DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR
Chapter 47
By Donny Mumford
Driving to the Five Guys restaurant in Peabody is a hassle normally, but today our drive is made even worse because the North Shore Mall, where we'll be going after lunch is a mile up the road from Five Guys. The eight days of Hanukkah is being celebrated and it's less than three weeks 'till Christmas so buying presents is on a lot of people's minds. This extra traffic creates worse than normal problems on this always busy road. Anyway, I'm glad Chubby's driving and not me because I tend to use the horn a lot when I drive. Blowing the horn is like playing road rage Russian roulette because you never know if you're blowing your horn at someone with a hair up their ass and who just happens to have a handgun handy. Still, the idiotic things people do while driving, especially with their cellphone's, is enough to make a normally sane person do radical things. With Chubby driving I mostly just wish these other drivers, 'good luck and take care'. By 'good luck' I mean, go fuck yourself, and by 'take care' I also mean, go fuck yourself. Just thinking that makes me feel better, almost how I feel after blasting the horn. Chubby doesn't hit the horn so much as he takes cursing to a whole new level wishing drivers to do unnatural sex acts with small farm animals that I doubt very much humans or animals in general are capable of doing. He perseveres though and we make it into Five Guys' parking lot, which is another nightmarish experience because it's an extremely busy restaurant with a very small parking lot... always a combustible combination. Chubby turns off the engine finally, and with a sigh of relief, mutters, "Fuck, I could have done without that hideous drive." I go, "We should have gone to the Rockingham Mall in Salem, New Hampshire. Route 93 isn't nearly as bad as route 114." He goes, "Well fuck it, we made it so lets eat,"
Inside we stand in line to place our order and my cell phone rings. The caller ID indicates 'Ryan Wilcocks'. I'm almost nervous answering, "Hi, Ryan, how are you?" He says, "I'm fine, how are you?" I go, "I'm good. Chub and I are in Five Guys in Peabody. We're gonna do some Christmas shopping after we eat." He says, "I do my Christmas shopping on line, buying stuff for the rents with dad's credit card." I ask, "Um, you missed class yesterday, um, I wonder..." He says, "Yeah, I had an accident. Broke my little finger, but it's no big deal. I just didn't feel like going to class after my hospital experience. I wasn't even going to go to the hospital but Marty insisted." I ask, "Ya going to class tomorrow?" "Yeah, of course. I was just calling about Rob's study group. I overslept, and..." Then someone yells something in the background, probably Marty, and Ryan says real fast, "I'll see you tomorrow. Bye," and clicks off. I look at my phone a second, then smell my coat sleeve. The greasy-frying smell in this place is sinking into our clothing. Chubby see me smelling my sleeve and he mumbles, "Yeah, Five Guys might want to consider an exhaust fan above their deep frying station." I go, "I'll say. Jesus, how would you like to work in here eight hours a day, you'd never get this smell off your skin." Chubby points at my cellphone, that I'm still holding, and asks, "Who was that?" I say, "Ryan, he had to get off the phone though. He says he's going to class tomorrow. Some kind of accident, and he broke his little finger." Chubby looks at me, "How the fuck do you break a little finger?" I shrug, but I'm pretty sure I know how he broke it. It was in Marty's fist at the time of the so-called accident. I'll bet I'm right too.
Trying to clear my mind of that painful thought I'm looking around doing my usual people watching and get stuck staring at a older woman talking to another woman sitting at a table with her. I'm pretty much watching in horror as little bits of chewed food flies from the woman's mouth as she talks while chewing her hamburger. Gross! The talker is an older woman wearing garish makeup. It consist of a freaky shade of deep blue for eye shadow and neon-red lipstick. It looks as if crayons melted on her face, and then on her over-powdered cheek there's a round dark eyebrow pencil beauty mark. The younger woman says something and crayon face smiles too sweetly showing lipstick on her teeth as well as chewed food. I look away because she's not only gross she's a little scary too. It's our turn to order so Chubby gets my attention, and I tell the smiling face behind the red and white tiled counter, "A regular hamburger with ketchup and onions, small fries, and a Coke." He nods, and Chubby says, "The same". Chubby always does that in restaurants. He just gets what I order so he doesn't need to be bothered deciding what to get. We walk away from the counter and look for an empty table to wait for our food to be prepared. It's crowded so tables are scarce. I say, "One of these days, Chub, I'm going to order something crazy like spinach soup at a restaurant just to see if you'll say, "The same for me." He squeezes my hand, mumbling, "No you won't. There's a table." Yeah, a messy table. Whoever sat here last left all their trash behind, so I suggest, "Lets eat in the car, and avoid the debris of used paper plates, used napkins, that pile of peanut shells, and those half full soda cups. One of the cups has a half circle of lipstick on the rim. I almost look over at crayon face again, but stop myself so as not to ruin my appetite. Chubby sits down at the messy table pushing the thrash to the middle of the table, saying, "Merely detritus of jollity left by the chimps who ate here before us. No worries though, Five Guys has a reputation for being a clean place, someone will be over
to clean up shortly. Sit down, bro."
I'm sitting across from Chubby and sure enough two seconds later a smiling Five Guys' female employee comes to our table and begins cleaning the mess, then while wiping the table top with a sponge, she's saying, "I don't know
who's brilliant idea it was to have peanuts in the shell at every table. Messy, huh?" She's leaning over sponging the table with Chubby staring at her prominent tits. He takes a peanut and cracks it open, dropping the shells on the just cleaned table, saying, "The shelled peanuts are why we eat here," and the girl laughs as she swipes up the crumbled shell Chubby just dropped on the table. "Enjoy your lunch, guys." The employees are unfailingly friendly here and the food's cooked to order, taking only about five or six minutes after you order. There's classic rock music playing and peanuts to munch on, which is weird, but it's impossible not to shell a few free peanuts. Amazing how much fresher and just better tasting cooked-to-order burgers are than the precooked and then microwaved stuff offered at most fast food joints. And the burgers here come without the thumb hole in the top bun I see in the hastily microwaved and rewrapped precook burgers at McDonalds. Our number's announced so we pick up our food and sit at our clean table and take a bite. Chubby mumbles, "Burger-porn." I open my bag of fries, asking, "Why do we always order individual fries, Chub? They give us a big bag of fries that we never finish. Next time we'll share an order and save $2.49." He nods his head, swallows, and says, "You're right again, bro! My only complaint about Five Guys is that it's overpriced. The burgers are hot, juicy, and fresh, but overpriced. Pretty fuckin' good though."
