DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR
Chapter 43
by Donny Mumford
I had another poor night's sleep visualizing scenarios of fuckwad Marty's doing horrible things to Ryan. He was AWOL for eight hours without 'checking in' with his 'master', so to speak. Ryan's suppose to check in to say where he is, what he's doing, and with whom. Right after class yesterday Ryan di d 'check in' or 'reported in' or whatever the fuck Marty calls it. Then Ryan spent the next eight hours with me and my roommates lifting weights, eating dinner, drinking beers, and watching Monday Night Football. That's as normal a Monday afternoon and night as you'll ever find on a college campus. Well, we're basically just off campus, but it was a normal day for college students. Ryan's arrangement with Marty was initially mutually agreeable, but it's become a very one-sided affair now that Marty's calling all the shots. Those two are much deeper into a dom/sub relationship then I've ever been a part of, and they've been in it for a much longer duration too. Willie and I could pull it off for a couple of days maybe, like we did in Key West a year and a half ago, but that's my outside limit. Ryan and fuckwad have been going at it for over three months now and I'm guessing from what Ryan's said, and hinted at, that he's being treated badly and it's getting worse. The abuse from Marty and Marty's cohort, Rex, has escalated to an unhealthy degree, both physically and mentally for Ryan. They arranged to be roommates during the summer. One of them looking for a gay dominant buddy-sex partner and the other a gay submissive buddy-sex partner. It seemed an ideal
arrangement on paper, and Ryan was happy with it for the first few weeks. Now it's turned ugly because Marty's steadily been increasing his dominance, little by little, until now Ryan needs to basically get permission to take a piss. It reminds me of the situation Chubby and the window washer boys found themselves in during the summer of our junior year. A subject that won't be mentioned, but I know Chubby sees the comparison and he's being especially supportive of Ryan in mostly a nonjudgmental and nonverbal way, but supportive nonetheless. He's going out of his way to befriend Ryan and include him as part of our special roommate group.
Helping Ryan to help himself is my objective, but I'm flying blind going strictly by my instincts. My idea is to show Ryan he's an important friend of
ours, one we value. I'm hoping to build up his self esteem so he'll feel he doesn't deserve being treated the way Marty's treating him. Ryan will then hopefully be motivated to call the whole thing off. In other words get completely out of the arrangement he's in with Marty. Monday I managed to at least plant the idea in Ryan's mind that he can and should break-up with Marty. It's a touchy situation because of Ryan's basic addiction to being submissive, especially during sex. In the past he's been involved in two or three similar arrangement's and each case resulted in complete disaster. In fact, whenever he's gotten himself involved in serious sub/dom relationships and they all followed the same pattern. Hot sub/dom sex with the dominant part escalating until Ryan ends up being treated like an inanimate sex toy and whipping boy. It's frustrating that he keeps making the same fucking mistake, but being critical of him at this point won't help his self image and could reinforce in his mind that he deserves to be punished.
Last night after Ryan left the apartment, looking scared, Robby and I talked quietly about his situation without coming to any additional conclusions.
It'd be easy to throw Ryan under the bus, labeling him as a three time loser. It's been three times that I know of where he's gotten himself in similar situations, never learning his lesson. But as I said, throwing that fact at him as a type of aggressive criticism, isn't constructive and would worsen his chances of extricating himself from his increasingly untenable position. I'm worried that Marty's capable of continuing to increase his dominance, his control of Ryan, until Ryan's freewill will be seriously compromised. I've read that this can happen in the underworld of so-called 'master'-'slave' arrangements. I'm intent on preventing that, although right now I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to do that. The sticking point is Ryan's unwillingness to confront the situation with Marty and therefore he's more or less enabling Marty to continue doing these things to him. Not that I know what all these 'things' are.
Like I said, Chubby's shown compassion for Ryan's predicament and so had Robby. Both are concerned for him and Robby's said he thinks I have the best chance of getting through to Ryan. Nothing like a little pressure, huh? Robby also basically acknowledged he's fine with the strong bond between me and Ryan. He sees the affection I have for the third member of our threesome and he knows Ryan and I have frequent sex together, and honorably he's not letting jealousy diminish his resolve to help Ryan face the facts. Robby's convinced, and with good reason, that he and I are true lovers and when everything is said and done we're going to marry each other and live happily ever after. He's no longer wasting energy being jealous at this point. I have an even deeper loving feeling for Robby because of the way he's handling this. I'm proud of him. One thing led to another last night, and before falling asleep we were able to put Ryan's problems aside for awhile and have ourselves scrumptious lovers sex. It left us breathless and deeper in love than ever. Breaking our premature engagement has allowed us to relax and enjoy being in love without a lot of rules and regulations. We've both made big strides in reducing the degree of jealousy we feel for the other's outside interests, and this is a side benefit of us knowing we have a true love relationship with each other. I'm not saying the green monster known as jealousy never raises it's ugly head, just that we don't consider it as important as we once did. Jealousy can be a destructive force without any redeeming qualities if you let it eat you up. It's basically a narcissistic emotion, although a little jealousy is normal if you love and care for someone. We understand ourselves better now and our arrangement is working for us quite well. Lots of compromise, fer sure, but that's part of a mature loving relationship. We may be immature in some ways, but not where our love is concerned. Another thing we've talked about is this: If we get Ryan free of Marty and then two months later he's right back in the same predicament with another dominant fuckwad, what will we do then? There's got to be a time when we give up on Ryan, but as far as I'm concerned that won't be until he's given up on himself. I don't get the feeling that time is now, so I won't give up trying to help him.
