Dylan's Sophomore Year

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR

Chapter 44

by Donny Mumford

Tuesday afternoon I'm still with young Francis Walsh who appears eager for his lesson in gay kissing. With his cute face, long blond hair, and slim body it's hard to believe he's never hooked-up with a fuck buddy, but that's what he claims. Someone with his attractive attributes would surely have come up with a fuck buddy by his senior year of high school, so there's got to be some thing about him I'm not aware of yet. It's possible he's just another naively innocent gay lad chasing his dream of being fucked, but not doing anything to make it happen. I mean, until now when Frankie/Francis asked me to fuck him. I'm wondering will he, like Travis earlier today, decide otherwise when the moment of truth is eminent. For Francis it might be one of those 'be careful what you wish for' kind of things. If I was smart I'd politely tell him to get lost, but I've never been real smart about sex. Initially I'll try discouraging him of course, but if I'm convinced he's serious about it I might accommodate him. After all he is almost nineteen so he should know what he wants by now. We've been smoking cigarettes on one of Merrimack's parking lots next to Robby's pickup, which I have the use of this Tuesday afternoon.

We drop our cigarettes butts and get into the pickup with Francis/Frankie looking anxious. I can't help but think that life's a funny smorgasbord of possibilities at times, some of which are worth following up on. I'm just not sure yet if this is one of them, but finding out might be fun. Inside the pickup he's like, "Okay, what do I do?" I ask, "Whaddaya wanna do?" He smiles, blushing, "Um, you know, make out with you, like we started to do. So, how do I begin." I take his hat off and toss it in the back seat, then ruffle his long blond hair, asking him, "Are you really this obvious?" He shrugs grinning, then reaches over and runs his fingers over my buzzed hair, saying, "You look cool with this haircut. I had a buzz cut until about two years ago and I haven't had a haircut since then, as you can probably tell, but maybe I'll get one when I go to college." I roll my eyes, "Is that right? When you go to college, huh?" and I slide over to him, away from the steering wheel, "Okay, give me a kiss, Frankie, and show me what you got." He mutters, "Yeah, but first true confession time: I've only made out one time in my life. It was with a girl and it was terrible. I didn't know what I was doing, and didn't want to do it with her in the first place. So you'll need to teach me mostly." I go, "Sure," and he takes a deep breath, but doesn't do anything except just sits there.

After waiting ten seconds or so, I ask, "Are you sensing that it's a little bit odd for us to be making-out when we basically don't know each other?" He laughs, "No, I don't think it's odd at all. That's not why I'm hesitating. It's that I'm afraid you'll make fun of the way I do it." I go, "Well, you must have watched videos of gay guys kissing, right?" He goes, "Only every night under the covers. I jerk off watching gay guys do stuff, gay guys who know what they're doing." Grinning, I ask, "Do you wack-off into a sweat sock like I used to do?" He laughs, "No, no sock. I cum on the sheets, heh heh, every night and it feels good too. I've been jerking-off since I was twelve years old. I do it a couple of times a day." Hmmm, a horny little fellow. I ask, "Haven't you ever asked a buddy to at least jerk off with you? You know, like a circle jerk." He goes, "Nope, never had the balls," and I'm like, "Well then, where'd you get the balls to ask me to fuck you?" He says, "That's different, you're hot, plus I don't know you, so I can always say I was kidding or I change my mind without everybody at North Andover High hearing about it." Yeah, I can see that, except, "How come you're not worried about me being a pervert and taking advantage of you?" He shakes his head, chuckling, "You, a pervert? No way, you're a nice guy, I can tell." I go, "Yeah, you're right about me, but be careful of other strangers you ask to have sex with. There are perverts out there aplenty, as well as other kinds of dangerous predators." I'm thinking of scheming asshole's like Marty, who would eat this cute kid up as a snack. "Anyway, we don't need to make-out now, Frankie. Maybe another time." He goes, "Oh no, I'm finally in a

car with a for-real gay guy and I want to learn about making-out, but I'm just a little bit nervous." I mumble, "Listen, at least try a kiss, or what are we doing here?"

He takes a deep breath, then leans over closing his eyes and kisses my lips like you might kiss your baby sister goodnight. "That was a sweet kiss, Frankie, thanks. Now my turn," and I get a handful of hair at the back of his head pulling his face against mine and suck on his lips until his mouth parts enough for me to slide my tongue onto his mouth. He presses his face against mine and moves his tongue as he's quietly murmuring, "Mmmmm, oooh."Fifteen seconds of kissing and sucking tongues until he gasps, pulling his head away, pushing at his crotch with his fingers. He sucks in a deep breath, than lets it out, asking, "How did you do that?" I'm like, "We both did it, Frankie." I'm actually kinda surprised he didn't freak-out when my tongue went in his mouth. Hmmm, I didn't feel his pale blond mustache either. I tell him, "Tongues are as sexy as lips, especially yours. You're a hottie yourself." He goes, "Really? Thanks!" I say, "See if you can kiss me like I kissed you." Fuck, I feel like I'm seventeen again and experiencing this for the first time. He looks serious as he licks around his lips leaving them shiny with his saliva. His hand goes behind my neck and then he sucks on my lips pushing his tongue in my mouth while moving his head side to side a little bit rubbing our noses together. He keeps it up for thirty seconds or so and then slowly pulls his lips off mine making a wet sucking sound as our lips pull apart. It takes a conscious effort on my part not to push at my crotch now too. Damn, he tastes and smells really good. I'm sneaking in a deep breath without being obvious about it as he stares at me a few seconds before asking, "How'd I do?" I nod my head, giving myself another second or too to catch my breath. Don't want to sound as breathless as I feel, then I manage to mutter, "Okay, pretty good," and do a fake cough collecting myself a little more. But wait a minute here! I smile and point a finger at him, "Don't give me that bull crap you've never kissed a guy before."

He's laughing, showing his cute grin and those super white teeth of his with the little separation between the two top front ones, then he says, "I gotcha there, didn't I? Yeah, I lied. I have a kissing buddy, but he won't blow me and I won't blow him, and forget about fucking. So I need your help in those two areas, plus I didn't really know if my buddy and I were doing it right." "What's your kissing buddy look like, Frankie? Is he hot?" Frankie goes, "Afraid not, his nickname's pork chop, which should yell you all you need to know. He's the round mound of rebound except he can't play basketball. He doesn't smell too good either, but you do. You have an awesomely sexy smell that I can hardly believe." I grin, "Thanks, everybody says that," and he's like, "Dude, be honest with me, how do I smell?" I shrug, "You smell pretty fucking sexy yourself." Big smile, "Really?" I nod, "Yeah, for real." He goes, "It's a bitch being shy about being gay. Pork chop's the only guy who knows we've kissed a few times, but both of us lie our asses off about not being gay." I'm like, "What the...? I mean, how do you two rationalize kissing if you aren't gay?" He goes, "Oh fuck, we tell each other we're practicing so we don't come off like dorks when we take girls out, which we never do anyway. We're bullshitting each other, basically." I mutter, "Mutual bullshitting, eh?" He laughs, "Yeah, make fun of us. How'd you start messing around with guys?" Ooh yeah, I'm so sure I'm telling him my gay introduction starring fat Carl and his BO. I say, "I don't know, it just happened," and that's true enough. I had no idea Carl was going to have me sucking his dick the first night we worked on the school paper together. I thought he was gay, but I wasn't sure I was. Surprise!

