me forming a completely non-politically-correct secret society enabling every single word and slang word in the English language." I go, "That'd be rad, Freddie, and have I mentioned your English accent is da bomb!" He laughs, "Yeah, I think you did if 'da bomb' is a good thing." I think for a minute, "Um, yeah it's a good thing. It's the voice inflection that tells if it's rad or not." He goes, "We definitely gotta hook up," and he drops his arm from my shoulder and takes out a cellphone. "What's your cellphone number?" We exchange numbers, programming them into our cellphone's. At his dorm I finally work up the balls to ask, "Did you leave a girlfriend back in London?" He says, "No, do you have one?" I shake my head 'no' making a popping sound with my lips when I say, "Nope!" He grins at me, muttering, "Good," and he rubs my hair, "You've actually got nice hair, Dylan. Pretty blond hair, eh?" I make an embarrassing gulping sound trying to say 'thanks'. He laughs, "You're da bomb, mate! I'll text you," and he goes up the steps and inside the building without looking back.
Smelling the back of my wrist, I try to get a sense of how I feel about Freddie and me. I like him and the chances he's gay are higher than one in ten, for sure. Not that I'm confident of his sexuality one way or the other yet, but I'm thinking I might get the chance to give him a haircut after all. Who knows what could happen after that? I'm walking back to the baseball game to get a ride home with Robby. I guess I also want to make sure it's not Danny Monday Robby gives a ride to. Plus, Robby and I are gonna have us a sexy time after the game. Adjusting my junk finally, I take a seat on the bleachers near the dugout to get a close look at the players coming and going. This is my first chance to evaluate the cuteness of this year's team. It's disappointing how few really cute guys there are in the world, although there's usually something cute about every guy. There's unfortunately exceptions to that just as there are exceptions to the rules of baseball. It wasn't as easy to explain the nuances of the game to Freddie as I thought it would be. And, damn, I didn't find out much about him now that I think about it. Why's he going to a small college in American in the first place? Where did he go to college last year and does he have siblings and what's his dad and mom do? All kinds of shit I don't know about him. Of course mostly I don't care about any of that, but it's better to know stuff than not. Maybe it would tell me something about him 'cause I gotta admit I'm interested
in him. Robby and I are still in our side-sex mode so I'm free to explore the possibility of a fuck-buddy relationship with a hottie from another country. Hmmm, they probably fuck the same way we do because how else could you do it? Be interesting to find out, and then I think of my Italian fuck-buddy during the Wildwood vacation and the other guy from India. I can't remember either of their names, but that's the good thing about buddy-sex, it's just sex for the fun of it with no commitments other than pleasuring each other. Yeah, so everybody fuck's the same way, but still it'd be cool to add a London fuck-buddy to my life experiences. Actually I'd love to visit London and have a pub adventure some day.
The light is fading so I don't expect the game to last much longer and then here come Robby's team off the field at the end of an inning. They'll be coming up to bat now. I look at each players face and body type as they hustle by where I'm sitting on their way to the dugout. They're all buddy-buddy with each other exchanging congratulations and encouraging words, and also there's some good natured ball busting among friends. Teammates get close, they get tight with each other for the most part. I felt that even with the silly posse boys last summer. You've got each other's back, you know? Well, like everything, there are a few exceptions to that. Checking each player closely I've determined, of all the players on Merrimack's baseball team that I've seen so far, there's only one other than Robby that's worth my attention. He's the young-looking center fielder. Probably a freshman trying to make the team. Maybe even a 'walk on'. Cute kid although he's very tall which can make certain sex acts a tad awkward assuming his partner's short. Nothing that can't be managed of course. I'm casually looking into the dugout watching my center fielder take his hat off and, wow, he's got a nice head of red hair cut short in my favorite style. Combed down on top and flipped up in front. He's got some cute freckles across the bridge of his nose too.
Upon closer inspection he's borderline skinny and he has a long neck, but overall this redhead's looks are kinda special so I find myself staring at him. That is until he glances over and our eyes meet for a split second only. Both of us divert our eyes, but there's no doubt it was me who was looking at him. Under other circumstances I'd hold eye contact to see if he would too. If he's a rare one who can hold eye contact with another guy, well that might be something to check out. Warning though: you do not want to keep staring if the other guy's got some kind of a defiant challenging stare coming back at you. In cases like that refer to tip number 37 in the Dylan Newman book on boy-watching which strongly suggest you do the prudent thing and wander on your fucking way like you have no more interest in him than you might have for the hunchback of Notre Dame's, Quasimodo. Huh, there's Danny Monday on the other pick-up team... he's playing first base. Yeah, he's cute too, so counting Robby I consider three out of the eighteen players on both teams as qualifying as cute with a capitol 'C'. There are a few others that are nice looking and/or sexy-looking. The rest are relegated to the trash bin unfortunately. Tip number 190 in my handbook says when the pickings are slim admit to yourself you can't make chicken salad out of chicken shit and move on to a better boy-watching location. Obviously none of us has much to do with our God-given looks, which doesn't change the fact some of
us are much cuter than others. As for the others: well, Mother nature's a bit of a cunt in that regard and so it's basically tough shit for you. 'Cunt' is Freddie's word and it's actually a really good one and very descriptive for some individuals in both sexes. Pejorative too. That's another good word.
