DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR
Chapter 63
by Donny Mumford
Six of us are on our way to Fort Lauderdale with Chubby driving. He'll drive the first hundred miles of this twenty-one hundred mile road trip and then we'll change drivers. Twenty-one hundred miles is a guess based on various mileage projections and driving times for a Boston to Fort Lauderdale road trip. There doesn't seem to be a consensus of how far or how long it will take. In any case, Connor's in the shotgun seat next to Chubby, Robby and I are in the seat behind them, and Vinnie's with Dodger in the third seat of this 2013 Ford Flex station wagon, or maybe it's an SUV. Whatever it is, it's roomy. Chubby drives to the Mass turnpike, then 60 miles on that toll road before getting off at route I-84 W. At the thirty mile mark on I-84 Chubby's pulls to the side to the side of the road and Connor takes over. He drives another thirty miles on I-84 before connecting with route I-91 towards New Haven, Connecticut, then route I-95 south towards New York City. There's a gnarly backup with many lanes merging into two lanes as we approach the George Washington bridge. Tedious stop and go traffic, but we're finally on the lower level of the bridge bringing back memories to me of my solo trip to the big apple last summer. Connor's frustrated by the traffic back-up on the bridge, but a half hour later he's back on I-95 south and smooth sailing. Chubby says, "I don't think this is a very direct route. This GPS sucks!" We don't have a map though so we're at the mercy of the GPS.
Continued smooth sailing for Connor and when he gets on the New Jersey turnpike he realizes he driven further than a hundred miles. He's frustrated with himself as Robby takes over. It already seems like a long trip. Everyone is weirdly quiet, mostly listening to the radio and murmuring complaints about this or that. First it's too hot in the car for some, and then it's too cold. Hard to please six guys at the same time. When Robby pulls away a ringing-dinging sound starts up, and he grumpily asks, "Who doesn't have their seatbelt on?" Connor says, "I just sat down! Give me a second will ya?" Oops, short tempers already, and from Connor of all people. He's sitting next to me now that he's changed seats with Robby. Connor whispers to me, "That was nerve racking going across the George Washington bridge with people butting in front of me merging and honking their horns. And then I forgot to check the speedometer and I drove past the hundred mile mark." I'm like, "It was construction on the bridge that screwed everything up. You did great, Connor, and now you won't need to drive again for at least five hundred miles. By then we'll be going straight on I-95 for almost nine hundred miles all the way to Florida, so no more merging." He grins, changing the subject, asking, "How's my pompadour look?" I chuckle, mumbling, "I wish I never
mentioned that word, pompadour." Robby's on the New Jersey turnpike for a short time before pulling over for gas. Then it's another eighty miles or so before the lady's voice from the GPS tells him to get on I-95 again. He mutters, "Why the fuck didn't we just stay on I-95 the whole way?" No one has an answer to that so he drives on for another nineteen miles before his turn is up. I replace him as the driver and Robby sits next to Connor. Connor says, "Sorry I snapped at you about the seat belt, Rob." and Robby says, "Ah, you didn't snap at me, buddy. It's a bitch you had to handle that cluster fuck at the bridge."
The guys are talking more now, mostly because Robby brought up the topic of the side trip to Disney World again, and they're all talking about what's the best day to do that. Robby wants to hook up with Danny obviously and naturally everyone has a different idea of when to take the side trip. Frankly it's kinda annoying hearing the bickering while I'm driving, but I don't mention it. The GPS lady tells me to connect with I-495 west, so I do that for about eighteen miles before the speedometer registers my hundredth mile and I pull to the side of the road and Vinnie takes over the driving. As soon as he sits down he complains, "This fuckin' seat is hot! You guys been farting on it or what?" Dodger yells, "Turn the air conditioner on if you're hot." Vinnie says, "Air conditioner? It's sixty degrees outside," and Dodger says, "The seat should keep you warm then. Stop complaining." Vinnie finishes with I-495 muttering under his breath the whole way. We're in Delaware now with Vinnie mumbling out loud, "We're going in circles, or something," and Robby's asking, "When are we gonna get something to eat? I'm hungry and thirsty and I gotta take a piss." Too much complaining! I go, "Cool it, there's rest stops on this road according to my iPhone," and the guys quibble about when we should stop. We've gone just over four hundred miles and it's taken us eight hours. It's pitch black outside and we're all hungry and ready for a break. Dodger says, "Good news! We only have seventeen hundred miles to go," and everyone groans, muttering, "Why didn't we fly?"