Neither of us finishes our fries and we shrug at each other as we're both throwing two half bags of fries in the trash. Then back in the car we mostly sit in traffic for fifteen minutes traveling the one mile from Five Guys to the North Shore Mall. Chubby's like, "Next year we do Christmas shopping in October." Once we're in the mall parking lot our next test is seeing if we can maintain our cool while finding a parking spot. Someone pulls out of a spot and then it's a race between four cars to see who gets there first. Finally we park and start the half mile walk back to the mall muttering and scowling at each other. I mumble, "Fun, huh?" and Chubby yells, "This blows, Dylan!" I'm like, "What the fuck did you expect?" then Chubby grabs my arm, both of us stopping, and he says, "Let's not take our frustration out on each other," and I'm like, "You're right, we'll hug it out." We hug and afterwards Chubby mumbles, "It still blows, but we will overcome together. Fuck! I feel much better, lets go get 'em." Inside the mall there's lots of people, but I'm always surprised there aren't more people considering all the cars in the parking lot.
We shop for our moms first. Each years I get one gift for Chubby's mom and two or three for my mom, and a couple for my brother. Chubby does the same for his mom, my mom, and me. This year I'm buying a gift for Robby too, but I'll buy that when I'm alone. Our Christmases have never featured extravagant gift giving. The moms started the tradition of only buying what they can pay for, never buying on 'time'. Chubby and I follow the mom's lead and pay cash or use a debit card. We like to find gifts for each other we wouldn't normally treat ourselves to. For example, I buy my mom a $65 bottle of Channel #5 eau de toilette spray for her date nights. She loves Channel, but won't pay that much for it herself. Same for the $39 box of dark Godiva chocolates I buy for her. It's her favorite candy but it's stupidly expensive so she wouldn't think of buying it for herself, and therefore it's the perfect Christmas gift. Of course Chubby's copying off my gifts for his mom getting a different Channel bottle and a 'mixed' box of Godiva milk and dark chocolates instead of all dark chocolates. I look at him, like 'Really?' and he burst out with a laugh, and then asks, "What?" Next we go to Ann Taylor's because mom likes Ann Taylor clothes but rarely buys herself anything there, looking instead for quality items marked-down at Marshall's. I pick out a dressy blouse she can wear on dates along with her Channel perfume. The blouse is marked down from $119 to $66, so a nice bargain. Chubby gets his mom a scarf and a nice looking piece of Ann Taylor costume jewelry. Then at various shops we get some stocking stuffers for our moms and each other. Chubby and I mostly buy these inexpensive gifts, some gag gifts actually, separately so we don't know what each others getting. By now we've been in the mall almost two hours, most of that time spent waiting in line to pay for stuff. At Ann Taylor's we waited in a line for fifteen minutes and then that register malfunctioned and we had to get in the back of the other line. There was definitely some inventive cursing and mumbling under a number of people's breaths.
All Chubby and I buy gifts for at Christmas are the moms and each other and of course i buy for Robby. So we're mostly done with the moms gift buying except for little items we might pickup the next two weeks or so. Now we need to get gifts for each other. We're standing near the Mall's Santa Clause, who's "Ho Ho Ho," is sounding suspiciously like, "No No No," and who can blame him? Little kids that their moms drag with them to the mall, because they're too cheap to pay for baby sitters, so now many of the kids are throwing temper tantrums. We roll our eyes at each other hearing many a sharp word exchanged between our fellow shoppers, and we also hear the occasional, "Happy Holidays," or, "Season's Greeting," so not everyone is a grinch. Then my grinch brother says, "Like I always tell people: whether you're offended by me saying, 'Merry Christmas' or 'Season's Greetings, be assured I don't really mean either one of them." I go, "That's the holiday spirit, Chub! I know what I'm buying you for Christmas, it's something you really need." He goes, "Oh no, I love this wallet. I've had it for six years!" I go, "How the hell did you know I was thinking about a wallet? Anyway, your wallet's falling apart. I was going to get you one at Brooks Brothers. Real leather." He says, "That's sweet, but think of something else 'cause I love this
fuckin' wallet." A woman says, "Watch your mouth," and Chubby mumbles, 'What the fuck's her problem?" There's a little fuss over in the Santa Clause line so we look over there. A little girl apparently doesn't want to get on Santa's lap, but the mother plops her on there anyway so she can get a picture. Santa asks, "What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?" and she says, clear as day, "What, didn't ya get my email?" Chubby goes, "Oh brother! Lets get away from here."