Francis says, "Well, come on, lets do some more making-out." Yeah, why not. Our faces come together again with our lips kissing and tongues sliding together. Soon Frankie's arms are around my neck as he's sucking on my lips almost like you see fish do when they eat tiny fish food in a fish tank. Constant puckering and sucking, puckering and sucking until it's kinda uniquely sexy as hell. Then, somehow I'm laying on my back with Frankie on top of me and we're sucking lips and tongues. Licking lips with our noses rubbing together until I feel his boner against my stomach just above my groin. It feels like a steel spike, not long and not thick, just hard as steel... and pointy. I've got a nice boner in my shorts too, but it's not as hard as Frankie's. We're both moaning 'cause it's pretty sexy and hot. His scent can't be overlooked, a guy's scent is such an important factor in my evaluation of sexual heat and Frankie's up there pretty hot. We're finally both gasping for air and then Frankie's humping his packing against me. He's doing desperate sounding grunts, red in the face, then he groans, "Ooooh, aaah, fuck, oooh, mmm, fuck." He sits up bumping his head on the steering wheel, breathing deeply as I stare at him from my prone position on the seat. His fingers are kneading at his crotch and then I see the slowly spreading wet spot to the right of his zipper. He's biting his bottom lips still grimacing and then he sits back taking another deep breath. I mumble, "Blew a load in your pant, huh? I've done that, Francis. Felt good I'll bet." I grab the steering wheel pulling myself up to sit next to him. He's rubbing the back of his index finger under his nose like it itches, shaking his head slowly. Then he looks at me and mumbles, "I knew I'd do that. I almost did it when you did the cigarette kiss before we got in the truck." I mutter, "Smokin' hot kiss, ya mean?" He grins, "Whatever the fuck you call it. I'm such a dork for cumin' in my fucking pants kissing you. Jesus!" I go, "I told you I've done that myself like fifty times, don't worry about it."

Now I'm rubbing under my nose too because seeing him do it made me think my nose is itchy. Damn, the power of suggestion. He looks at me with a grin, saying, "Would you please take my fuckin' cherry once and for all? I'm begging you." I shrug, "Doing it just because you asked me to feels weird." Huh, in the past I'd never think twice, but I don't know, now it seems, um, like I said, weird. I mumble, "I don't even know you." He nods his head, mumbling back at me, "How do you think I feel?" Smelling the back of my hand, I'm looking at him and thinking he's a fairly cute and sexy eighteen year old boy who's asking me to fuck him, so why am I hesitating? He looks at me and goes, "Okay, you're right. Lets get to know each other first." His cell phone plays the first notes to the song, 'Chocolate' and he holds his finger up, like: 'Just a second' and takes his cellphone from his pocket. I take mine out too and see there's a text from Robby asking if I want to join him and a couple of his teammates for pizza, then a movie. Hmmm, no, I don't want to do that because I always feel like the odd man out when he's with his teammates. It's not that Robby doesn't include me in the conversations so much as the conversation's mostly about the baseball team and I'm basically their audience. They take turns telling me funny or weird stuff relating to the team. All I can add is a ,'Huh' or 'Jeez, you're kidding!', or maybe force a laugh once in awhile. Anyway I text back saying I'm not feeling pizza and a movie tonight, and then wish Robby a good time telling him I'll check him out later.

Meanwhile Francis is chuckling while texting someone, so I text Chubby asking what he's doing tonight. He text right back reminding me he and his bud John Beverly have to be the dates for some sorority function two of their girlfriends talked them into attending. Probably Judy Rinker and Mary Butler. Huh, I don't expect to hear from Ryan either, so maybe I have time to get to know Francis/Frankie. I look at him as he's texting someone back again, then he looks over telling me, "That was my brother, Mark. I told him I won't be home for dinner. So, now can we get to know each other?" Huh, I ask, "Don't your parents care if you skip dinner?" He goes, "Oh, it's Mark and me for dinner during the week. My mom works nights. She's a waitress." Wow, just like Chubby and me when we were growing up. I ask, "And your dad, he work nights too?" He shrugs, "They divorced ten years ago," and I'm like, "That's a shame, Frankie," and I tell him about Chubby and me growing up like he and his brother, fixing our own dinners. Frankie goes, "Well alright! We're already getting to know each other. Wow, what a coincidence about our moms being waitresses and all!" Yeah, it is actually.

Unable to think of anything else to do, I drive us to my apartment finding a parking spot in the lot next to ours. The wind has died down finally, but it's still cold and I don't have gloves. Inside the building I'm rubbing my hands together, muttering, "Cold as a witch's tit out there," making Frankie laugh. I try remembering who said that and, ah yes, it was Travis. In the apartment we take off our coats, then Frankie wanders around the apartment looking at things as I look at him. He goes, "Damn, it's awfully neat in here for three college students, isn't it?" I shrug, and he goes, "You ought'a see my bedroom." I get a beer from the refrigerator offering Frankie one, but he shakes his head, "No thanks. Can't stand the taste of beer." I sit on one of the kitchen bar stools and he leans against the bar looking at me for a second, then he says, "I feel so comfortable with you and that's funny because usually being alone with basically a stranger in his home would freak me out a little. I guess ya might say I'm not the confident type." I go, "Not too many eighteen year old boys are. Hell, I'm still don't feel confident in some situations myself, but you're easy to get along with." He asks, "I don't make you nervous?" I snort, "Nervous? Hardly. Why should I be nervous?" He's fiddling with my toiletry kit that has all the barber stuff in it. Not looking at me, he says, "You're cool, you know that? Cute and cool." I take a swallow of beer thinking Travis said the same thing to me. Huh, maybe I appear cool to them and sometimes I even feel kinda cool myself, but not usually. I mutter, "Thanks," and then to be polite, I add, "You too, Frankie." He chuckles, probably because I insist on calling him 'Frankie'.