Vinnie takes the next exit after seeing a sign advertising a gas station and some fast food joints. We drive six miles at thirty miles an hour on a dark two lane town road before we see some stores, most of them closed for the night. Then there's an open Burger King and a 24-hour BP gas station next to it. First we fill the gas tank and then we're in Burger King and now I'm bitching, "Fuck, thirteen more hours of driving, at least thirteen hours." Chubby says, "I've seen all kinds of estimates for driving from Boston to Florida. One site indicated it's a twenty-four hour road trip and one says eighteen hours and another one says twenty-one hours." Dodger mutters, "I guess it depends on where you're going in Florida. It's a long state all the way to Key West." We all get cheeseburgers, fries, and sodas and then look around for a clean table. As we eat everyone's on their smart phones trying to decipher how far we are from Washington, DC. The best guesstimate is two hours. That would be ten hours into our trip. I ask, "Do you think that's the halfway point?" Robby's frowning looking at his phone, "I think we gotta clear Virginia and get into North Carolina before we're at the halfway point." Balls to that!
There's a table of teenagers making a lot of annoying noise and looking for trouble. Actually they sound drunk and normally we'd be giving them some shit. Now though we've got other things on our minds so we ignore them and eat our food while talking about what point we're at in our road trip, and how far we have to go. Then we're all bitching about the speed everyone drives on I-95. It's like 85 miles an hour is the norm and we've been mostly in the right lane the whole time going seventy or seventy-five miles an hour with people passing us giving us the finger. It's sort of contradicts the urban legend about speed traps. None of us has been to sleep yet and we'll be driving through the night, so we agree to try and get some sleep. No more listening to the radio or talking. The driver will wake up only the next driver when it's time for his shift. We all have a cigarette shivering in the parking lot before getting back in the car, and then Vinnie drives back to I-395 at a snail's pace because the road's narrow and dark as a pocket. He finds the highway and Vinnie gets on the exit heading in the wrong direction going north instead of south. I'm dozing off when I hear Dodger yell, "Hey, Vinnie! We past that same billboard a half hour ago. Jesus Christ, you're driving north on I-95." Vinnie yells, "It'd be nice if somebody was helping here. You're in the shotgun seat, Dodger, and you didn't tell me I got on the wrong ramp." Dodger calms down, "Yeah, my mistake. There's an exit two miles up. You can turn around there." I try dozing off to sleep again.
As I doze off I'm thinking that while my knowledge of geography leaves something to be desired, I'm almost positive we'll need to drive through North Carolina, South Carolina, then Georgia before we reach Florida. Fort Lauderdale is down the east coast of Florida past Orlando and almost to Miami near the tip of the state. Well, the tip not counting the Key islands, which extend all the way to within something like thirty miles of Cuba. Maybe we'll take a side trip to Cuba too. Probably not. I finally doze off, then the next thing I notice is we've pulled over and Vinnie's whispering to Dodger that it's his turn to drive. Opening one eye I see them do a quick kiss before changing places. The next thing I know the car's stopped again. I take a peek and see Connor filling the gas tank at an all night gas station. Huh, that means Vinnie finished his hundred miles, Chubby did his second hundred miles, and Connor's somewhere into his second hundred miles. It'll be my turn next so I might as well wake-up completely now. Rubbing my face I check my watch seeing it's two-thirty. Great, I got three hours sleep. This sucks! Getting out of the car, I ask Connor, "Where are we?" Connor says, "Some where in Virginia," and I'm like, "I guess this is approximately the halfway point. How many miles have you driven this time?" He says, "Almost ninety," and I'm like, "I'll take over now. You drove more than your share last time. Try to get some sleep." He nods his head, mumbling, "Thanks, Dylan," and pats my shoulder.
It's I-95 S all the way from here on. There are supposedly notorious speed traps along I-95, in Virginia and the Carolinas especially, although we haven't seen any cars pulled over yet. As I drive the thought is always on my mind that I'm responsible for the lives of these five guy, all of whom I like and some I love, so that's my motivation for staying awake and paying attention to my driving. There are more cars on the road at this hour than I expected, but it's not heavy traffic. I finally see the first twirling blue lights ahead indicating a cop car. I wonder how fast that driver was going before getting stopped? I drive the speed limit past some poor sucker getting a two or three hundred dollar speeding ticket from some blood sucking town cop. We've read online that the cops look for New York state licenses especially, but any northerner's car will do. By the time my hundred miles is up I've just entered North Carolina and it's approaching four o'clock in the morning. There's almost half a tank of gas left, but I pull into an all
night gas station to fill it up anyway just to be safe.