Robby's team has loaded the bases with two outs. I have no idea what the score is although I'd bet my right nut every one of these guys know what it is because at this level they're all super competitive. Oh boy! Here comes my center fielder up at bat. Grand slam coming up. If he hits a grand slam home run I'm coming out of the stands to give him a hug. Oops, first pitch he hits weakly to second base for a force out. The center fielder throws the bat out towards second base cursing, and someone behind me yells, "You suck, Reds!" I look back, but can't tell which Neanderthal yelled that. Red's giving the finger to someone and yelling something, veins protruding in his long skinny neck. Jesus, what a poor sport! Yeah, Red might be one to walk away from, cute redhead or not. It doesn't appear my center fielder gets along well with others. It's disconcerting when a really cute guy turns out to be a complete asshole. Cute looks usually makes me think of a sweet kid, but that doesn't always hold true. There was this cute kid in high school who looked like a choir boy, but was one mean motherfucker in actuality. He was as big a prick as you're likely to run into, and a total bully to boot. Shame really. What a waste.
One of the team's captains calls the game due to darkness so the players file into the locker room and most of the students in the bleachers drift away. I give a thought to going in the locker room myself but think better of it. It'd be embarrassing for someone to tell me to get the hell out. I try not to put myself in potentially awkward situations like I was prone to do when I was younger. It helps to be maturing and using my head rather than my dick when making decisions. Thinking back on the game I'm a little disappointed Robby didn't acknowledge me even once. Not even when he was coming and going from the dugout. I know about his concentration during a game, but come on, would a nod of his head in my direction be so hard to do?! And, if he comes out of the locker room with Danny I'm gonna be pissed-off! Before the game Robby and I agreed to have a sexy interlude before dinner and that does not include Danny Monday. I've had elevated sexual heat for Robby recently and it doesn't appear to be lessening any. He's so sexy to me anymore, well it's too a degree it's almost uncomfortable. I've got to constantly refrain from throwing myself at him begging for sex. Not good! Fortunately Freddie took my mind off Robby temporarily giving me a little relief from my needy sexual situation. Being rational I guess my neediness has something to do with all the side-sex I've deprived myself of for what, weeks now? Whatever, it's definitely been an adjustment and well worth it if Robby would simply come across a little more. And, he better be as conscientious at reducing his side-sex as me or we need to have another meeting.
Where is he? Then there he is and I'm getting that damn squirmy feeling again. It feels sexy-good actually. God, Robby's hot. I call out, "Yo, Rob, over here!" He says something to the skinny, redheaded center fielder, they chuckle and bump fists, then Robby jogs over to where I'm standing. He's got a big sexy smile on his face too. Hot damn! Robby hugs me around the back of my neck, "Hi, Dylan, I'm so glad you came to watch the game. I waved at you twice, but you didn't see me. Who's that guy you were talking to?" I'm like, "I saw you wave," telling little white lie number 3067. He asks, "Well then, why didn't you give me a little wave back?" See, that's what's wrong with little white lies, you sometimes get caught. I go, "Huh? Oh, I loved that double you hit, Rob. You looked so sexy. It was a change-up, right?" He goes, "Oh yeah, the double was a change-up, but how 'bout the home run?" I'm like, "I missed that one. Guess I was getting a Coke or something." We're walking towards the dorms and then we'll go beyond the dorms to the parking lot. Robby laughs, "You're so full of it, baby. You were so into talking with that kid you weren't even watching the game." I say, "He's an English dude from London named Freddie Holmes, like Sherlock Holmes. He didn't know shit about baseball so he had a "Baseball For Dummies' book. I felt bad for him sitting all alone and all, you know, so I was trying to explain the game to him." We're walking past the dorms now and I can't resist glancing over, but Freddie's nowhere to be seen. Robby says, "I'm trying not to be jealous," and I say, "Oh, I noticed Danny Monday was playing first base for the other team today." Robby goes, "Was he? Um, what do you feel like for dinner?"