He glances sideways at me, "Um, Dillie, my pants are wet with spunk. Do you think I could borrow a pair of yours?" I say, "My pants will be too long for you, but my brother's might fit. Well, the length will be alright but the waist might be too big. Or better yet sweat pants with an elastic waist band." He follows me into Chubby's room which is a shambles of clothes and bath towels on the floor along with fast food wrappers, two empty pizza boxes, empty beer bottles and soda cans. Frankie says, "This is more like what I expected a college guy's apartment would look like." I go, "Yeah, well..." and grab a pair of old sweat pants, then says, "Come on, follow me." We go into my bedroom as I'm telling him, "You can wear a pair of my clean underpants." He laughs, "Why is it a 'pair' of underpants when it's really just one?" I mutter, "How the fuck should I know?" He kicks off his sneakers and drops his jeans, stepping out of them. On the front of his jockey shorts there's a large wet cum stain. He says, "I guess I should tell you I have a small penis. You're hopefully gonna see it sooner or later anyway, that's if you do the favor for me," and he pulls his underpants down and tosses them in a corner, saying, "You can keep those," meaning his cum filled underpants. He laughs and I have to chuckle myself because he's kind of a funny wild child, and without apparent inhibitions about his small dick. He holds it out, saying, "I should be embarrassed about you seeing this penis except what the fuck did I have to do with it? I was born with this weenie. My brother's is bigger, but not by a lot." Frankie's dick is about as long as Chubby's, which is to say a little over four inches, maybe four and a half when Cubby's got a boner. Same for Robby except Robby's and Chubby's cocks have a much fatter head and shaft on than Frankie's.

I say, "It's not the size, Francis, but how you use it." He looks at me as he mutters, "Bullshit, it's the size." Well he does have an awfully skinny penis, and his scrotum looks kinda small too. I ask, "What's Pork Chop's dick look like?" Frankie shrugs, "Fuck if I know. I've never seen it. It's probably huge though. How about you? Can I see yours?" I give him a look, like, 'Get real!' and he goes, "Okay, don't show it to me, but is it alright if I wash my cock and balls in your bathroom?" I laugh at his bluntness, then go, "Certainly, it right through that door." He goes in and a couple seconds later I hear the water running. I'm looking for my rattiest pair of clean jockey shorts. He comes out drying his junk, asking, "Um, would you blow me?" then he laughs, "Oh fuck, I can't believe I just asked that. Jesus I'm retarded! Oops, that's a bad word, sorry, Dylan." I've got nothing to say to that, so I throw him a pair of jockey shorts, mumbling, "Cover that needle dick of yours before it makes my mouth water." He puts on the underwear, saying, "You're kidding, but do you like oral sex with your boyfriend, the buzz-headed kid with the glasses?" I say, "The other one you saw me with is my boyfriend. The kid with the buzz cut is Ryan. We've been fuck buddies at time too though, and yes I blow them sometimes. I like it actually." He smirks at me cupping his dick that's now covered by underpants, "Well I'd love to offer my little dick any time you get the urge to blow me. I'll be your sex toy if you want." I mutter, "Oh, how thrilling," and he says, "Seriously though, you make me so friggin' horny. You could do anything to my body you wanted and I bet I'd love it." I say, "Get dressed! You were horny before you ever laid eyes on me." He laughs, "Yeah, but you make me really, really horny!"

When he's dressed I go back to my seat at the kitchen bar and my bottle of beer. He goes back to leaning on the kitchen bar, saying, "I feel so much better now. Thank you, Dylan. Really! You're nice, and I'm serious about that, all joking aside." I mumble, "I'm happy your happy," and swallow some beer. He lifts the toiletry kit, asking, "What's this doing here? Shouldn't it be in the bathroom," as he unzips the toiletry kit and looks inside. Then holding up the trimmer clippers, he looks at me grinning, "You're not thinking of using these on me, are you?" I shake my head, "No, but somebody should." He laughs running his fingers through his long hair, then he goes, "Hey, where's my hat?" I tell him it's in the back seat of the pickup, then asks if it's him or his brother doing most of the cooking for their dinners. That gets us comparing notes about growing up without much parental guidance. From what Frankie tells me him and his brother aren't nearly as tight as Chubby and me were during our preteen and teen years. Both Frankie and his brother Mark have always had their own circle of friends, only doing things together mostly just when they're making dinners together. They've always had dinner at six o'clock every weekday night where Chubby and me never had any schedule. His mother doesn't work Saturdays like our moms, so weekend dinners are prepared by their mom. The brothers went their separate way mostly, but at least they got along very well most of the time. He tells me his older brother graduated high school and is now working as an electrician's and not interested in college like Frankie says he is. Their mother collected a small amount of child support after the divorce and still receives it for Frankie. So, financially she theoretically should be better off than our moms. I'm finishing the last beer by the time Frankie's telling me about some of the trouble he'd gotten himself into over the years. I don't know how much embellishing he's doing, but it sounds like he's seen more than his share of trouble at school while his brother seems to have been a pretty straight kid in more ways than one. For one thing Mark's been going out with girls since middle school and presently he's dating the same girl he dated all through his senior year of high school, which was the year before last.

Finally Frankie runs out of stories about himself and I'm kind of feeling sorry for him. On the one hand he seems to be getting along okay except for being, like I said, a bit of a wild child. On the other hand he seems a little lost and lonely because he doesn't have much to say about friends in general, or the fact that he's gay. I ask, "None of your friends know you're gay, huh? Do you think any of them suspect?" he goes, "I only have two friends, Dylan. I know other guys at school of course, but I hang out with just the two, and that's only just occasionally. But no one's asked me if I'm gay so I guess they don't know." I'm like, "Well, if you have one good friend consider yourself lucky. Two is even better." He looks down, "They're each other's best friend actually. Ya might say they tolerate me because I can get either my brother's Mustang or my mom's Toyota on weekends sometimes, and they rarely can borrow their parents cars." Okay, now I feel even sorrier for him, but I don't understand why this good looking likable wise ass wouldn't be popular, or at least have one good friend. And why's he still playing with the barber equipment from the toiletry kit? Now he's holding the scissors up closing then and opening them. He takes a few strands of his hair and clips it off, saying, "Whoa, these are sharp." I ask, "How come you haven't gotten a haircut in two years?" He shrugs, "I don't want one. My mom was giving me and Mark buzz cuts with clippers she bought at Rite Aid some years ago. They don't cut very good and she's a terrible barber, but haircuts are expensive. Mark makes money so he goes to the barbers, I just stopped letting mom try cutting my hair." I nod my head, and he looks at me from the side of his eyes again, adding, "We're poor. I guess you'd think we are anyway. You're mom must have money if she's sending you and your brother to college. What year's your brother in?"

I ignore the brother question on the grounds it's too confusing trying to explain half brothers with different mothers. Instead I tell him, "Hey, we're pretty poor ourselves, Francis. Your mom collects child support at least, and ours never did. Plus we borrowed most of the money for college. Furthermore, my brother and I have given each other haircuts for as long as I can remember, so we're pretty much in the same boat as you and Mark in that regard." He's looking at the Oster classic 76 clippers now, saying, "This looks like a profession clipper," and I say, "That one is. I bought it on Ebay." Now I'm thinking I'd like another beer, so I add, "Ya wanted take a quick ride with me. I wanna get a six pack of beer." He laughs, "How you gonna get served? You look like your my age." I say, "Come with me and find out," he puts the clipper back in the toiletry kit, "Sure, I'll come with you." We get our coats on as he's saying, "I just thought of something. Um, after you fuck me, if you ever get around to it, will you give me a ride home?" I open the front door nodding my head that he should walk out in front of me, and as I'm locking the door, I say, "I'll give you a ride home anytime you want, Francis. What the fuck kind of guy do you think I am?" He bumps against me, "You can call me Frankie if you want to." I grin and he leans his head over and kisses my lips, then smirks at me. Cute.