I'm laying in bed this Tuesday morning thinking all those thoughts while Robby's in the bathroom taking a shower. Me being jealous of Marty's influence over Ryan is a very small and insignificant part of my emotions for those two. The strongest emotion I have is despising the fuckwad. I hate him because he's a sick perverted person for mistreating Ryan the way he has. And I don't even know everything he's doing to Ryan, but what I do know is bad enough. I know Marty beat Ryan up a week or two ago because I saw Ryan's black eye and other abrasions on his face to prove it. Also, Ryan let it slip that Marty makes him take an enema before he'll fuck him, so that's probably every day and daily enemas aren't healthy. Marty's also paraded a pajama-wearing, 'stoned' Ryan around in public on a leash, and he grounded Ryan for a week, and now Ryan needs to ask permission to do just about anything. I can't imagine what other things Marty and Rex do to Ryan to get their sick kicks, but even if there are no other obscenities, the ones I know about are reasons enough to get Ryan out from under Marty's control. And, ya know, right now I wish I could stop obsessing about this!
To get my mind off the Ryan/Marty dilemma, I check my text messages and emails. First I return a text to Cory Dunlevy commiserating with him about his
latest mistake in boyfriends, telling him that he and I have got to make time together so we can catch up on things. He texts me back right away saying he'd love to hook up with me... and he needs a haircut too. Ha ha, not too many guys want to give up the profession-quality free haircuts. When I think of Cory I can't help but think back on the night I drove from New York city drunk and without having slept for like thirty-sex hours. Cory was my guardian angel that morning. He's come a long way improving himself as person too. He deserves most of the credit, but without patting myself on the back, I believe I helped Cory change from an antisocial homophobe to a gay young man who's now comfortable in his own skin, and generally speaking more open and accepting of others. His improved outlook on life has been a factor in an improved home life with his mom too. Him and his mom talked it out and she's helped the home environment immensely by eliminating the overnight house guests who had been sleeping with her, some of whom used to slap Cory around. So I feel really good for Cory.
Ah yes, and then here's a text from Sonny too. Ha ha, that hot shit promises me all kinds of punishment for not coming home last weekend. Yeah, Sonny and me are a perfect example of two guys participating in harmless sub/dom buddy sex. He's all bluster and confidence, but it's all in sexy good fun for at most an hour or so. Not three or four months like Ryan's no-fun, harmful sub/dom arrangement. I write a sarcastic text to Sonny and sign it, 'Me, and they'll be no haircut Friday night!' I'm putting my foot down on that because Ryan feels good about himself when he gives me a successful haircut. Of course that only happens occasionally and almost by accident. Hmmm, maybe I need to write a handbook on how to have harmless fun with sub/dom sex. My mom would be so proud of me. Ha ha. I probably won't do that.
I owe Dodger and Connor emails too, so I get out of bed and write a couple of emails on my computer. That's much easier than doing it on my iPhone. I only write humorous things to them, then add some sentiment because I want them to know I sincerely miss and love them both. It's tricky making the emails different for both, but I know they read each others so I do my best. After sending the emails I'm like, hmmm, I may have gotten a tad mushy with the sentiment part, but it's heartfelt. Damn, I feel good getting those emails sent. Oh yeah, Dodger's email told me to check in on Vinnie and I promised I would so I text Vinnie right now. My text says he needs a haircut and that Dodger wants him to visit with me. Amazingly, a first time ever occurrence happens: Vinnie texts right back telling me he's in chem lab and he's well aware what Dodger wants, and can he see me Saturday? Ha, another ballsy kid texting in class. I text that I'll text him Saturday if I'm gonna be home from college. Ain't texting the best! No small talk or awkward pauses, just right to the point. Genius! No messages from Ryan unfortunately and that's worrisome, but I'll reserve judgement until I see what condition he's in an hour and a half from now at our first class today.
Robby comes out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam, "It's all yours, baby," and he kisses the side of my face as I sit at my desk. I go, "Here, Rob, read the emails I just sent to your brother and Connor. Tell me if
they're too sentimental." He leans over me with a hand on my shoulder and reads the emails from my computer screen, then goes, "Two very sweet emails, Dylan," and I get another kiss. Robby goes, "I need to write both of them emails too. Damn, time slips by, ya know?" I nod, "Yeah, but we can't forget those boys just because we don't see them," and Robby's like, "Forget them? I think about Dodger every day and I miss him every day too. I couldn't forget my brother if I tried. We're like you and Chubby, extraordinarily tight even for brothers." Walking into the steamy bathroom, I'm saying, "In some ways you guys are closer and in other ways Chubby and me are closer, but yeah, we're closer than most brothers. Any hot water left?" He grins, "I thought about using it all up to get even with you for the times you use it all, but then I remembered I love you more than life itself so I turned off the water and here I am. Oh, and I shaved too," I turn around and walk back to him, "Let me see," and I peer at his upper lip closely. He goes, "Ya can't see anything now, ya nut, I just shaved." I go, "Well don't! I wanna see your mustache." he mutters, "It's hardly a mustache."
By the time I've showered and done my other bathroom necessities, then get dressed, Robby's done his coffee and is
waiting for me to have a morning cigarette on the balcony with him. I make a quick mug of fresh brewed coffee in the miracle Keurig machine and we step out on the balcony wearing our winter jackets. Mine has a hood which I put up. "Cold," says Robby, and I go, "It'll get colder, but only one snow storm so far." Robby mumbles, "One too many." I don't want to keep talking about Ryan's dilemma, but Robby brings it up. He's as worried as I am and we talk about our original inclination of just pounding the shit out of Marty. The one big drawback to that is Ryan asked us not to during our talks last night. That plus the retaliation possibilities Marty might take out on Ryan. So we put off the bull in the china shop plan for later consideration. Getting tough with Marty is what we'd probably have done a year or two ago without giving it a second thought, but we've matured some since then. While beating up Marty is an awesomely delicious concept it's not the solution in this situation, not at this time anyway. In fact Ryan hasn't actually ever asked for our help, not when you get right down to it. I've been sorta forcing it on him because I think he needs it and I've got him thinking that maybe he does need help. The 'maybe' is the closest I've been able to get him agreeing with me. Maybe he needs to reconsider his involvement with Marty and maybe he needs my help. I could be out of line butting into his private life, but I gotta go with my gut feeling. It's more than just a gut feeling though... the way Marty and that other fuckwad, Rex, are treating Ryan is just wrong. There's no debate about that, not even if Ryan rationalizes somehow that he likes it, it's still wrong. And no matter what he says, I'm convinced Ryan doesn't like the treatment he's getting. I mean, who could like it?