We're browsing in a novelty shop now, and I'm like, "Hey, Chub, this sounds just like the letters you used to send to Santa." It's a card that says, 'Dear Santa, I've been good all year. Um, I mean, most of the year. No, I've been good occasionally is more like it. No, that's not right either! Oh fuck it, I'll buy my own shit!' Chubby laughs, then says, "Very festive Christmas card." I go, "And you get twenty per box for only $19.95." He goes, "Less than a dollar a card. Oh wait, I don't send Christmas cards. I email mine." We get an overpriced slushy drink and then find a bench to sit on while we drink our frozen concoctions. A minute later someone comes up behind Chubby and puts their hands over his eyes. I turn around and see two girls giggling. Chubby goes, "I recognize your giggle, Rocky," he turns around, saying, "And who else would you be with except Denise. Hi girls." As he stands, one of the girls asks, "And who's this you're with, Jeff?" pointing at me. We get introduced and Rocky turns out to be Roxanne, the first Roxanne I've ever met. She says to Chubby, "Your little brother is taller and cuter than you, Jeffy," and the other girl says, "Oh, Jeff's plenty cute enough," as she flicks her fingers through Chubby's hair. Chubby explains to me the girls are in one of his classes. Denise asks, "Where's your wingman, John Beverly, Jeff." He shrugs, "I'm not sure. We're here, I know that much, and obviously," as he points at our shopping bags, "We've been Christmas shopping. How 'bout you?" Rocky goes, "Yeah, same for us, but we just got here. The fucking parking lot is the pits though!" Then she fiddles with the collar of my sweatshirt, asking me, "Are you a junior or senior at North Andover High, Dylan. Or do you go to Andover High?" Chubby says, "He's a sophomore, but he's shy around girls, so no touching, okay? I kinda feel protective of him." He pinches my cheek, saying, "He is awfully cute though, you're right about that, Rocky." She says, "Pretty hair too and look at those eyes." The only thing I've said is, 'Nice meeting you,' when we were introduced, but nothing since then. Let Chubby have his fun, and anyway I like that I look younger than my advanced years.
Denise takes Chubby's slushy and sips on the straw for thirty seconds, then yells, "Popsicle headache!" Jesus, girls! They giggle their way through a couple of minutes of bantering and flirting, then the girls pull Chubby's arms, "You gotta come with us, Jeff! Help us choose clothes for our brothers." Chubby asks me, "Ya wanna come, bro?" I give him a 'look' like, 'Are you out of your fucking mind?', and he laughs, then says, "Okay, you stay right here on this bench and watch our stuff. And don't get lost in the mall like last time or I'll need to go on the public address system again to find you. Stay right here and finish the drink I bought for you." I rub my nose and meekly says, "Yes, Jeffy," then snicker as Chubby laughs out loud and the girls exchange 'looks' of their own. As Chubby and the girls walk away, one of the girls, in a stage whisper, asks Chubby, "Is your brother, um, a little slow?" Chubby mumbles some bullshit to them and the girls go, "Aaah, that's a shame." I'm chuckling to myself. Then I hear, "Is this seat taken?" I look up and see a for real, live dork. I like most dorks and nerds. I think they're cool because they don't really give much of a shit what the world thinks of them. They're themselves in other words, while most people
work at hiding the dork in all of us. I say, "Sure, you can sit here," and as he's taking his backpack off, he says, "I didn't know if you were saving the seat for someone." Why would anyone wear a backpack shopping at the mall? He arranges his backpack just so on the floor and while taking off his winter coat he stumbles over his back pack. I pretend not to notice him getting flustered. Glancing at the coat he's taking off it looks like one you might wear to the North Pole. It's too big for him and has one of those hoods with fake fur around the edge. He drapes the coat over the back of the bench, stumbles over his backpack again, and then sits down blushing. After a few seconds he pulls his backpack further between his feet, almost under the bench, then takes out an Apple laptop and goes on line, telling me, "They have good wi-fi in here." I go, "Uh huh, I guess." Ha ha, what a dork.
Looking at him out the corners of my eyes I see he has the dork eyeglasses of course, and while there's no pocket protector he does have three ballpoint pens in his two-sizes-too-big flannel shirt that's buttoned to the very top. Probably three different colored ballpoint pens for highlighting and taking notes. I want to get him in a little conversation, so I ask, "Do you go to Merrimack, by any chance?" His expression makes me think the question's too hard for him, then holding out his hand stiffly, he says, "Yes, I'm Morgan Matose, I'm a freshman." I take his hand, saying, "Hi, Morgan, I'm Dylan Newman, nice to meet ya." He squeezes my hand once with his sweaty palm and then lets go, saying, "Yes, nice meeting you too," and goes back to typing his laptop. Huh! I'm looking at him openly now and see he's got a calculator hooked on his belt, the belt that he wears too high. It's up around his belly button. It's pretty much guaranteed he has a number of smart devices on his person or in his backpack, but how would I evaluate his cuteness quotient? Hmmm, I guess he'd register on my cute-o-meter scale favorable. Yeah, except for that nemesis that so often messes up cuteness in guys, his nose. It's too pointy and fuck's up what otherwise would be a cute boyish appearance. He has very clear, clean-looking skin though. He also has a boy's regular haircut with a very straight part in his thick head of hair, but there's way too much hair tonic in it smelling like Vitalis. The dark hair on the top of his head is combed severely to the side and would probably stay in place in a hurricane. I'm guessing he probably thinks he needs a haircut too, although most guys' hair looks the length of Morgan's right after a haircut. He's skinny with dark soft peach fuzz on his upper lip. Really hot red lips on this kid too, and a cute chin. His shiny brown eyes look big behind his eyeglasses. I'm not sure, but in a pinch I just might be able to overlook his pointy nose.
Dorks, generally speaking, have quirky personalities and are often ironically funny and willing to be self deprecating. It's also not uncommon for dorks to have ginormous IQs and simply hope to be accepted as the eerily smart kids they are. Fine with me. The term 'dork' applies to other things too, like it can mean penis, and there's a dork boner too. That's a boner you get in class and then you're called upon to stand up. You flip the boner up and secure it under the waistline of your pants before standing. That's called a dork boner. Those in the 'know' about such things are still aware you have a boner, but at least you fool those who aren't in the know. Another thing dorks are known to do while bathing in a bathtub is fart and then either bite at, or merely pop the resulting bubbles. That's a basic dork move, fer sure. To make conversation, I ask, "You into Dungeons and Dragons, Morgan?" Without looking up from his laptop, he goes, "Only two or three hours a night." Yep, dorks spend many hours of each day on computer devices, laptops, iPads, or whatever. Most of them can name all the elements in the periodic table too, although I don't see the value of it myself.