Now that I've effectively put that Freddie Holmes discussion to bed I can move onto more important matters. "Rob, aren't we doing something before dinner?" He frowns, "I don't think so," and I'm like, "I hope you're just teasing because if not, I'm gonna start thinking you don't love me as much as you say." He stops when we step on the parking lot black top, "No, seriously, Dylan, what were we suppose to do?" I stare at him, watching him remember, "Oh, baby, you mean? I thought we were kidding around about that earlier, just goofing. You mean you really want to have sex with me right now. I'm sweaty and grimy from playing baseball the last two hours?" I ask, "Don't you want to?" and he goes, "Well, sure, I always want to with you, but shouldn't I clean up a little?" I sort of lean against him and he puts his arms around me as I mumble in his ear, "I'm throwing myself at you, aren't I? I just knew it would make you back off. It would make anyone back off when someone always expects them to jump in bed at the drop of a hat." He rubs my back, "No, it's not like that at all, Dylan. I guess I'm not used to you showing me this much affection. I mean, it's what I've always wanted and dreamed of, but I never really expected you'd be, um, this much into me. I, um, love it actually." Oh fuck, everything he does or says anymore gets me near creaming in my drawers. He's so hot! I hug him like a damn fool, kissing his neck. I can feel his head looking around to see if anyone's watching us so I stop, "Sorry, Rob, I can't help myself." He gets his arm around the back of my waist, "Come on, baby, lets get in the pickup and decide what we're going to do." Making the situation worse I'm almost laying against him as we walk. The whole time I'm telling myself in my head, 'Do not start kissing him as soon as you get in the pickup, you pathetic sex maniac'. Then try convincing myself I'm only a sex maniac around Robby.
Robby's talking quietly as we walk, but I've got this mantra in my head about not attacking him once we're in the pickup, so I don't hear what he's saying. At his pickup he hits the automatic key unlocking the doors, and asks, "Is that okay with you, Dylan?" I go, "Is what okay? I couldn't hear you, you talked so quietly." He says, "Go around and get in and I'll say it again when we're in the truck." I nod my head feeling like a smacked ass and walk around to the passenger door. Man have I fucked this up. Inside Robby starts the truck, saying, "I was saying for old time sake we could visit the spot of our first kiss. Whaddaya say?" I look at him grinning at me, and can't stop myself from leaning over and putting my arms around his neck, murmuring, "The locker room, yeah that'd be romantic." He laughs, "We're probably the only two guys in the world who think a locker room's romantic, but yeah it is for us. Gimme a kiss, baby," and we do one of the sweetest lovers kisses ever. It lasts for about a minute and my cock's a steel rod in my pants when Robby murmurs in my ear, "Don't ever think I don't want to have sex with you, Dylan, it's my dream come true every time we do it." He kisses my lips again then licks up from my chin, across my lips, and up the front of my nose. A squirt of cum shoots from my steel boner, as I go, "Oooh, ooh, Robby, you'll make me cum." He rubs my hair and kisses me again, then says, "Put your seatbelt on." I do that and then realize the locker room is a hour drive from here, and say, "It's romantic, Rob, but it's an hour there and an hour back. You really want to drive that much?" He says, "For you I do," and I go, "Lets save that for Saturday night after our dinner at our favorite restaurant." He goes, "Okay, so where..." and my cellphone burps indicating a text message. He says, "Check that, it's probably Chubby wondering about dinner."
It is just that. Chubby says he's on his way back from visiting with Judy Rinker and should he pick something up for dinner? I wonder what 'visiting' means... hee hee. Way to go Chub! Robby and I discuss it quickly and decide on Chubby's meatballs and spaghetti dinner, cheap and delicious. I text that to Chubby as Robby drives us off campus. Then I go, "Our apartment's available for a half hour at least," and Robby grins at me pretending to speed up for a second. It's only a two minute ride if we make the light outside the complex. I mean the one where there's a five way intersection, and we do get a green light. Naturally Robby gets a parking spot in the first row, muttering, "It's at the end of the line. I hate when I can't get a close spot." He's serious, but I let it go concentrating mainly on keeping myself in check, although I'm really excited about our impending quickie. Walking to the back door Robby takes my hand, so I ask, "Aren't you worried about someone seeing us and it gets back to the team we're gay?" He says, "I'm not gonna announce it, but if they find out, fuck 'em. I'm proud you're my boyfriend and if they don't like it, too bad." Oh man, Robby just keeps getting better and better. I snuggle against him making him chuckle, "You nut, Dylan." We go up the steps and down to our apartment. Robby opens the front door and inside he wraps me in his arms as he's kicking the door shut. We do a sloppy kiss this time for a minute or so that gets me moaning, "Mmmm, Robby, mmm, umm," and another sloppy wet kiss with our tongues sliding together. I feel Robby's boner poking my leg. Always a good sign.