Chubby left for an early class before we got out of bed so Robby and I lock up the apartment and drive to the campus, parking close to our first of two classes today. My stomach feels funny again from anticipating seeing Ryan. That's two days in a row now that I've been apprehensive about what condition I'll find Ryan in, and it's getting old real fast. We're late so we jog across the parking lot with me freezing because I forgot gloves again. No Ryan sighting, but he'd be crazy to stand outside in twenty degree temperatures with this fucking wind bringing the wind chill factor down to ten degrees or lower. I don't ski or snowboard so winter has no redeeming features as far I'm concerned. Inside the building it feels very warm and we hustle down the corridor bumping fists with Scott Tinsdale and his shadow, Ears Henderson, as we pass them jogging in the other direction. This class is in a classroom as opposed to a lecture hall and a quick scan of the room tells me Ryan's not here. Robby and I exchange 'looks' as we sit down just as the professors begins talking with his back to the class. College professors are some weird dudes.
I tell myself to concentrate, take notes, and stop thinking up the worst possible reasons Ryan's not here. After fifty minutes, that seemed more like five hundred, we get a fifteen minute break before the second half of this once a week class. Leaving our backpacks under the desks and our text books open on top of the desk we bundle up to brave the Antarctic conditions in order to satisfy our nicotine habits. Robby and I stand behind the brick wall with a metal plate naming this building after some dude who donated the money to build it. This structure partially blocks the wind so we can light our cigarette. Exhaling smoke and frozen breath combination we shrug at each other, like... who the fuck knows where Ryan is. We're tired of talking about it... we both know what the shrug meant. It's getting to be boring trying to imagine all the possible circumstances preventing him from being in class. Without either of us mentioning Ryan's name, Robby goes, "Ya might as well text him, although he probably won't answer." I text, 'Are you alright?' and it's delivered and read, but no return text. I mutter, "The fuckwad probably confiscated Ryan's cellphone." That's all we say about it because, like I said, it's getting frustratingly boring. Then we start criticizing Ryan for not standing up for himself, telling each other variations of: There's only so much you can do to help someone who doesn't want to be helped.
The second half of class drags by, then and it's mercifully over and we're on our way out of the building in grouchy moods. That's mostly because, while we're a little pissed off at Ryan, we're also worried about him in spite
of ourselves. We have hotdog's for lunch back at the apartment listening to a One Direction CD, talking hardly at all. Chubby texts me about someone vomiting in his morning class, some of which splattered on John Beverly. It struck Chubby as the funniest thing ever. I just roll my eyes and pass my cellphone to Robby. He reads it, mumbling, "Your brother is easily amused." Ryan's not at the last class of the day either, but I don't bother to text again because I'm convinced Ryan's cellphone is in fuckwad's pocket. It's only two-thirty and now the rest of the day is free time. Outside the lecture hall, Robby goes, "Uh, would you get really pissed-off at me if I go to the baseball office? You can take the pickup, I'll get a ride from somebody." Yeah, somebody named Danny Monday. I'm taking a cigarette out of my Marlboro box, "No, I'm not pissed off, Rob. You go ahead, but I will take the pickup or I'd freeze solid walking to the apartment." He hands me the keys smiling, "You're awesome! Thanks, babe." I mumble, "No problem," and there really is no problem. We'd probably just mope around the apartment anyway considering the down moods we're in.
Robby jogs off leaving me with his backpack again. Finishing my cigarette I'm trudging towards the parking lot, the wind in my face blowing like twenty-five miles an hour. I've got Robby's backpack over my right shoulder and mine over my left, but I don't get far before Travis Hunter comes up behind me and stops me, "Ya got a minute, Dylan?" Oh fuck! "Um, it's kinda cold out here, Travis. What, um, do you want?" and I almost add, 'this time,' but I don't. He goes, "A haircut, remember?" I'm like, "You're serious about that, huh?" I really need to put him off because I'm not in the mood, but he says, "Yeah, I'd appreciate it because I'm taking Liz out to dinner tonight. It's her birthday." My hood just blew off my head and Travis puts it back on giving my head a pat, "How about it, Dylan?" Fuck, I'm not good at hurting peoples feelings, but before I can tell him no, he quickly adds, "Hey, what's your little friend, Rory, doing in the emergency room anyway." I go, "What? You mean Ryan?" He shrugs, "I thought you said his name was Rory. The kid wearing glasses, he has a buzz cut which by the way, I do not want for my haircut." I go, "Uh, come on, Travis, lets get in the pickup," and I jog towards it with Travis jogging behind me. We get inside and I get the engine going and revving it, hoping for some heat. At least we're out of the wind.
Chatty Travis says, "Yeah, I wanna look good tonight, and I don't have wheels to drive down to the plaza to Supercuts. Normally I can use my roommates
car or go with him, but he's using it himself right now. Don't know where he got to, but his car is gone." My fucking head's gonna explode from too much information! He continues, "Reason I'm asking you for the haircut's mostly because Liz is driving up from Framingham for her birthday and it's like a two hour round trip. The least I can do is look spiffy for her." I mutter, "Spiffy?" and he goes on, "She goes to community college, you know, commuting from her parent's place. Her folks wouldn't cosign for college loans, can you believe that? Said she'd graduate owing sixty or seventy thousands dollars without a job. They've got a point though..." I cut him off, "What about Rory, er, Ryan, at the emergency ward?" He goes, "Oh yeah, my roommate got drunk last night and he thought it'd be a good idea to start leapfrogging over parking meters, one after the other all the way down the line, and he eventually had a crash landing. We're all mocking the shit out of the clumsy oaf, laughing our drunken' asses off, but this morning his wrist is all swollen and turning colors so I told him, 'You asshole, you broke your fucking wrist', ha ha." I repeat myself, "Yeah, but what about, Ryan?" He goes, "Can I smoke in here?" I go, "No, what about, Ryan." He's like, "Well, I drove Murph to the emergency room. We went to Muthuen hospital although it's further than the one in Lawrence. The extra miles are worth it because I'm keeping my ass out of Lawrence on general principles. There's some bad ass places in that town." I'm gonna fucking strangle this kid. I'm twirling my index finger like, move it along. He says, "Oh, sure, I saw Rory going into the emergency room with an older looking kid who was holding Rory's wrist up like maybe he also had a broken wrist, or something's broke." I'm like, "Or something's broke? Well, did you see him when you were inside?" He shrugs, "I wasn't looking for him. It was crowded. Anyway, when Murph finally gets called they take him down to X-ray and I wondered..."