Morgan has a skinny neck that I'd like to squeeze the back of and maybe feel how much Vitalis is in his dark brown hair. It's not a bad smell, the Vitalis hair tonic, it's just that it's like from the sixties or something. Guys use mousse mostly nowadays. I've never given anyone a boy's regular haircut like Morgan has, but I've seen pictures of it and he's definitely got what's called a boy's regular. It's mostly a haircut style for boys nine years old and younger, but you see it on dork adults too. Morgan must go to a very old barber though because that's a classic look for younger boys who don't know any better. Huh, but I'd really like to replicate that haircut on him sometime. That'd be fun! I say, "FYI, Morgan, I go to Merrimack too and I'm also a talented barber. I'd be glad to give you a free haircut anytime." Still without looking up, he says, "Thanks, but I've always gone to my grandfather's barbershop and I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings. I'm past due for a haircut now, but I've a heavy workload at Merrimack to consider too." I knew he'd think he needs a haircut... ha ha, so predictable. Then he looks at me and points at his head, saying, "No matter what I tell pop pop, he always gives me this same haircut, mostly with the clippers. It goes with my dorky self wouldn't you say?" Pop pop? In a serious manner, I say, "I'm a big admirer of dorks, Morgan," and he laughs out loud with his mouth wide open, a braying laugh like a, well, like a dork laughs, so I chuckle along with him, then tell him, "No, really, I'm a bit of a dork myself." He looks me right in the eyes and grins the cutest fucking grin with awesomely white teeth, then says, "I'm afraid you're much too good looking and way too cooly dressed to be a dork, Dylan. I really like your earrings. An earring in both earlobes is so cool." Then, what the fuck, I squeeze the back of his neck, shaking him a little, saying, "I am so a dork!" He hunches his shoulders pushing his head back against my hand, moving his head back and forth against my hand, muttering, "Okay, you win, you win, you're a dork." I smell the back of my hand and yep, that's Vitalis hair tonic alright. Chubby bought a bottle of Vitalis once when we were eleven or twelve and we liked it, but it wasn't too cool using it so we stopped. Smelled good though. If dorks like something it doesn't matter to them if it's cool or not, they use it, end of story.
He's typing away and now I'm weirdly hooked on looking at him. Wow, I can't get over those sexy lips of his! Finally I ask, "What are you typing?" Not looking up, he says, "My blog," and I go, "Oh, you have your own blog, huh?" He stops typing and snickers; then, staring hard at his keyboard, he says, "Um, yeah, Dylan. I just told you that." I go, "Let me read it," and he freezes for a minute. Doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even breathe, then abruptly holds his laptop over so I can see the screen as he scrolls back to the beginning of the typing he did sitting here. I mumble, "Thank's, dude," and read, 'Hello, I'm Morgan. This blog at one time had a vague sort-of-point, but it has now become me just posting stuff I like. Thankfully there are awesome people like me who apparently like the stuff I like and follow my blog despite it's pointlessness. Good on ya', follower people. WARNING: this blog contains feminism and Homestuck!' Oh fuck, Homestuck is a dorky web comic published on MS Paint Adventures, and how I know that I can't imagine. Anyway, I nod my head, trying not to laugh, "Uh huh, good blog, Morgan. Um, what are you doing here at the mall? Shopping?" He says, "Oh, why am I here, but not shopping?" I nod my head, but he's not looking at me again, so I mutter, "Yeah, what's the story?" He does an elaborate shrug, "Um, I had to get out of the house to get away from my asshole brother, okay?" I'm like, "Oh, that's too bad..." and before I can say more Chubby does that thing of putting his hands over my eyes from behind like Rocky did to him ten
minutes ago. I say, "Please dear god make it be Chubby and not Roxanne." He comes around in front, "Dylan, what if the girls were still with me? You'd hurt their feelings." I do a Morgan-esque exaggerated shrug, saying, "Duh, I'm slow witted, they wouldn't mind." He laughs, "Yeah, that's right, I forgot." Morgan drops his head closer to the laptop, emphatically not looking at us, but I pat his shoulder and introduce him to Chubby and Chubby to Morgan. He takes a deep breath, hiccups, then mumbles, "You don't seem slow witted to me, Dylan," I go, "Thanks, buddy," and squeeze the back of his neck again. He does the same hunching of his shoulders, his head moving against my hand again, but grinning his cute grin, saying, "That gives me chills." I'm starting to think Morgan gives me chills too. He seems so vulnerable I'd like to give him a big hug and a kiss on his cheek.
Chubby asks, "Have we done enough shopping for one day yet, bro?" I get up, "Yeah, I guess so." I squeeze Morgan's shoulder, "Hope I see you around campus, Morgan." He nods and blushes, but doesn't say anything. Chubby and I walk away carrying our shopping bags with Chubby telling me about the advise he gave the girls for their brother's Christmas sweaters. He picked out what he now feels were hideous sweater claiming to the girls the sweaters were way cool and they bought them. I go, "Why'd you do that?" and he's like, "You know I can't pick out clothes. I pointed to the first two sweaters I saw. They were very bright. I buy my stuff copying whatever you buy, bro, but sometimes in different colors." Then he stops, "Wait, we're going in the wrong direction. We came in the other end of the mall." I look around, "Yeah? Ya sure?" He goes, "Yes, we came in through Macy's and that anchors the other end of the mall. Look up ahead, it's Sears." I go, "Oh balls!" and we turn around and retrace our steps dodging the shoppers who insist on walking three and four abreast. Asshole's! After four or five minutes we're approaching the bench we sat on and I see a chunky kid with dark red hair putting on Morgan's oversized Antarctic winter coat with the hood and fake fur. Another kid, short but well built, is holding Morgan's laptop out of his reach. I go, "Chub, look at that! Morgan is a damn nice dork. Let's help him out." Chubby mutters, "Yeah, lets. I hate bullies," and he walks up behind the kid holding the laptop up and rips it from the kid's hand, pushing the kid against the bench, then passes the laptop to Morgan, saying to the bully, "Grow the fuck up! This isn't a middle school playground." I grab Morgan's too-big coat and pull it off the other kid, saying, "If you two asshole's would be so kind as to follow us out of the mall we can't discuss this further in the parking lot." Then there's some typical shoving and cursing until a Mall rent-a-cop comes over, which affords the asshole's a graceful exit. They don't appear to be the fighting type. Finger pointing of course, and threats that this isn't over from them, then like little boys do, then flash us the bird as they scurry away.