Driving to Tracy's I tell Frankie a little about the speakeasy emphasizing no one is admitted unless they have a valid college ID. I don't want high school kids bothering Tracy, not that Frankie is likely to do that since he doesn't like beer. That makes me wonder, "Do you and your two friends smoke

pot?" He says, "We're not that cool. We're nerds, well they're not, but I am. Maybe they smoke weed themselves, but they never invited me to. I'd like to though. Ya got any?" I go, "No, and don't tell me you're a nerd, Frankie! You lie a lot, don't you?" He shrugs, "No more than most guys." There's something sad about this kid, some underlying sadness. Hmmm, I casually asks, "Would you say you're having a good time being a teenager?" He goes, "No, of course not! Who the fuck has fun being a teenager?" I'm like, "Me, for one. I was actually sorry to turn twenty and leave my teen years behind." He laughs, "Who's lying now? You're not twenty." Fuck it, I'm not going to argue about that. After a minute or so he asks, "Are you? Are you really twenty?" I'm parking below Tracey's deck not seeing any activity up there. Damn! Then I look over at Frankie, "Yeah, I'm really twenty. I already told you I'm a sophomore. You do the math." He goes, "You could have skipped a grade or two." I mutter, "I could have, but I didn't 'cause I'm not smart enough to do that, nor would I have if I was smart enough." He mumbles, "You sound pretty smart to me." I go, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Getting out of the pickup, I look up the steps figuring this is a waste of time, but I'm already here so I may as well see if Tracy's in. Walking across the deck I'm looking up at the new tent like structure covering the deck. It looks cool. Knocking on the door and then lighting a cigarette, I'm checking out the sides of what's basically a tent. The sides are opaque heavy plastic and it's warmer in here than outside even though he doesn't have the space heaters going. I knock again and a girl answers the door. Oh no, Tracy's going back to the chicks? The girl says, "Tracy's not opening tonight. Can't ya tell? Jesus, dude!" I ignore her, figuring she's too hefty to be Tracy's latest squeeze. I say, "Yeah, I noticed. I'm not fuckin' blind. Is Tracy in?" I hear Tracy yell, "Who is it, sis?" and his sister raises her eyebrows looking at me, like, 'Who are you?' I tell her, "Dylan," and Tracy must have heard me because he's at the door now, "I'll take care of this, Barb." She shrugs and disappears as Tracy says, "My asshole sister's here on an unexpected visit." then he kisses my lips before asking, "Can you come back in an hour? She'll be gone by then. I've been thinking about you, and then here you are." I go, "Oh, um, I was hoping to buy a six pack off you." He chuckles, "And me getting my hopes up you came over to see me when the truth comes out that you just want my beer. Boo, Dylan." He's smiling though, he goes, 'Sure, I'll get ya a six pack. That all you need, a six-pack?" I say, "Well two would be better."

He grins at that, then he goes, "Come in and have a shot with me first." I follow him inside as he tells me, "It's single malt scotch, twelve years old and smooth." As usual he doesn't wait to see if I want a shot, which I don't. He pours two shots handing me a shot glass, saying, "To you and me spending a night of fucking together all night long," and he clinks my shot glass with his and shoots the whiskey down his throat as I reluctantly do the same. Tears run down my face with Tracy laughing at me, then hugging me and kissing me again, "You're awesome, Dylan!" I'm looking over his shoulder at his sister watching us as she talks on her cell phone. With my eyes, I try warning Tracy his sister's watching. He turns around to look, then turns back to me, saying, "She knows I'm bisexual. She's the same way although hell would freeze over before I'd fuck anyone as mean and overweight as she is. We don't have what you'd call a close sibling relationship. It's more on the rivalry side. She's here borrowing money 'cause dad's allowance is never enough for her. She goes to BC in town. " I go, "Oh," but that was way too much information. Tracy asks, "Is Rolling Rock alright? I got a great deal on ten cases." I go, "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Trace." He's like, "Come with me and pick out a few six packs. Pony bottles or twelve ounce ones, your choice."

I follow him into the spare bedroom-supply room where he's fucked me twice, so I should have expected his next moves. He's closes the door and locks it. Without a word, he puts his arms around me kissing my lips, his hips humping against mine while his tongue's doing sexy things in my mouth. My hand goes right to his stubby ponytail holding onto it as my other arm goes around his neck. I love how Tracy does this extemporaneous sexy stuff, showing off his self confidence and aggressiveness. He has a very sexy scent too and a slightly scratchy, patchy beard that's very sexy, especially the mustache part that feels good and looks cool on him. It's not a real mustache, just part of his 'look'... the two day growth of beard 'look' that's become popular. He's so cool and sexy. We get into a hot sloppy make-out, our bodies grinding together, our combined saliva around both out mouths, and some quiet moaning and groaning from both of us as he massages my butt cheeks with both hands almost lifting me off the ground pulling my junk against his. It goes on for two minutes or so with our boners coming on us fast, poking against the front of our pants. He pulls down my jeans, then my underpants, and strokes my cock tightly with his fist. He turns me around, smacks my ass hard, then both his arms come around my waist and he pulls me back against him dry humping my ass and kissing the side of my face. Tracy is so fucking confident, hot, and sexy. I'm moaning quietly, very sexually aroused. The back of my head lays back on his shoulder with my body docilely laying back against him. Dropping a hand down Tracy massages my balls and then strokes my boner again until it's dripping precum and sticking straight out from my groin as hard as a boner can get.

Letting go of my boner, he pushes the back of my head and I bend forward as he takes a condom from his pocket, pulls down his fly and pulls out his long boner. He rolls the condom on his cock, mumbling, "Hold onto that table, Dylan, I'm going to fuck you wicked fast." I'm gripping the edge of the table, sticking my ass up. He gets the condom on, dropping the wrapper on the floor and smacking my ass hard again, "SLAP!' rings out in the room. Looking back I see his boner's a real good one sticking straight out from his body just like mine and that turns me on further. His cock's long, very hard, and so tight it barely moves as he reaches between my legs grabbing my scrotum and pulling my balls back and up, with him murmuring, "Can ya get your ass up a little more for me, Dylan?" I exaggerate pushing my ass up, and he goes, "Good, thanks." Still holding my balls in his fist, keeping my ass up and me on my toes a little, he plugs the head of his cock past my sphincter muscle and goes, "Mmmm, ooh," while pushing his long cock up my ass steadily. The trip's aided greatly by the condom's lubricant with excess lubricant scraping off all around my asshole, then warming to my body temperature and oozing down under me, probably going on Tracy's hand that's holding my sack of nuts. When he's tight against my buttocks he gives my nuts a tight squeeze and I yelp. He lets go of my nuts and they drop down swinging back in place a little sore, but I don't notice too much because my rectums sorer.