I drive off the parking lot not listening to anymore of his meandering tale of Murph's broken wrist, whoever Murph is. Leapfrogging over parking meters? What the fuck? I'll ask more about Ryan when we get inside the apartment. Travis is again talking about his girlfriend, Liz, who he told me one time he's been going steady with since they were juniors in high school. Longer than Robby and me have gone together. In the apartment's parking lot naturally there's no close parking spots, but I find one in the back. We get out and with me carrying both backpacks we trudge towards the back door right into the teeth of the freezing twenty-five to thirty miles an hour wind. Why is it that no matter which direction I'm walking it's always right into the wind? I hate the winter months! Travis is shouting something but I'm not paying attention and then we're inside where it's blessedly hot. This building doesn't skimp on heat, so I gotta give 'em props for that. Sometime we actually open the balcony door a little in the winter to cool off the place. Get it under eighty degrees anyway. Better than the alternative. A last shiver that Travis and I do together and then up the steps we go, with him saying, "Colder than a witch's tit out there."
Inside the apartment I drop the backpacks on the sofa. Travis says, "Nice digs, dude." I ask him, "Ya want a beer?" 'cause I certainly do. He says, "Yeah, thanks." I get two Rolling Rocks from the refrigerator leaving three remaining, which I'll probably drink later. Opening the beers, I ask, "Did you see any blood on Ryan injured hand or wrist?" He scratches his cheek and a full day's beard growth. He goes, "No, definitely no blood. Wait, yeah, he had two fingers like taped together, so it probably isn't his wrist. His little finger and the one next to it, whatever that one's called." Yeah, what is that finger called? Huh, a broken finger, so why was Marty holding his wrist up? No blood though so that's good. I take a long swallow of beer and for once it taste good. "Okay, Travis, first thing is you need to take your shirt off. I'll shampoo your hair before the haircut." He looks startled, "Really? You'll shampoo my hair?" I go, "Yeah, I do it before every haircut," and he goes, "Like those fancy salons, huh?" I wiggle my finger at him in the come-with-me gesture and he follows me down the hall unbuttoning his shirt. I pull the bedroom's straight back chair into the bathroom and motion for Travis to sit. He's seems completely relaxed as if someone shampoos his hair every day. We both take a big pull on our bottle of beer and then set them on the toilet tank top.
As I'm attaching the little hose with the spray head to the spigot I'm looking at Travis. He's has chest hair that's brownish and curly and cover both
pecs. It's maybe more than I consider sexy. Too much body hair and it begins turning me off. Hair on the shoulders and/or the back and it's like 'get the fuck out of here, you hairy ape'. Travis doesn't have a very hot torso either, although it's not horrible. He has nice hair on his head though. It's a light shade of brown with some wave to it, but it's very long in an eighties style covering his ears and collar. It's called a layered cut, popular back in the day before my time. I know it's a layer cut because I've read on line about guy's hair styles, which is something I'm interested in. When I knew Travis from our Framingham High days he was a good looking nerdie kid, but in kind of a hot way, At least I thought so. He'd do his awkward come-on acts to me back then and it was kinda cute. Anyway, he's got some gay leaning I'm sure of that. What I'm saying is, we never hung out together, but I kinda liked him in high school. Last year too, but this year he's apparently thinking he's found his cool groove, which he hasn't. He hasn't, but doesn't know it and consequently he's been more of a pain in the ass than anything else. He's still very good looking though, although not cute if you know the difference, and there is a difference. He wore glasses up till this year too, which I thought made him look vulnerable and sexy in that nerdy way of his. I like some nerdie kids a lot because they're humble and always trying to please. Then there are the arrogant nerds who look down on everyone because they get good grades or something. I don't like them at all.
I say, "I'm going to wet your hair and then shampoo it, Travis. You don't need to do anything except relax." I don't say, 'And keep your mouth shut', but I should have. Travis says, "I think this is cool, Dylan. Thanks, man. Ya know, you've always been the coolest guy I know. You're kinda someone I've always looked up to." Huh, maybe he's not so bad after all. I modestly mention, "Dude, there are much better candidates to look up to than me, like almost everybody." He shrugs, "Just saying. And I admire you for being openly gay without flaunting it or being a sissy about it." I have nothing to say to that. So he adds something I'm already very well aware of, "I've always been curious about what it's like being gay. What's it like having, you know, sex with another guy. I don't think I could put anybody's cock in my mouth though. Heh heh, not even my own if that was possible." I mumble, "Could we not talk about this, or anything really. I'll put a CD on." Then I stop and look at his hair in that retro eighties style. I could do a layered cut, but I don't want to. I go, "Ya know what, Travis? I refuse to redo your current hair style, which is a layer cut in case ya didn't know." He says, "I know what it's called," and I ask, "How the fuck long have you had your hair like this?" He turns his head, looking at me, "Like this?" and he runs his fingers through the hair on the side of his head, "Um, as long as I can remember." I go, "I'll bet your father has the same style, doesn't he?" He nods, "Yeah, what style should I have?" I shrug, "Certainly not the style middle age men wear. Chose any other style you like, but I don't do these old time hair styles 'cause I don't like 'em. Sorry, but if you want me to give you the haircut you'll need to have a style a little closer to relevance in the twenty-first century." He asks, "Then you cut it like you think it should be cut," and I'm like, "You want me to cut it the way I think it'll look good?" he says, "Yeah, I guess. Not a buzz cut though, okay?" I mumble, "Leave it to me," and then go in the bedroom and stick a Counting Crows' CD in the player hoping this will get him to shut up.