I look over at Morgan, who just stood there during the little fracas. He sees me looking at him, then whines, "I never saw those guys before in my life. They just came over and asked could they try on my coat." It is a preposterous coat. He adds, "I said, no, but they grabbed it anyway." I ask, "You about ready to leave, Morgan? Come on, walk out with us." He gives me that cute fucking grin again, "My two handsome bodyguards, huh?" I hold his coat for him and he turns around and, holy shit, what a cute bubble-butt ass! Then it gets covered when he slips his arms into his coat. I let go of it and Morgan gathers up his stuff, puts on his backpack, and stops. "Oh, I gotta wait for my mother who's shopping. I don't have a ride back home." I ask, "You commute to Merrimack, do ya?" He goes, "Yeah, from Methuen. I drive mother's Volkswagen." Chubby says, "Text your mom, we'll give you a ride home. It's on our way." That's what he does and then the three of us go outside and wander around the huge parking lot looking for our car. It takes fifteen minutes or so to locate it with Morgan's trying to be helpful. We describe the Jeep to him and he's the one who spots it in a place I'd told Chubby I'm positive we didn't park. Chubby's unlocking the doors smirking at me, so I go, "You didn't remember where we parked either." We get inside and Chubby tells me, "That's sort of true, bro, but I also wasn't absolutely positive, like you, that it wasn't over here. Just saying..." I've got nothing to say to that so we drive Morgan to a nice house in Methuen, which is about eight miles from Merrimack's campus. During the ride he sits in the back of the Jeep with our shopping bags, doing something with his cellphone. At his house he gets out, saying, "Thank you very much. I'll look for you on campus, Dylan," then he hands me a slip of paper with his cellphone number on it, and says, "In case you need to get in touch with me." I'm startled for a second, then Morgan gasps, "Can I have your number?" and he blushes brightly taking a deep breath, then holding his arm out while bending over he takes another deep breath, then hiccups. I suck on my lips to keep from laughing, and then tell him my cellphone number. He writes it down in green ink using one of his three ballpoint pens, mumbling, "You know, your cellphone number I might need to, um, it's for, um, ah, if I ever need an emergency haircut, ya know?" I say, "Sure," and he trots up his driveway typing my
cellphone number into his phone.
Chubby says, "Looks like you've converted yourself another disciple, bro." I say, "He's a good guy. I like Morgan except we pretty much have nothing in common." Chubby stops at a red light, looks a me, and says, "It's weird, but I have kind of a special spot in my heart for dorks, if they're good dorks." I go, "I was telling Morgan the same thing, Chub." He says, "Of course it is a little curious he wants your phone number," and I shrug muttering, "Emergency haircut. You heard him," and he's like, "Yeah, I heard what he said, but I never heard of an emergency haircut." I let that go, but I've heard of 'em. A guy remembers he's gotta be someplace he want to make a good impression and he need a haircut, but all the barbershops are closed. Happens all the time. More importantly though I'm wondering if young Morgan might need help with something other than an emergency haircut. Perhaps something along the lines of what young Francis was looking for. Hope so, that'd be sweet! Yeah, but that's a long shot." After dropping Morgan off, Chubby drives us the rest of the way to the apartment. Like Chubby told Morgan, Methuen is on our way home from the North Shore Mall. It's the town before North Andover on route 114. Everything's on, or right off, route 114 it seems. Back at the apartment we find Robby just finishing a bowl of chicken broth and a twelve ounce glass of ginger ale without the fizz. He tells us he still feels all beat up and sore inside. Vomiting and diarrhea are violent bodily functions and doing one or the other for three hours yesterday, like
Robby experienced, can take it's toll on a person. I ask, "Are you going to be able to go to classes tomorrow, Robby?" He says, "I honestly don't know, but not if I still feel like this." "Can I do anything to help you?" and Robby says, "Thanks, but I'm just gonna go back to bed. Didn't sleep much last night." Chubby and I watch him walk back to the bedroom, then look at each other and Chubby says, "Hope I never get food poisoning." I mutter, "No shit."
We drink a couple of beers, then order a pizza delivered for our dinner. We make a salad to go with the pizza always conscious of a well rounded, healthy meals. After dinner I work on some of the stuff Robby was going to cover in our study group. Funny how now I don't feel right unless I at least review my notes from the previous class. Robby's been good like that, getting me in the habit of studying. Good habits are usually just as hard to break as bad ones. While having a smoke on the balcony, just before getting ready for bed, Morgan texts me. 'Thank you for thwarting those asshole's at the mall. Sincerely, Morgan.' Huh! I text back, 'No problem. My bro and I were glad we happened by. Dylan'. No further texts.
After taking a shower and putting on pajama bottoms I get in bed with Robby and gently kiss his lips, but he's sleeping soundly. Well, it's been another day without sex. It was nice spending it with Chubby though. Wait a second, Robby and I did it in a bathtub full of water this morning. Whew! It's important to remember that muscles will atrophy without use and I can't be sure sexual organs, specifically one's penis, wouldn't do the same. Why take a chance, ya know? I hug Robby enjoying his scent and the next thing I know I'm hugging a pillow. The showers running so Robby's up and probably getting ready for class. Good! It's makes me feel funny-weird when Robby sick. Since I took a shower last night I'm pretty much good to go, except for needing to use the bathroom for other matters. I venture into the steam filled bathroom, take a long piss watching the bubbles form on top of the water, then laugh remembering the dork trick of biting at or popping fart bubbles in the tub. And that makes me think of Morgan at the mall. I'll look for him around campus, fer sure. For all I know I've passed him on campus any number of times without realizing it. I like that pointy-nosed short dorky kid with those sexy lips of his, whoa! He looked so clean too. Damn, I'm always amazed at the unlikely guys who turns me on. Morgan should be one of the last guys on campus I'd think was sexy hot, but I think he is somehow. Yeah, but why am I surprised? I mean, I had the hot's for that long drink of water, Theodore Tesdavery the third, AKA, Stringbean. That's cooled considerably lately of course, and then last summer, for a while there was Ray, who I thought I had the hot's for, so nothing should surprise me.