Tracy waits maybe thirty seconds with me feeling the hurt inside me fade away and be replaced by that filled-up feeling with my prostate vibrating out

pleasure signals as my shoulder's shudder and submissiveness slides over me. I moan as Tracy leans down, quietly asking, "You okay, Dylan? Feeling okay?" My shoulders shudder again, this time with anticipation as I nod my head and he pulls his cock back, back, back, back with buzzing sensation up and down my rectum, and then he pushes it steadily all the way back up my ass until his groin his flat against my buttocks again. Tracy murmurs, "Best ass ever," and he lays on my back, his arm coming around and his fist around my boner again stroking it with my body shuddering and a long drool of precum slowly leaving the gaping pee slit at the head of my hard cock. Stroking, stroking, stroking, stoking like he's milking my nuts. Then he lets go of my quivering boner, straightens up, grabs my hips, and it's, "SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP," in my ears for three incredible fast minutes with my head hanging between my arms. My arms straight out, my hands gripping the edge of the table, my body jostled around roughly as Tracy's slamming his cock up my ass hard and very fast. I'm making whining sounds as quietly as I can, aware of his sister's in the next room. My cock's so hard it doesn't hardly move with my body's jostling. The sensations from nerve endings in my prostate and anus are indescribably awesome and I'm basically shaking as my orgasm is flying towards climax. Tracy grunts and reaches down getting him arm around the front of my throat yanking me upright away from the table, my back against his chest now, me on my tiptoes gasping to get air in past his arm around my throat, his hips constantly hammering that wooden boner of his up my ass. "SLAPSLAPSLAP," and I start to squeal but he covers my mouth with his other hand, the side of his jaw against the side of my face, his beard driving me crazy as I jerk in his grasp with stars colliding behind my eyes and cum streaming in a rainbow arc from my quivering boner. Tracy's pulling me back as he arches his back and grunts in my ear and I feel his hard stream of cum splatter inside my rectum. Another squeak from me as I shoot two follow-up arcs of cum. All my cum lands on top of the table and now Tracy's whimpering as he humps against my buttocks finishing his orgasm.

Big exhale from Tracy, then a noisy gasping inhale as he lets go of me and pulls his cock out of my ass. I'm still shivering with sexual sensations, millions of nerves endings sizzle spastically before dying out. My gaping open anus tingles as my buttock muscles clench and more lube drools under me to the back of my scrotum. Tracy gasps squeezing my shoulder, then mumbles, "Awesome, Dylan, just... oooh, great sex, man." He leans his forehead on my shoulder from behind, his sloppy cock still encased in latex lays against my right butt cheek. With a gulp he straightens up patting my shoulder now, "Man, I needed that, thanks, Dylan, you're the best. Let me wipe that lubricant off your ass for ya." I exhale a lot of air, puffing out my cheeks, and making a wheezy sound as the air sneaks out between my teeth, almost a whistle sound. I'm still feeling some random buzzing in my body from that big climax. Wow, that was fast! I ask, "How fast did you fuck that orgasm out of me this time, Tracy? Must have been a record." He's wiping my ass with what looks like a clean rag this time, saying, "It was fast, Dylan, and I think we blew our loads almost at the same time too. Dude, I was thinking about jerking off, that's how horny I was. Glad you stopped by instead, and I insist you take this beer as a token of my friendship. Don't fucking read anything else into it. Let me do something, okay! For once." I go, "Hey, thanks, Trace," and he pulls my underpants up, then my jeans. He smacks my ass one last time, mumbling, "You're welcome, and thank you from the bottom of my fuckin' heart for the use of that awesome ass of yours." I'm pulling up my zipper and buttoning my jeans as Tracy lifts two six-packs of twelve ounce Rolling Rock bottles from a case and hand them to me. "Ready?" he asks, and I grin, muttering, "Was I actually fucked? It was so fast." He chuckles and ruffles my hair, then gives my shoulders a hug, "I gotta watch myself, Dylan, or I'll find myself falling for you hard, dude."

We walk out of the supply room, and then back through the apartment to the kitchen that's just off the deck. His sister is flashing down a shot of scotch with a lit cigarette between the fingers of her other hand. She shakes her head as the shot hits her stomach, then asks, "You girls have a quickie, did ya? I heard some kinda squeal," and she points the cigarette at me, adding, "Probably from the girlie-boy here." Tracy smiles, but says menacingly, "If you don't want me to slap the shit out of your fat face, shut the fuck up!" She shrugs like that outburst was nothing unusual, gets up and as she's walking toward the living room, she mumbles, "Hey, fuck you too, brother." Nice. Tracy says, "I'm sorry about that, Dylan. I had to grow up with that bitch." I'm not sure what to say to that, so I mumble, "Oh, sorry, um..." He chuckles, "Hey, I survived her and she survived me." He walks me to the door and with a hand on my shoulder, says, "Don't be a stranger, Dylan. Text me any time. I'm always happy to hear from you, and seeing you is even better." Then from behind he kisses the side of my face. I thank him for the beers, "And, for, ya know. That was a wicked nice surprise, Tracy." He grins and rubs my head again as I go out on the deck and over to the steps. I hear, "See you soon," from Tracy, and then the door closes. Going down the steps I feel good about Tracy and me. His fast fuck's are so hot and intense and different. Plus he really seems to like me. It all makes me feel good.

At the pickup I put the beer in back and get in the driver's seat, saying, "Sorry that took so long, Frankie." He asks, "He's a friend of yours?" I go, "Yeah, he is. I didn't realize how tight we'd become until this year." He

says, "Just an FYI incase you care: you positively reek of booze and it's not just beer." I tell him about Tracy and his shots of whiskey, and how he doesn't take 'no' for an answer. Starting the engine I'm smiling, thinking about Tracy and me in bed all night sometime. Holy shit, how many of those fast fuck's could he manage in a whole night. I'm in a very upbeat mood, so I look at Frankie, "Hey, dude, let's cook dinner together tonight." He grins, "Thanks, that'd be fun. What'll we have?" I ask, "What do you like?" and he says, "Meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a salad with Thousand Island dressing." I laugh, "Very decisive, Frankie. Okay lets hit Stop & Shop and get the stuff we need." He says, "Um, I only got like some change on me, maybe a dollars worth. If you drive me home maybe Mark can lend me a couple of bucks." I go, "I just got comped for two six packs of beer so I'm passing the favor forward and treating you to dinner tonight, but you gotta help prepare it and help me clean up afterwards." He looks down, mumbling, "Thanks, Dylan, I'll pay you back." Driving away from Tracy's I squeeze the back of Frankie's neck, saying, "My treat this time, okay?"Then I have a thought, "Hey, buddy, how come you don't get a part time job? Make a little money." He shrugs, "I don't know. I used to have a paper route until the Herald gave the job to men who deliver papers from four or five routes from their cars at like four o'clock in the morning and the Herald bills the subscribers. And I'm kind of intimidated applying for a job." Intimidated? Poor bastard. Maybe he's an Asperger's kid.