Back in the bathroom, I say, "Let me do this in silence, okay, Travis? I'll try giving you a much needed make-over, um, in the hair style department. You're sorta okay otherwise, heh heh." That was stupid. Don't insult the poor bastard, fer chrissakes. He grins at me nodding his head, which somehow reminds me of the nerdie/sexy Travis from our high school days. Hey, maybe he responds to someone telling him what to do, like an authority figure. Wetting his hair I look at the side of his hazel eyes and see a moving disc on his pupil. Oh, it's his contact lens. Man, how do people wear those things? Like most of the guys I do this for, Travis closes his eyes as I get into shampooing his long hair. This might be the longest hair I've shampooed yet, and it's weirdly not sexy at all. Not at all, and maybe that's because it reminds me of a girl's hair. The tricks our brains play on us, jesus! Why should it matter if it's a guy's or girl's hair? I don't know, but it matters to my conscious mind. Yeah, my conscious mind that's been affected and conditioned by millions and millions of separate inputs, big ones and tiny ones, most of which I'm not even aware of. It's so fucking mysterious how we're all perceiving some of the exact same things differently. I guess that's because none of us has the same programming from everything we see or feel or perceive day after day from the day we're born. They're are lots of things a lot of people can agree on generally, like some form of music and many other things too of course, but not everything. Everyone's different to some degree; for example, just think of the countless unimaginable variety of fetishes people have. What programing of their subconscious caused them to chose that fetish? Cue the Twilight Zone music. That old movie blows, by the way, and why do I wonder about this kind of shit anyway? Waste of time.
Due to the un-sexiness of shampooing Travis' hair, it's a quicker than usual shampoo and I'm rinsing the suds out after two minutes or so. With all this fucking hair though it takes twice as long to rinse it and dry it than any guy I've had the occasion to do this for. It gets dry eventually and I comb a part on the left side. It's a very straight part indicating dense, medium fine hair, but no surprise because he's got nice hair like I said. "Come on in the other room, Travis, and I'll give you the haircut in there. You've got nice hair and it should be shown off in a better hair style than you've been rockin' like forever. Um, no offense intended." He says, "Not a buzz cut thought, right?" I laugh out loud at that because he's said the same thing ten times in the last half hour. Patting his shoulder, I mumble, "No buzz cut, right." I explain to him I don't have a barber's cape, which he shrugs at as he sits on the stool. The stool sits, as usual, on the tile part of the floor just before the wall to wall carpet begins for the living room. I don't want to freak him out with too short of a haircut so I use the five/eight inch guide on the clippers, then run them halfway up the sides and back of his head leaving hairs between a half-inch and three-quarters of an inch long. Tons of long hairs fall all around him and to his credit he says nothing. Probably scared shitless, heh heh. I know this haircut will show off his good looks better than the ladies' cut he's had for years. Most of the rest of the haircut I do with scissors and comb so as not to give him a heart attack. The clippers would be twice as fast but he's not used to hearing clippers running.
Luckily I have professional barber's scissors that cut though his hair easily. 'Scrunch, scrunch. scrunch," as the scissors reduce the nine or ten inch hairs around his head to between two and three inches long. To me he already looks a lot cooler. What would really look cool on him is that latest style of buzzed sides and long hair on top like I've given a couple of guys, but it's too much of a change for Travis so I've chosen this longer version of a preppy style cut. It takes a good twenty minutes before I'm outlining around his ears with the trimmer clippers. I've tapered the hairline at the neck slightly and it's a very good haircut. Around Travis on the floor is definitely the most hair I've seen there since Dawg went from his long ponytail to a tight buzz cut. Ryan's ponytail was barely long enough to be a ponytail so there wasn't nearly the hair on the floor as this haircut has produced. I pass Travis the handheld mirror, asking, "What do you think?" He looks at himself while running his fingers through his hair on top and in the back. Nodding his head, he goes, "Cool, feels good! Yeah, very cool, Dylan. Wait'll Liz sees me." I say, "She'll like it, Travis," and pat his shoulder, then brush off the long hairs there. He stands and now we're both brushing hairs off him. He finally says, "I'm taking a shower, Dylan, so I'm good like this." I mutter, "Yeah, okay," and he says, "Thanks, Dylan, really! I needed a push to change my appearance and you're right, this is much cooler. You're really talented, you should make this your career, dude." I tell him what I tell everybody, "Nah, then I'd have to give haircuts to men and children I don't want to give haircut to. Now I do it for friends of my choosing." He goes, "Thanks again for including me."
I get the broom out along with a dustpan and he's like, "Here, let me do that." Mumbling, "Yeah, thanks," I put the barber stuff in the toiletry kit and leave it on the bar, and then hold the dustpan while he sweeps the pile of hair onto it. As he does that he surprises the shit out of me, asking, "Do you think you could do it up my rear end, Dylan? Um, as a favor. I've always wanted to see what that feels like." Recently there have been a couple of times I've been speechless and this is another one. I can't think what to say. He adds, "I know how fucking nuts that sounds, but would you? I've got a condom and, um, if you want to, um..." Three phony coughs as I stand up looking at him, thinking maybe this is a joke, but no, he appears as serious as an undertaker. Dumping the hair in the trash, I go, "Ya kinda caught me off guard with that one, Travis. How long you been planning on asking me that?" He blushes and way to go, he can blush. "Um, I've been working up the balls to ask that for three or four years now." I chuckle, "Seriously? You've been wanting to ask me to fuck you for three or four years, huh? Jesus!" He shrugs, "I'm a nerd, Dylan, what can I say." I'm rubbing my face, "Um, did you ask anyone else?" He goes, "Nope, I didn't want anyone else. I'm not gay, just curious and you're better looking than my girlfriend, heh heh, so I asked you. You know, as a favor, like I said. Also, I'd ask you to keep this between you and me, please."