Dressed now, making a mug of coffee in the kitchen, I'm thinking about Morgan's text last night. In the social part of his dork brain, a part that's not anywhere near as effective as the brainiac part, he may have been attempting to see if we can be friends. The trouble with befriending Morgan is I'd be misleading him into assuming I have some of the same interest he has, and Dungeons and Dragons doesn't do it for me anymore. Plus the chances of him being gay are one in ten, or one in eight maybe, something like that. Still, I'd like to give him a boy's regular haircut because I've never done that before, and if he were gay, I'd love fucking his hot ass. Oh man, that would be a blast. And, oh my God, what if he's gay, but only 'tops'. Okay, not I sprouting some wood! Would it ever be super sexually hot to be dominated by a skinny little freshman dork! Jesus! I need to get a grip here, that's what I need to do. Taking my coffee to the balcony, then coming right back in for my coat because it's turned winter-cold again. Wearing my coat and a wool cap I try going out again. Lighting up a cigarette I see Chubby walking into the kitchen wearing only his jockey underwear. Damn, he has a hot body! Chubby waves at me giving me his smile just as Robby appears. They say something with Chubby pointing to me so Robby turns around waving and then gets a coffee and comes over to slide the door open, saying, "Good morning, babe. I'm not ignoring you, just don't feel up to a cigarette." I ask, "Ya feeling better?" He nods, "Better, but not good. Don't want to miss class though. We only got two today." I say, "You look a lot better, Rob. I love you." He grins, "Me too, but I gotta close this door. It's freezing out there."
I drive Robby's pickup to the campus telling him about Ryan's cellphone call yesterday. As I'm parking, Robby says, "Gee, it's good he called about the study group. I'm glad he's that conscientious." Well, actually Ryan called to explain why he missed it, if we had it that is, because he overslept. I wouldn't call that conscientious, but keep that thought to myself. I'm again feeling nervous about seeing Ryan, which has become a regular emotion lately because first of all, I'm not sure he'll even show up, and secondly what condition will he be in if he does show up. Plus I've got the hot's for him and I don't like that he seems to have the hot's for Marty. I guess that's the bottom line. Robby's just concerned that Ryan's alright where as I'm concerned about that plus I want him to fuck me so badly it's embarrassing. All I can try to do is not embarrass myself in front of him. That, plus the little matter of bringing him to his senses about Marty. As soon as we get out of the pickup I see Ryan. His back is to me but I'd know him anywhere. From a hundred yards away it looks like Marty is giving Ryan his marching orders for the day. Then Marty cups Ryan's chin jerking Ryan's head up,
and then leaning down getting his face close to Ryan's telling him something. That other asshole, Rex, is looking on, probably smugly, although it's too far to see his expression. Maybe it's his body language. Marty jerks Ryan's chin again before letting go of it, and then he pats Ryan's cheek like you do to a good little boy. Ryan's nodding his head real fast like he used to do with Robby and then me. Now I do it to him. Fuck! I hate that Marty.
I mutter, "There's Ryan," and Robby asks, "Where?" so I point to him, but now he's walking away from Marty in the direction of our first period lecture hall. He's got his backpack on and when he turns to walk away from Marty I see the bandage on two fingers of his left hand. Ryan's not looking in our direction, and when he reaches the steps he just stands alone sort of slumped. When we're near the steps I nervously light a cigarette telling myself, 'Be fucking cool, don't fly off the handle'. Robby calls, "Hey, Ryan, you made it." Ryan turns around trying to smile, but he grimaces instead. Maybe because he's got a big fat lip. Another accident no doubt. Robby walks right up to him and they do a one arm hug, with Robby asking, "How's ya get the fat lip." Ryan mumbles, "Ran into an open closet door," and then he and I do a two-arm hug, with me saying, "I've been missing you." He nods his head but doesn't look at me. I cup his chin like Marty did and lift Ryan's head seeing tears in his eyes. We look into each other's eyes now and he mutters, "I'm sorry, Dylan." I look away so I don't tear-up as Robby says, "Come on, guys," and we go up the steps with Robby putting his arm across one of his teammate's shoulder and they laugh about something. I go, "Um, Ryan, did you run into the same closet door you ran into when you got your black
eye?" He mumbles, "The exact same one." I go, "Huh, how'd you break your finger?" He shrugs, "I, um, don't want to talk about it. It was stupid." I give his shoulders a hug, saying, "Okay," and he leans into me hugging around my waist with the arm, the one with a hand that has two fingers in a cast at the end of it.
It's hard to concentrate in class, but Robby looks at me, mouthing, "Please, some notes." Taking notes during class helps the minutes tick by quicker so I do that. After class it's too early for lunch, and we still have an afternoon class, so the three of us head for the quad to get out of the cold. Coffees and sweet rolls for Robby and me, but Ryan passes on the sweet roll. Maybe his mouth hurts. Robby says, "So, how'd ya break your pinkie, Ryan?" He holds it up and looks at it a second, then puts it under the table, saying, "Just messin' around and accidentally hitting the table with just the tip of my little finger. It was sticking out sideways. I almost threw up." That's quite a story, but at least he told Robby something. With me he didn't want to talk about it. Robby bites into his cinnamon bun and chews looking at Ryan, then when he swallows, he says, "That sounds kinda hard to believe, Ryan. And you walked into another closet door too, this time giving yourself a fat lip, huh? It's a bit strange that you played baseball for four years in high school, so I was wondering how come ya got clumsy and uncoordinated all of a sudden." Ryan stands up knocking over his paper cut of coffee, mumbling, "I need to get something from my dorm." I look at Robby, he nods his head at the departing Ryan, so I get up and catch up with Ryan getting my arm across his shoulders, saying, "We want to help, Ryan. We're not putting you down," and I lower my voice, "I love you, Ryan, and it's painful for me, very painful, to see you treated like this." He stops and swallows with some difficulty, as I say, "Come on back to the table, I'll get you a new coffee." He nods, mumbling, "Thanks." I get the coffee watching Robby and Ryan talking. When I get back to them and sit down, Robby says, "Ryan says he's in too deep with Marty and he would like it if we could think of a way to extricate him from his situation." I'm like, "Oh," and Robby asks me, "You know a guy who needs a roommate, right?" I nod, "Yep, a good guy," although I'm mostly guessing about that since I've only talked to him half a dozen times.