He fidgets in his seat a bit, then quietly says, "I'm so glad Mark sent me down to gas up the Mustang when he did. Five minutes earlier or later and I'd have missed being there when you were there." I grin muttering, "Kismet," he looks over frowning, but doesn't ask what 'kismet' means, or maybe he knows what it means. He says, "I was playing a video game and didn't want to stop, but Mark made me and because he did now I know you." I go, "Jeez, Frankie, you'll give me a big head. What's the big deal about knowing me?" He says, "It's fun having someone to do stuff with, that's all. And you're so fucking nice. You must have tons of friends. What's that like?" I'm pulling into the Stop & Shop parking lot, saying, "Whaddaya talking about? I have an average number of friends and, yeah, friends are priceless. You said you have two, right?" He says, "Sort of, if I text them. They never text me." Fuck, I hate this! Now I'm going to be feeling bad for him and Ryan. This is sort of like when I first met Cory only Frankie's a good kid who says he's gay whereas Cory... um, no, this is nothing like Cory at all. I don't know what it's like actually. The truth is I still don't understand why Frankie doesn't have at least one good friend and a gay sex-buddy as well. He's an attractive, cute likable kid. It doesn't add up.

We go inside and Frankie says, "Oh, there's Rich Davidson bagging." I ask, "Which one?" He points, "The redhead in the middle." I look down the line of registers. About halfway down there's a kid with very dark red hair and a

face full of freckles. His facial features are below average and made worse by all those big freckles and when he looks up, wow, a big nose dominates his face. He's stocky with a square body. I say, "Is that one of your friends?" Frankie says, "Sort of, ya know, when he and Tucker need a ride someplace." This sucks. I grab a basket, and as we're walking by this Davidson kid, Frankie's real friendly like, saying, "Yo, Rich, wassup?" Rich says, "Whaddaya want, Walsh. Whaddaya doing here anyway?" Frankie smiles, "We're shopping for stuff to cook dinner together, Rich?" Freckles makes a face, then mimics Frankie, "We're making dinner together, Rich. Jesus, fag alert." Frankie goes, "Hey, be nice, Rich, this is my friend, Dylan Newman." Freckles glances at me, then says to Frankie, "So what?" What an enormous asshole! I walk on as freckles says, "Wait a minute, Walsh. Ya got the five bucks you owe me?" I stop and watch Frankie frown, saying, "You said that was gas money, Rich. Ya know, for gas if I drove you and Tucker to the Rockingham Mall that time. Which I did, like you wanted." Freckles is exasperated, "Yes, you used it for a gallon and a half of gas, but I loaned you the money to pay for the gas. Why in the world would I buy gas for your car?" This fuckin' kid! I walk back, saying, "Here's a reason, freckles! He bought the gas so he could drive your ass to the mall." He doesn't look at me when he mutters, "Who asked you?" I get close to him, asking "Oh, you got a problem with me, freckles?" He stops bagging, the register lady stops registering, and she looks at us. I say, "Hey, freckles, I asked you a question?" He shrugs, so I go, "Are you always this big of an asshole, freckles? Huh?" He wets his lips, blushing around his freckles, then mutters, "I was joking with him. Why don't you mind your own business?" I ask, "Does he owe you the money or not?" He shrugs, "No, I was kidding, like I said." I ask, "It was gas money like you told him, right?" He still won't look at me, "Yeah, gas money. Leave me alone." The register lady asks, "Everything okay, Rich?" I give

her a big smile patting Rich's shoulder, "Yes it is, thank you for asking.

Little dispute over five dollars but we worked it out," then I point at the orange in her hand, and say, "It's like highway robbery you people charge a dollar and a half for an orange, don't ya think?" She looks at the orange as we walk away.

Frankie's biting his bottom lip showing his super white teeth with the space between the top front ones, finally saying, "Him and Tucker probably won't call me for a ride anymore now." I ask, "And your point is?" He looks at me, "They were the two friends I told you about." I go, "Holy shit, Frankie, they're not friends. They're asshole's." He goes, "Those guys are cool." I go, "That oaf is cool? Get the fuck outta here, he's a poster boy for birth control, and anybody named Tucker couldn't possibly be cool." He looks back at freckles, "Yeah, he's not good looking, is he?" I say, "No, and this store used to have cute bag boys, but now it's the opposite and I'd like to know why." He says, "Did you see how startled Rich was when I said you were my friend? That's why he couldn't think of anything to say. I never saw him intimidated like that before either." I mumble, "That's me, the intimidator. He's a user, Frankie, taking advantage of you and making a sucker of you too. You don't need so-called friends like that. Forget him." I hear him swallow noisily, mumbling, "I wonder what he'll do the next time I see him?" This kind of thing pisses me off so bad! I say, "Let me tell you something, Francis, if he lays a hand on you, tell him you've got a couple of friends who'll be visiting with him shorty. Call me and I'll introduce you to my brother and then I'll introduce him to freckles while reintroducing myself. I'm dead serious about this too." Man, I can feel my face is red and hot. Fucking kids can be so cruel to other kids. Chubby and me have never given one shit about a so-called fair fight so we have zero qualms about kicking his ass two on one, none at all. If we need to fight we use whatever we get our hands on to come out on top and we're mostly successful. Oh fuck, I gotta calm down, so I change the subject, "Hey, Francis, what do you and your brother put in the meatloaf you guys make?" Naturally we have different recipes, but we compromise on the recipe and then I buy what we need.

Back at the apartment I brown beef bones under the broiler and then put then in a pot with College Inn beef broth. It's low fat and low sodium and boiling that broth with the bones extracts flavor from the bones. In an hour or so we'll degrease the broth and combine a cup and a half of it with a package of dry beef gravy that'll add even more flavor, plus thickening the gravy to the right consistency. It makes a very acceptable beef gravy when there isn't a roast beef involved. I'm going to this trouble mainly to fulfill Frankie's requested mashed potatoes and gravy. He's peeling red bliss potatoes that will go in a pot to be boiled, then used to make the mashed potatoes. It's a process. Done that we put together the meatloaf. First beef hamburger and ground pork are combined in a bowl along with finely diced onions that we sautéed earlier and let come back to room temperature. In a separate bowl we mix together an egg, ketchup, mustard, brown sugar, garlic powder, salt and pepper. When it's all mixed, we pour it on top of the meat and Frankie uses both hands to combine it well with me dropping in small pieces of Italian bread soaked in milk. Frankie squeezes the milky bread into the mixture thickening the meatloaf concoction. He plops the whole mass into a rectangle shaped Pyrex dish and we top with more ketchup. That goes in the oven and we turn on the heat under the potatoes, then make a simple green salad. Frankie wants Thousand Island dressing so I bought a small bottle of Ken's Thousand Island. While we were preparing this stuff we listened to a One Direction CD and I drank a beer without either of us talking much. Now we're out on the balcony wearing our winter coats, Frankie with his Patriot's hat on and me smoking a cigarette while he pretends to smoke one.