I'm putting the broom and dustpan in the closet trying to think how to handle this and finally I come right out and say, "I'm kinda not feeling it, Travis. Sorry." He looks confused, "Oh, I thought you'd like to fuck every guy you see. Ya know, since you're gay." I snort because he's half right, then say, "No, no that's not the way it is. Do you want to fuck every girl you see?" He says, "Yeah, most of them anyway, but then I'm still a virgin." Jesus, come right out and say whatever's on your mind, Travis. I go, "That's not really any of my business, but I wish you good luck in future, um, endeavors in that regard, or whatever." He nods his head a few times, then rather reluctantly it seems to me, mumbles, "Okay, I'll suck your cock first if it's necessary. Is that the way it's done?" Now I'm feeling bad for him. I don't want to make the poor bastard grovel. I say, "That's how it's done sometimes, Travis, and there's other foreplay too, but I wouldn't want you to do anything you weren't comfortable doing. Why don't we both think about this some more and talk about it later?" He says, "Whatever you say, Dylan, but I've got this weird feeling for you. Maybe it's because the last half hour you've been shampooing and cutting my hair. It's a funny feeling in my stomach and, um, in my dick a little too. Couldn't you make an exception and satisfy my curiosity. I'd never tell a fucking sole and I'd be in your debt." Well fuck me! I mumble, "Okay, Travis, lets see what we can work out here.'
This is a unique situation because I do not have the hot's for him, and I won't make him suck my cock, and I don't want to kiss him... so how the fuck am I gonna get a boner? This could be terminally embarrassing. All of a sudden Travis holds up his hands, "Wait! Is it okay if I change my mind?" I hope he's changing it the right way. I mumble, "Of course, Travis. Um, what have you changed your mind about?" He says, "I'm chickening out. I can't do it, um, not now anyway." Oh, thank God! Keeping my cool, I go, "No problem at all, Travis. I think that's the smart choice on your part. Maybe you wanna try having sex with your girlfriend before experimenting with the alternatives. Just a suggestion." Whew, that was a close call, but I don't want to appear too relieved or it might hurt his feelings that I don't want to have any sex at all with him. It's funny too, because before today there were times I thought it might be hot to jump in the sack with him. Before he can change his mind again, I say, "I'll give you a ride back to your dorm." He's looking down, "I feel kinda like a shit, Dylan, for backing out at the last second." I'm like, "No, no, not at all, Travis," as I hand him his coat, "That's the smart move. Who knows what the future holds though. Ya know, maybe sometime, ya know..." He says, "You'd have done it through, right?" I shrug, "I sort of said I would." Which doesn't actually answer his question, but it's close enough and I probably would have... maybe. As we're going down the steps to the parking lot, he goes, "Man, my heart was racing there for a minute or two. It's weird that I thought I wanted to do it for over three years, thinking how I'd ask you and all, and then when you're just about to answer my curiosity, bam! I chicken out." I go, "Huh," and we go outside into the Antarctic again.
On our way to Merrimack, Travis says, "That's between you and me, right?" I say, "Positively! It's like the subject never came up." This is more like the Travis I kinda liked before this year, acting unsure of himself... a likable nerdie/sexy guy. He says, "And I'm really liking this haircut too! Ya know, sometimes I feel like a little kid when I'm around you. You've got your shit together and I guess that's why I think you're so cool." Oh yeah, I've got my shit together alright. Ha! I hope he never gets a job in human resources because he can't read people worth a damn. He'd be hiring all the wrong people, and I can't help but chuckle, then say, "I'm glad you like the haircut, but I do not have my shit together, whatever exactly that means." He mutters, "Compared to me you do." At his dorm he looks at me with a little grin on his lips, saying, "This has been quite a unique experience, Dylan. Thanks for everything. Maybe another time, huh?" I nod my head returning his grin with a little smile, "Sure, you bet, Travis, who knows? Have a good time tonight," and I give his shoulder a pat. He holds his fist over, still grinning, "You're the best, Dylan." I bump his fist and he gets out. Giving him a wave, I drive away feeling like I dodged a bullet. It makes me laugh thinking, 'what if'. What if he hadn't changed his mind and I couldn't get a boner up. That would probably hurt his feelings and embarrass me no end. I'm trying to figure out why I don't find him sexually attractive. I mean, he's nice looking, he has a beard and a decent body. He should have at least seemed kind of sexually interesting, but he wasn't. Not to me anyway. Hmmm, I guess maybe he has too much body hair and too mature of a beard, but that sounds like rationalizing even to me. Oh fuck, what difference does it make. Somehow I like him more as a person now though, but I still don't want to have sex with him. I'll leave it at that. What to do now though? It's four o'clock in the afternoon and already getting dark. I could hang out in the apartment and maybe do a paper or two. Whoop-dee-doo.