Okay, that's step number one: Ryan admitting he needs help. Now for the hard step number two: what to do about it? I say, "Um, we'll brainstorm it together, okay?" Don't want to scare Ryan off by pushing the 'I told you so' bullshit button. Especially now that he's come around to thinking clearly about this. Robby says, "Well, have you mentioned to Marty that you don't want to continue doing whatever the fuck it is you're doing with him?" Ryan takes a deep breath, "No, because he scares the shit out of me." I say, "Ryan, you're a tough little dude," wishing I'd left the 'little' part out, adding, "Is Marty some prize fighter or something?" He says, "He's wicked strong and so is Rex and together the three of us wouldn't have a chance against them." Robby goes, "I wouldn't be too sure about that," as he glances at me and I remember the way Robby has this other level he goes to in a fight... a scary level." I say, "We're never especially concerned about a fair fight, Ryan, not nearly as much as we're concerned about winning. My brother makes four, by the way, and he's the master at using whatever's at hand to accomplish the mission." Ryan says, "And then what happens, we get thrown out of college or what?" Robby says, "That's a good point, so we need to think about it. We'll come up with something because I wanna see both my twin boyfriends smiling again." Ryan's looking down nodding his head, then he mumbles, "That'd be nice alright," and steals a glance at me. I grin at him encouragingly. Like me, Robby senses it wouldn't be smart to overdo the topic of saving private Ryan right now, so Robby changes the subject by discussing our weight lifting day. Our next scheduled day this week is Thursday and today happens to be Thursday. Ryan get into that topic a little telling Robby and me he's been thinking about this and feels we should all increase our lifting weights. Me too even though he added ten pounds to mine just a week ago.
We kill time in the quad and then have lunch at McDonalds where I see firsthand how much better Five Guys' burgers are. During lunch Danny Monday comes in with two other guys and when he has his lunch on a tray he sets it down with the guys he came in with, then comes over to put his hands on Robby's shoulder saying a general hello to us. Robby asks, "Wassup, Danny?" and Danny tells him the team's organizing a flag football game. He says, "We need you to quarterback for infielders, Rob. And we got the coach's okay to turn on the outdoor light on the football field. It'll be cool." He looks at Ryan and me, "Sorry guys, this is an inter-team function only." Then he must have remembered Ryan's the locker room manager/flunky, so he adds, "No coaches or managers either, Ryan, sorry. You guys are welcome to watch though." Oh goody! Naturally any team-related activity has Robby all for it. It'll be dark by four-thirty so they'll need the lights for their five o'clock start. Danny goes over to his table and now Robby's kinda psyched about playing. I'd be psyched too except the game's only for baseball team members. Ryan says, "That sucks, Rob. I'm part of the team," and I'm wondering if Marty would even let Ryan play. It'd be rubbing it in if I mentioned that, so I don't.
On the way to last class I say to Ryan, "I don't suppose you can hang out with me after lifting." He says, "Sure I can, assuming I want another accident to my body." I'm not going there so I don't reply. Inside the building Ryan stops me, "You know very well I'd love to hang out with you, Dylan, and fuck it, maybe I can. Sorry I was flip with you earlier. I'll text Marty, he's been feeling guilty about my accidents, so maybe he'll...." He texts and ten seconds later his cellphone rings. I hear, "Hi, Marty," pause, "I'm good," pause, "Um, sure, of course I will". Another pause, then I hear Ryan say, "Um, is it okay if I hang out with my friend after classes and, um, after the lifting you already," and he turns his back to me, but I can still hear him say, "Gave me permission to do." I could throw up... 'gave me permission to do'. Balls! Ryan's nodding his head fast as if Marty can see him, then he says, "Thanks, yes, I will. Promise." He turns around trying to grin, "Of course I can hang out with you. What'll we do for dinner?" I can't help but hug him, "That's great Ryan," and I give him a quick kiss on the lips, then glance around. Two girls see me glance in their direction and they both do air kisses. Fuck them. The class drags, but it's eventually over.
Walking out of the building Ryan tells us he want to drive his Mini over to the apartment. Robby says, "Why don't you ride with Ryan, babe," and he gives me a look that seems to say, 'To be sure he makes it to our apartment', or something to that effect. As we walk to his car, I ask Ryan, "Is your fat lip really sore?" He says, "Not too bad. I got it last night for what Marty calls ' too much backtalk'. He feels real bad after he slaps the shit out of me, but that doesn't take back the beating or make it hurt any less. My lip really hurt this morning when I was sucking him off in bed, but it's much better now." What the fuck can I say to that? I chose not to say anything, then Ryan stops and says, "I brushed my teeth and gargled really good when I got out of bed." I look at him curiously, so he adds, "When you kissed me earlier, I didn't want you to think..." I ruffle his hair and he grins doing the same to me, and I go, "Heh, it's been a couple of weeks since you gave me a haircut. Almost three." He says, "Actually it's been three weeks and three days. Do you really want me to give you a haircut?" We start walking and I go, "Yeah, of course, assuming your little finger won't prevent it." He says, "Nah, I don't use the little finger on my left hand while cutting your hair." I'm like, "That's right, you don't. Yeah, I like it when you cut my hair. It's sexy." He goes, "You didn't used to like it and I'm worried I might have gotten lucky last time when it turned out good. Maybe we won't be so lucky this time. I don't wanna mess it up, Dylan." I say, "You won't mess it up, and I'll give you a haircut too. It'll be like the old
days." He shakes his head, "No, Marty's taking me with him and Rex to Supercuts on Saturday." I go, "Supercuts?" and he looks at me, "Yeah, for a trim he said. He wants my hair long because he says he likes to run his fingers through it." I'm boiling inside both from Ryan's obsequiousness to Marty and his matter of fact way of saying, "no' to me.