Frankie inhales and puffs the smoke right out as I suppress a grin, he says, "You know, when you said Rich would be a good poster boy for birth control?" I nod, and he says, "Well, that's a Rodney Dangerfield line. He's dead now." I go, "Rodney Dangerfield? Yeah, that name's familiar. Real old, kinda fat guy with bulging eyes, right? He goes, "That's him. He couldn't get no respect. That's his act, and he was also in the classic movie from the 70's called 'Caddy Shack'." "Yeah, I saw that on cable, or some of it anyway. Pretty fucking dated if you ask me. 'Animal House' too. Everyone's always saying how great that movie is. It's stupid." Frankie shrugs, "Didn't see that one. Rodney was always putting himself down. He's my mom's favorite comedian. He'd say, 'I could tell my parents hated me 'cause they gave me a toaster and a radio as bath toys' or 'My wife made me join a bridge club. I jump off Tuesday.' or..." and I say, "I don't get the bridge club," and he says, "It's a card game." I'm like, "Oh, his humor's worth a snort I guess." Frankie says, "It's the delivery too, ya know. I can't do it like him. I saw him a couple of times on TV. I watch a lot of TV." Taking a last drag off my cigarette I flick the butt off the potted plant, it bounces up in the air and luckily drops over the railing. Frankie goes, "Cool!" and I mumble, "I was attempting to flick it directly over the railing." He chuckles, "No you weren't," and he flicks his way over the railing and he doesn't smoke. He hacks a lugie over the railing too, saying, "Cigarettes taste like shit." I can't spit like Frankie just did. Some guys can spit a tight ball of phlegm or whatever like fifteen feet. When I spit it comes out splattered in a wide spray, so I keep my spitting to a minimum.

Back inside I open another beer feeling a slight buzz from the first three. Frankie's leaning against the kitchen bar again taking the clippers out of the toiletry kit, asking, "Do you think you could give me a haircut?" I say, "I'd be happy to cut that goldilocks hair of yours." He says, "How would you cut it?" Not feeling up to describing ten hair styles, I say, "Let's go on line and Google 'trendy guy's haircuts' and see what we get." I already know what we'll get because I've Googled that myself keeping up on changing styles. We find that all the trendy styles for young guys have short cut hair on the sides and back. Short to almost shaved sides and back with the hair on top of the model's heads going from short to long depending on the thickness and curliness of the guy's different hair types. Frankie looks at each of the top fifteen trendy haircuts shown for this year. His finger is shaky as he's pointing at some of the models, probably because he's nervous about getting his haircut after two years... two years with his blah look. Then he says it, "I'm kinda nervous about this, Dylan," and I say, "Well, you don't need to decide now, Francis, you've got a computer so you can look at these models and decide later. And then if and when you want to try a new look, I can promise you this much, you won't find a better barber than me. That sounds like I'm bragging because I am, but it also happens to be true." He mumbles, "Ha, I wouldn't think of paying twenty dollars for a haircut and I'm sure you're better than mom, so you'll be the person I'll come to." I pat his shoulder, "Anytime," and we go back to the living room with Frankie running his fingers through his hair. He stops, looks at me, and says, "I'm ready to do it now." I ask which style he chose and he leans against me putting his arms around my waist, the side of his head on my shoulder, mumbling, "You chose what you think will look best on me."

I say, "Sure, um, we've got a half hour before dinner. Well do it now, okay?" He looks up at me, still hugging around my waist, "Kiss me, Dillie, I'm a little nervous." I peel his arms from around me, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen where I pickup my beer bottle, "Here take a mouthful of beer." He's like, "Why?" and I go, "So my breath and mouth won't smell or taste bad. Your mouthful of beer will counteract the beers I've been drinking this afternoon." He looks skeptical but takes a swig and swishes it around like it's mouthwash, which is the alternative method of counteracting my beer breath actually, except I want to keep drinking. Little by little he swallows his mouthful of beer making a face like he's drinking cough medicine. They he goes, "Yuck, how can you drink that?" I mumble, "It's an acquired taste, fer sure," as I check the potatoes turning the heat down to simmer. Then I turn around, put my hands on his shoulders pulling him to me, and slowly bring my lips to his watching his face. He closes his eyes, puckering his pouty lips a little, hot lips actually. I'm grinning at him, waiting for him to open his big brown shiny eyes which he does after a few seconds. He goes, "What?" and I say, "I like looking at you." He grins, "What do you see?" I point at the three red spots on his chin, touching each one, mumbling, "The beginning or end of three teenager pimples," then I run the pad of my finger across his top lip, "Baby mustache that looks sexy," my finger outlines his lips, "Sexy boy lips," and down under his chin, "And the skimpiest goatee I've ever seen, but it's fucking cute." He wets his lips staring at me, "What else?" I trace across his eyebrows, "Perfect narrow brownish eyebrows," and barely touching one of his eyelashes, making him blink, I murmur, "Sexy boy eyelashes," and as my finger travels lightly down his nose, "A cute nose." Then kissing his lips quickly, I say, "That's what I see when I look at your face. You're a very cute kid, Frankie, or don't you think so?" He looks shy, "You're embarrassing me, Dillie," and I go, "No need to be embarrassed." I put my hand around his bicep, saying, "On the other hand, you've got skinny biceps," and I pull my hand down his arm to his wrist, "And skinny wrists, so you probably have skinny legs too, don'cha?" He grins, "Hey, go back to complimenting me. I don't ever hear that, but I hear criticisms all the time."

He'd be a fun boy toy especially with short hair. I give him a four second kiss on the lips and his arms go around my neck as we get into a hot make-out, but only for a minute or so before he pulls his lips away and slides his face next to mine breathing deeply. I glance over his shoulder at his ass, which is very hot looking, and notice he's up on his toes a little like Ryan does sometimes. His body is skinny, but it feels nice hugging him. I like slim, even skinny, much better than the alternative. Frankie murmurs, "I almost did it again. Maybe you're too sexy for me." I grin, mumbling, "Probably," and he laughs a little. I rub his head, saying, "Lets do your haircut now, okay?" He lets go of me taking a deep breath nodding his head. "Take your shirt off, Frankie, so it doesn't get wet when I shampoo your hair." I'm thinking this will be more fun than doing Travis' shampoo because I sense something building in the way of sexy heat for Frankie that never materialized with Travis. Frankie goes, "Shampoo? Why...," and I cut him off telling him I shampoo everyone's hair before a haircut. "It's nothing personal, Frankie. I don't think your hairs dirty, it's just that it cut's better after a fresh shampoo, that's all." Partially a lie because his hair is a little greasy. He confirms that, saying, "I haven't shampooed it in the shower for awhile, Dylan, so it probably needs it." Then he goes, "Holy shit, you're going to shampoo my hair, oh God, hope I don't cum in my pants again." I just shake my head chuckling. Jeez!