One thing I need to do is get gas for the pickup so I drive to a BP station, self serve naturally, and pump some gas. The place is lit up like a movie set. There's a skinny teen pumping gas into an aged Mustang across the pump from me. He's about Ryan's size although with his winter coat on it's hard to tell exactly. I'm guessing he's thin though. He has a NFL Patriot cap on his head with long limp blond hair hanging straight as a poker almost to his shoulders. Cute kid in a funny sort of way. Slim blond boys with very pale complexions are usually cuter than your average teen, at least they seem to be to me. This kid catches me staring at him and looks startled as he blushes a dark pink, but still defiantly stares right back at me holding eye contact way too long. Normally eye contact between guys lasts much less then a second. I've got a bemused expression on my face wondering, 'Huh, what do we have here?' He finally drops his eyes to the gas nozzle in his hand and pulls it from his car. Without looking at me he puts the nozzle on the pump, asking, "You go to Merrimack, right?" He has what I guess I'll call a cute musical voice. Yes, voices can be cute too. I nod, "Yeah, I do, how 'bout you?" Shrugging, he mutters, "Nah, I don't go there." That makes me blurt out a laugh, then say, "No, I didn't think you did. Do you go to high school here in North Andover?" From his appearance I would have guessed middle school except he's driving so he's gotta be in high school. He glances at me, "Yeah, senior at North Andover." A senior?! The gas stops pouring through the hose with an abruptly jolt, so I pull the nozzle out and place it on the pump. He mumbles, "I'm thinking about going there next year. How do you like it?" I go, "Good, it's good, not great. Kinda small, but I'm more than fine with it." Twisting on the gas cap, then sticking a credit or debit card in the pump, he asks, "Would ya show me around the campus?" I'm finishing up with the pickup's gas cap, then getting out my debit card, "I'd be glad to show you around sometime, but it's dark now."
He's got his receipt and he's leaning on the driver's door of his car staring at me again, so I ask, "What's your name?" He walks past the pump to where I'm standing. I look up wondering, 'What the fuck?'. Up close I see he has a couple of red spots around his chin and a very light, short mustache of blond peach fuzz and some on his chin too. Brown eyes and sexy lips that he uses to create a sort of pouting expression. Fucking sexy actually. He says, "What's yours?" I'm like, "What's my what?" he mutters, "Your name. What's your name." There might be something a little 'off' with this kid. I'm ready to go, but he's standing right in front of me. Chuckling a little, "I say, "Well fuck, dude, I asked you first," and he smiles this beautiful smile with teeth so white the bright glare of the spot lights seem to shine off his teeth. There's a space between his front two teeth, which I've always thought was really cute and youthful. It's not a cool look for adults of course, but who cares about that. And this kid isn't plenty youthful looking even without that little space between his front teeth. He says, "Yeah, you asked first, didn't ya. I'm Francis Walsh, and you are?" I go, "Dylan Newman," and I use one of Chubby's tricks of putting an 'ie' on formal names, adding, "Frankie," instead of his stated, 'Francis', "Nice to meet you." He laughs out loud, then goes, "Frankie! No fucking body calls me Frankie twice, Dillie." I chuckle, "Dillie! No fucking body calls me that twice, Frankie." He's grinning with these big dimples, his eyes shiny, red spots like rouge on his cheeks. He goes, "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine. School, that is."
Wow, that was a double entendre if I've ever heard one. He'll show me 'his if I show him mine', huh? We're standing here smirking at each other, so I say, "It's dark out so I don't know how much you'll see, but okay, I'll take you around the campus. Ya wanta follow me?" and he goes, "Would you follow me instead? I need to I'll drop my car off at home." I'm frowning thinking, 'This is weird'. He adds, "I live less than a mile from here. My brother needs the car." Shrugging, I mumble, "Yeah, I guess," and he mutters, grinning again, "Thanks, Dillie," and steps over to his car and opens the door. Looking back at me he goes, "You won't kidnap me will you?" I laugh, "No, Frankie, I haven't kidnapped anyone since, um, ever." He smiles, "Call me Francis," and gets in his car, starting the engine. I'm not calling a guy 'Francis', fuck that. He's right about living a mile from the gas station though. It's less than a mile when I pull up to the curb in front of an average looking two story house as Francis drives his Mustang up the short driveway of the house. Turning off the Mustang, he gets out and walks down to the idling pickup, getting into the passenger seat holding out his hand, "We forgot to shake hands when we introduced ourselves." Smirking, I shake his hand and he holds onto my hand, saying, "It's okay if you kidnap me." Yeah, there is something 'off' about this kid. I hope he doesn't pull a knife on me. Baby faced mass murderer.
Making a U-turn on his street I drive back past the gas station down route 114 to Merrimack. He doesn't say anything, so I ask, "How ya doing so far in your senior year?" He asks, "How do you mean? Academically or romantically?" Oh brother! I say, "Both, Frankie," and he laughs out loud again, then says, "Are you stupid? I told you not to call me that. I'm not five years old." Without any malice in my voice I say, "Fuck you, Frankie," and he does an elaborate shrug, and says with exasperation, "Okay, you win. I'm Frankie." I ask, "Do your friends actually call you Francis?" He laughs, "No, they call me 'Frank' or 'Frankie', why?" A nut case! I say, "No reason. So how ya doing in your senior year?" He says, "Academically I'm doing good. I've got about a 3.2 GPA, but romantically the year's been a disaster." As I'm driving onto the far end of Merrimack's campus, down near the chapel, I ask, "Why such a disastrous year romantically?" He goes, "I'm gay and nobody else at North Andover High is." I laugh at that, saying, "Bullshit." He grins, "But you are, aren't you?" Holy shit! I'm like, "Yeah, I'm gay, but how'd you know?" He's like, "Oh, I wouldn't have known except I saw you kissing a little guy with a buzz cut outside McDonalds last week. Little guy with little round eyeglasses." Huh, ya never know who's observing you. He says, "That kiss was so fucking hot I almost blew a load in my pants."