Robby takes my sweatshirt and pulls it over my head, then his. I just stand here sucking my lips as he undoes my pant's, then my zipper and pulls my pants and underpants down together. My boner bounces up and down a few times. Robby says, "Step out of them baby." I do but it take's Robby's help getting them over my sneakers. Robby's on his knees by now throwing my pant/underwear combination over, missing the sofa, then he grabs my boner and sucks it into his mouth and laps it with his tongue. My hands are in his hair, my head back as I moan, "Aaaah, oooh, Robby, oooh," he doing a lot of sucking and then long licks up the shaft before sucking on the head again with his tongue all around it. I'm lifting my heels off the floor one after the other and squirming, "Aah, aag," and my need to climax is quickly on me hot and heavy. My balls are heavy too and hard with my face getting red and a million awesome sensations tantalizing every fraction of an inch of my groin. I squirm, then squeal, Eeeee, aaah," as cum streams from my cock drooling out both sides of Robby mouth with him sucking my cock's head harder getting more cum squirts out. I feel dizzy with over stimulation and my shoulders do their shudder as he stands up with cum on his chin. He smiles, "Sorry, couldn't resist, baby," as he leans in and we kiss sharing some of my semen. Then Robby gets undressed the rest of the way, taking his sneakers off first.
We're both naked with my cock a semi-boner now while Robby's is a fat steel pipe. He hugs his naked body to mine and he is a little sweaty, but I love
grunge once in a while, especially when it's Robby's grunge. More kisses with Robby's hard cock up between us leaking. He's moving his hands all over my naked body murmuring, "I love your perfect body, Dylan, so tight and perfectly formed." I begin to sweat a little myself now as we squirm together, me clinging to him feeling desire grow in me again. He's the one with the perfect body and I love rubbing mine against his. One tiny drawback is that both our pubic stubble is prickly. Other than that it's perfection. When a long drool of precum from Robby's cock smears our bellies he turns me around and the wet head of his boner pokes my asshole and then it's inside me. I bend forward going, "Aaaah, ooh, that feel good, Rob. Fuck me hard, Rob," and he does. Grabbing my hips with both hands, I grab my knees. Robby groans, forcing his boner up my ass. He must really be horny because he usually does it slowly at first allowing my rectum to adjust. I don't mind the pain because it tells me my boyfriend can't wait to fuck me. Robby leans over me when he's all the way in, exhaling a long held breath against my back. He waits a few seconds, breathing hard, then he pulls me against his groin tightly making a hissing sound. Pulling his hard fat cock back and then pushing it right back up inside me going, "Mmmm, oooh fuck," and here we go. "Slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds of male anal fucking hard and fast, ramming his body against my ass rocking me with each hard penetration. All the familiar sensitive spots in my rectum come alive immediately increasingly sensitive with each thrust up my ass. My cock's soon hard again as I'm groveling
and humping back into his fast hard thrusts even as Robby's pulling me back into them with force. Robby cum's in less then four minutes with a large load of spunk exploding in my rectum and a loud, "Ummmmm, oooh fuck!" from Robby. My ass is very squishy and cum runs down the back of my legs as his thrusting is wild for a full minute before he groans, slows down, and then lays on my back with his cock still up my ass. He hugs around my stomach still breathing hard, his heart pounding against my back. I feel such a love for him it brings tears to my eyes just thinking of our lives together for years and years to come... years leading to forever.
Breathing normally now Robby lifts off my back and thrust his softening cock a half dozen times in my ass, mumbling, "I'll make up for this quickie in
bed tonight, baby, I promise. When you act so hot for me like you've been doing lately it makes me crazy with happiness and horniness so much so I get carried away." I straighten up now too and lean my back against his chest and the back of my head on his shoulder, murmuring, "Keep doing that, Rob, okay? It feels good and you smell good too." He chuckles, "I do not smell good, but thanks for saying I do. Hey," as he pulls his soft cock from my ass, "Let's take a shower together, we need to shave our pubes too. Come on," and he takes my hand leading me through our bedroom and into the bathroom. He turns on the shower, then says, "Oh, shit! Dylan, go pick up our clothes off the living room floor in case Chubby gets back before we're done the shower." I love that he's sending me to do that. It's the sort of thing the head of the household would do. Ha ha, I know I'm nuts. Coming back with my arms full of our clothes, I check my wristwatch and see we've been in the apartment for only ten minutes. Wow, great ten minutes though.
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com.
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Donny Mumford
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