He takes off his shirt and I notice a little body odor, but I chalk it up to teenagers not always staying on top of their hygiene. Chubby and me always did because we'd tell each other if we didn't. Actually most of the guys I know are very clean, but I can see how a kid like Frankie, with little or no real friends, might slack off with hygiene figuring what's the difference. Anyway it's not like he stinks because he doesn't. As a matter of fact before he took his shirt off his face and neck smelled sexy. He sits in the chair that's still in front of the sink from Travis' shampoo. I put a folded hand towel under the back of his neck and wet his hair. He gets comfortable and then tells me what almost everyone tells me the first time I do this for them, "I've never had someone shampoo my hair before." I say, "You'll never be able to say that again, Francis." Now he laughs when I call him Francis where he used to laugh at me calling him Frankie. I look at the side of his face as I'm running my fingers through his hair making sure all his long hairs are wet. He has a pretty profile, very nice. I ask, "Um, no offense, but why the fuck don't you have any good friends? And not like that asshole in Stop & Shop. He's not a friend, he's a user." Frankie shrugs his skinny shoulders, "I don't know."

Yeah, well neither do I. It doesn't make any sense. I ask, "Do you believe you're a nerd?" He goes, "Yeah," and I say, "No you're not, Frankie!" He turns his head, frowning, "I don't get to decide that, Dylan. Other kid do, and they say I'm a nerd or a dork or dorky or whatever." That blows, but he's right, and then once he accepts he's a dork it's hard to see himself as anything else. I mumbling, "Well than, you're the cutest sexiest dorky/nerd in North Andover High, but frankly I don't think you're a dork or a nerd." He says, "Good, now there's one person who feels that way." I give up on that and do the shampoo. I though Travis' hair was long but not compared to Frankie's. I take my good ole time shampooing his hair and scalp, and then from necessity take a long time rinsing and drying it. When I'm done with the hair dryer his blond hair is much brighter, shining even. I brush it, then comb it, thinking... 'Nice fucking hair. A girl would love to have it'. It's got much more body now, not limp like before the shampoo. I pat his shoulder, "That's it, dude. We're done here." He stretches, "I almost fell asleep. That was a truly awesome experience. I'll probably fall in love with you pretty soon, Dylan. Just a heads up to you that if I fall at your feet kissing them you'll know why." I go, "Okay then, I'll be prepared for that." He stops on our way to the living room, "Um, Dylan, that stuff I did in the past that got me in trouble." I go, "What about it? It wasn't anything serious, just a little acting out on your part." He says, "Yeah, out of frustration mostly. Maybe I was trying to get attention or something." I nod, not knowing what to make of that, so I give him a grin and a pat on the shoulder.

In the living room, I'm checking the clock, "Huh, guess we don't have time for the haircut now, Frankie. Don't want to over cook the meatloaf so it dries out." he goes, "That's okay. I don't know how much more stimulation my body can take at this point. I thought I'd cum in my pants again with you touching me so awesomely during the shampoo. Maybe I'll fall at you feet now and get it over with." I go, "Lets eat first." Frankie makes the mashed potatoes, getting them creamy using and electric beater and adding butter, salt and pepper, and medium cream. I make the gravy by degreasing the stock and adding the dry beef gravy mix. It's nice and creamy but not too thick. Tasting a teaspoon of the gravy and then holding a teaspoon of gravy to Frankie. He tastes it saying, "Yo, that's good." I like that Frankie didn't wipe the head of my beer bottle before taking that swallow of beer, and he didn't hesitate using the same spoon I used for the gravy tasting. It's insulting when someone thinks I have cooties or something. Of course there are guys I'd balk at sharing a spoon with... heh heh, double standard, ya know

We listen to the '1975' CD as we eat. Frankie sings every word of the song 'Chocolate' using the lead singer's accent perfectly. Dork my ass! I thought he had a musical sounding youthful voice, but I didn't know he could sing that good. Hey, maybe my goal of getting Ryan to have better self esteem might work for Frankie too. I might put an ad on the Internet... 'Have low self esteem? Call 888 blah, blah, blah. Results not guaranteed, but whaddaya want, it's a free service by a well meaning guy who doesn't actually know what the fuck he's doing.' That'll pull in the clients. I could add... 'Free shampoo and haircut if you're cute and young enough'. I probably should add, 'Please, no one under eighteen or over twenty-three need apply'. Frankie asks, "What are you chuckling about?" I shake my head, "My brain took a turn into nonsense for a minute there. No worries, it's under control. Awesome meatloaf, dude!" He goes, "We're a good team, Dylan, can I move in?" We both chuckle complimenting each other on the food. It is very good and the meatloaf will be good for a day or two cold or reheated. Makes good sandwiches too. We eat until we're stuffed. I open another beer and Frankie says, "Can I have a little glass of that beer?" I pour him a juice glass of beer, mumbling, "Start out slow, my boy, it'll sneak up on you." He says, "I've gotten drunk. Threw up too. It was at my cousin's graduation party last spring. I was drinking seven and sevens. That's whiskey and seven-up." I mumble, "Gag me with a spoon. Gross drink."

Out on the deck again with our coats on, we're smoking. Frankie tries inhaling and gets into a coughing fit that strikes me funny, and then we're hugging and laughing, which leads us into a very steamy make-out. I feel his steel spike poking my thigh, and it feels like it's pointing straight out. This kid gets very sexually aroused quite easily. It's a fucking shame he doesn't have some hot kid his age sharing the heat. They don't know what their missing. Part of his heat for me is the fact his body reminds me generally speaking of Ryan's, but only size wise. Ryan's body is much tighter and the weight lifting has added muscle in places Frankie has very little. Also I find Frankie very likable and, like I said, he's a sexy little thing. It's partially the way he gets so excited and aroused too. That adds to the attraction I'm feeling for him. We take a break from making-out, but he keeps his arm around my waist and he's leaning against me. The top of his head's next to my nose and I'm smelling mostly the shampoo scent. Running my fingers in the hairs on the side of his head, neither of us saying anything. We're done with the cigarettes and I'm thinking of opening another beer when Frankie quietly asks, without looking at me, "Have you decided if you'll do me a favor and fuck me yet, Dylan?" I go, "Uh huh, I don't..."

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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