Okay, this might be the strangest encounter ever. I park in the upper parking lot, kill the engine and turn in my seat facing him, saying, "You know damn well there are other gay kids in high school, other than you, right? You just haven't found anyone to, um, experiment with?" He shakes his head, "No, I'm terminally shy," and again I say, "Bullshit! You're about as shy as a stand up comedian." He laughs, "Okay, I lied, I'm not all that shy, but I still don't know other gay kids except for the obvious ones and they don't interest me. Are there any gay college students at Merrimack?" I go, "Of course there are, not that I know that many. Maybe a half dozen out of five thousand students, but there are probably five hundred gay or lesbian students going to Merrimack this year. Granted the majority are probably closeted. Are you in the closet?" He goes, "Of course!" and I shrug, "Well, so are most of the other gay students in high school." He asks, "Would you rape me?" I'm like, "Get the fuck outta here with that! Of course I won't rape you or anyone else." "Don't you think I'm, uh, cute?" I shrug, "Whaddaya you think?" He says, "Nah, I guess I'm not. Not compared to you anyway." I ask, "Do you wanna see the campus or not?" He opens his door, "Sure, show me around and point out the half dozen gay guys you know. Forget about the lesbians though."
I get out and lock the pickup wondering, 'Why am I doing this?' I walk him past some dorms and he asks what the dorm rooms are like so I describe Ryan's room as well as Dougie's and Jamie's. He asks, "How come one has a sink and the other room doesn't?" I go, "Ya got me. Maybe the sinks in a newer dorm. I live in those apartments down route 114 a mile or so, not in the dorms." Our breath's are frosty in this unseasonable cold day in December. Usually doesn't get this cold until mid January, then all of February, the worst month of the year. Francis wants to know, "Do any rooms have their own bathroom?" I shake my head, "Nope, it's communal lavatories at the end of the corridor." he goes, "Ewww. Maybe I'll stay in an apartment. Could I share yours?" I laugh, "I'll ask my two roommates." I'm pointing out the lecture halls, then the sports complex and finally we're in the quad getting hot chocolates to warm up. He says, "This hot chocolate tastes weird," and I'm like, "Yeah, it does, but I didn't want a coffee. Have you seen enough of the campus yet?" He goes, "Yeah, Merrimack's like you said, it's okay. Can I see your apartment?" I'm like, "No, and why would you want to?" He smirks, then says, "I've never kissed a guy. What's it like?" I go, "Have you ever kissed a girl?" He nods his head, "Of course," and I'm like, "It's like that. Lips are lips." He takes his Patriot cap off and runs his fingers through his hair. He has it parted in the middle with all the hairs the same length, bangs and all. I say, "Isn't that long hair a pain in the ass?" He shrugs, "Yeah, sometimes. I saw you with another boy too. Really cute guy, but not as cute as you. You called him Rob." I go, "What the fuck? Are you stalking me?" He's indignant, "NO! It's coincidence. I saw you first with the little guy with the buzz cut and then with Rob, who has longer hair, but it's
the same color as yours."
Very observant lad. Reminds me of myself. He adds, "I've only seen you twice, and then today at the gas station. Couldn't believe it was you." I go, "And you were too shy to ask me to rape you. Oh wait, you did ask me." He laughs, "I don't mean rape, I mean," and he lowers his voice leaning his head
closer to mine to say, "Fuck me. Fuck my cute ass, and it is cute too." He
laughs sitting back, "I've checked it out in the mirror. Very cute and hot." I nod and smirk at him because he's kinda cool for a high school student. I go, "Give me your license," and he gets his wallet out saying, "You don't believe I'm eighteen, do you? And you should talk! You look my age." Dougie or Jamie said the same thing and it's not true for them or Frankie. He passes me his license and I take a look. Cute picture, and huh, he'll be nineteen in May. His picture on the license shows him with a buzz cut." I pass it back to him, "You looked cuter with the buzz cut." He goes, "Ah ha! You think I'm cute, don'cha?" I go, "Sure," and he's running his fingers through his hair, that looks slightly greasy, saying, "I look too young with the buzz cut don't ya think?" I go, "Nope." He asks me other questions as we drink our imitation hot chocolate, the latest question being, "Which one of the guys I saw you with is your boyfriend?" I ask, "Which one do you think it is?" and he says, "The little guy you kissed?" saying it like a question. I go, "Maybe,"and we get up to dump our paper cups in the trash. Outside I light a cigarette and Frankie asks, "You smoke?" I chuckle, "Um, what's it look like?"
At the bottom of the steps he asks, "Can I borrow one from you?" so I hold the pack out and he lights a cigarette off mine. He takes a puff and blows the smoke right out. Ha ha, I go, "You don't smoke," and he says, "Oh, no, what's it look like I'm doing?" I say, "Not smoking, that's one thing it doesn't looks like. The other thing is it looks like a girl smoking for the first time." He laughs again. He laughs a lot. We're walking to the car, "Why won't you show me your apartment, Dillie?" That makes me laugh. Then I grab his arm stopping him, and ask, "Hey, have you ever had a guy give you a smokin' hot kiss?" He shakes his head, "I've never had any kind of kiss from a guy." I cup his chin with my hand, inhale off my cigarette, and kiss him on the lips exhaling the smoke into his mouth. He blows it right out along with a saliva spay, without inhaling, as he's blushing again under the parking lot lights. I grin at him and we walk to the pickup where he says, "Do a regular kiss, okay?" Holding my cigarette away from us I put my hand behind his neck, feeling his hair on my palm, and give him a wet kiss with my tongue licking across his front teeth and get a whiff of his boyish scent, youthful, innocent, and delicious. Then pull my head away, saying, "That was a very routine kiss between two guys. There are much sexier ones though."
He's sucking on his lips while pulling at the crouch of his jean, then he lets out a long breath. I ask, "How'd you like it?" He nods his head, "Uh huh, a lot." I shrug, "Okay, get in the pickup and I'll demonstrate a couple of others one. Give you a tutorial so you don't act like a dork in the unlikely event you ever find a boyfriend."
To be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
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I have had some books published and they are available on Amazon . Actually one book and one short story. The short story is titled "Concealed Agony - Gay Romance" (and I didn't pick that title.) Read the short story first. And the book is named "Oliver's Wildwood Vacation" They are both about 'Oliver'. You can easily find them by searching for 'Donny Mumford' at the Amazon web site.
And I would appreciate it if you would provide a comment at the site for the stories as well.
Thanks.
Donny Mumford
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