Inside the Mini, Ryan turns the engine on and revs it, mumbling, "This baby heats up fast." I'm still pissed off, so I say nothing. Then he looks over, asking, "You mad at me?" and I go, "Yeah, a little I guess." He nods his head, "Do you still want me to give you a haircut?" I should say 'no' to him and let Sonny go crazy on my hair again, but that'd be cutting off my nose to spite my face, so I mutter, "Sure." Dammit, I'm trying to cut down on this childish pouting, but I'm roaringly jealous that Ryan doesn't care for me like he used to. How could he when he bows down to the guy who's beating the shit out of him. He said, 'When I was sucking him off in bed this morning' like it's so routine it's hardly worth mentioning. He puts the car in gear and drives agonizingly slowly off campus, saying, "I don't blame you for being mad at me, Dylan, I'm mad at myself. That's why I told Robby I need help." I ask, "Why couldn't you ask me?" He says, "Because I'm humiliated that I got myself into this mess and when you look at me with disapproval it's like a knife in my guts. I love you, Dylan. Hell, I just about idolize you and when you're disappointed in me it hurts." Well it helps to hear that!
After twice as long as it normally takes to get from Merrimack to out apartment building, Ryan finds a fairly good parking spot. We passed where the pickup's parked in the second row, of course. He turns off the engine and looks over at me moving the pink tip of his tongue over his fat lip leaving it shining with saliva. I stare at him as he unfastens his seatbelt, leans over to put his arms around my neck, and presses his wet fat lip against my lips, then his tongue slides on my tongue and our noses bump together as my eyes close and I inhale his scent. It's become so special to me. My hands go in his hair at the back of his head as we slurp on each other's mouth and my cock gets rock hard. Maybe I'll need to turn it into a dork boner for the walk to the apartment. It's a one minute kiss that gets all my juices flowing. Then Ryan holds my face between his hands, the covering on his broken finger feeling rough on my cheek, as he quietly says, "I'm going to fuck you so lovingly tonight, Dylan, you won't be as mad at me or as disappointed with me as you probably are now." My cock is so hard it aches. I gasp for breath and lean in for another kiss. After that kiss, he runs his fingers through my hair, saying, "And I'm going to give you the best haircut I've ever done. Okay?" I nod as a strange submissive sensation come over me. I say strange because he's not being dominant, is he? I feel kinda loose too, like I have no bones in my body except 'that' one.
Ryan continues holding my face between his hands, again rubbing his nose back and forth against my nose as he smiles, then he says, "Nobody ever makes me feel as good as you, Dylan. I love how you so openly, um, like me." I guess he felt it'd be presumptuous to say he likes how I've got uncontrollable sexual heat for him and how I'm loving him and falling all over him, so he says, 'like him' instead. I manage to say, "Yep, I like you too," meaning in additions to all those things left unsaid. I get myself together and we get out and walk to the apartment building's back door with me imaging Ryan holding my hand or putting his arm around my waist as we walk. Not that he does either. Ryan could never replace Robby in my heart, but it'd be my perfect world if it was the three of us in that condo Robby's buying at a builder's discount when we graduate. Chubby could live upstairs and then I've got perfection. And yeah, I know it's a pipe dream. And why the fuck does 'pipe dream' mean 'wishful thinking'?
Chubby and John Beverly are talking to Robby when Ryan and I come into the apartment. Robby must have told them not to mention Ryan's broken finger or his fat lip because no one mentions it, but they give Ryan a warm greeting. I ask, "How come you guys didn't get the free weights out?" Chubby says, "Because when I did it awhile back the weight guru yelled at me." Ryan chuckles, then goes, "Well get 'em out now," and Chubby grins, saying, "Lets go John Beverly," and they go into Robby's and my bedroom to get the weights. I tell Robby, "Too bad you got the football game tonight, Ryan's hanging out here after we lift and then we'll get some dinner." Robby says, "Maybe I'll see you guys afterwards." We're like, "Yeah, maybe," but we won't see him because the game is basically just an excuse to have a beer and pizza party afterwards. I hope Robby's stomach's up for that.
The weight lifting's fun with Chubby making fun of John Beverly, who can't even lift what I'm lifting. Ryan added another ten pounds to my bar and that's twenty extra pounds in two weeks. I bust my balls doing the repetitions mostly because Ryan told me last week that I didn't put as much into it as he, Chub, and Robby do. Fuck that, I put everything I had into it today and I'm drenched in sweat as a result, but I feel good. Even though Chubby busts John Beverly's balls, John want to lift with us next time too so Ryan makes out a chart for him. After the lifting we all have a beer finishing off the last of the beer in the refrigerator. While drinking the beers Chubby tries talking Ryan and me into playing poker with John Beverly and some other guys. The card game's in someone I don't know's dorm room, but I always lose at poker and Ryan doesn't know how to play, so those two take off while Robby's getting cleaned up in our bathroom. Then Robby leaves with hugs all around, and Ryan and I left alone now act kind of shy with each other for no reason at all. Finally he says, "I'll do your haircut now, okay?" I nod my head sensing that strange submissive feeling drifting over me again, so I stand here savoring the sensation. Ryan nods his head, probably understanding how I'm feeling, then he says, "Get the barber stuff out, set it up, and take off your shirt." I do that as he watches, then he asks, "Do you want me to shampoo your hair like you do before giving haircuts?" That's not dominant, so why do I feel like this? I feel like I'm in a trance as I mumble, "Sure, thanks, that'll be nice."
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
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