I use my debit card and start filling the tank trying to stay awake. Robby's the next driver but Dodger gets out of the car, mumbling, "Gotta take a piss." He does that in the gas station's rest room, coming back with a Coke, saying, "Caffeine," as he holds the can of Coke up, then, "I'll take a turn driving since I'm already awake... let my brother sleep." The order of drivers gets mixed up from then on, but nobody cares. I sleep until the sound of guys whispering wakes me up to bright sunshine. I ask the obvious question, "Where are we?" and Robby, who's driving now, says, "Apparently were close to South Carolina heading for someplace called 'South Of The Border'. There's a tacky billboard every fuckin' couple of miles reminding drivers how far they need to drive to get to Pedro's South Of The Border." I ask, "Yeah, what's that?" Robby says, "It's a big sombrero at exit 1 as far as I can tell. We'll be there pretty quick because we're almost finished with North Carolina." Checking my watch... it's six o'clock in the morning so we've been on the road for fifteen hours. Then I see one of the billboards Robby's talking about. Pedro is a Mexican cartoon character wearing a big sombrero. The billboard reads, 'For the traveler's convenience South Of The Border is twenty miles away from this billboard'. It claims South Of The Border
is America's favorite oasis and the gateway to the southeast. Huh! It's in
Dillon, South Carolina, twenty miles from here. Chubby goes, "What the fuck, let's stop there for breakfast, and to see what all the fuss is about."
Everyone's awake now and we're all hungry, tired, and in need of a restroom. We're all a little grumpy too as we pull into South Of The Border and park at Pedro's Diner. This self-proclaimed oasis opens at ten o'clock, but the diner is open twenty-four hours a day. Looks like we'll miss visiting Sombrero Tower, Reptile Lagoon, and Pedroland which is an amusement park. The diner though is doing a bustling business. We get a table for six, everyone
yawning and bitching that it's still about a nine and a half hour drive to Fort Lauderdale. We takes turns using the bathroom then everyone orders a big breakfast and while we drink coffee waiting for our food we try figuring out how come this trip is taking us so long. We come up with a number of delays: the half hour delay at the George Washington bridge, the traffic jam going through DC, the forty-five minutes we spent at Burger King for dinner, and then the lost hour when Vinnie got on I-95 in the wrong fucking direction for like thirty-five miles and had to circle back. All in all it looks like it's going to take us twenty-four hours to reach Fort Lauderdale, which is the outside time any of us saw for online predictions of this road trip.
Feeling better after eating we wander around a little, reluctant to get right back in the car. We count eleven souvenir shops, two gas stations, an amusement park, a big motel, indoor golf at the 'Golf of Mexico' which is kinda corny. Also there's a two hundred foot high glass elevator ride to the top of Sombrero Tower, which isn't open, plus various other so-called attractions. Without being snobby about it, this place is dismal and maybe the cheesiest place I've ever been to. We get back in the car with Vinnie driving again and reconnect with route I-95 south. Staying alive on this highway is objective number one, and then it's all about counting off the hours until we're there. It's warm outside now and getting warmer so the air conditioner is blasting away. We're still changing drivers every hundred miles but the order of drivers got screwed up so it's turned into a game of chance. We draw straws to see who the next driver's going to be. Eventually we escape Georgia and enter Florida with a mock cheer from everyone, and then we drive on for another hour before stopping for lunch at an exit for Saint Augustine. Right off the interstate there's another McDonalds. We're in Florida but still a good four hours drive from Fort Lauderdale, which is where we'd initially planned on having lunch. Nobody's in a very good mood as Chubby
says, "Well, I thought we'd have lunch in Fort Lauderdale, but that calculation was a little bit off." I mumble, "After this trip it better really rock when we finally get there," and Robby says, "Ya know, we're going to go right by Orlando on the way to Fort Lauderdale." Dodger says, "Forget about it, Rob, we're not stopping! We need to get the fuck to Fort Lauderdale and check into our hotel, then reassess our situation. After a good nights sleep we'll all feel differently about things." Vinnie mutters, "We should have flown," and Dodger says, "How come you didn't voice that opinion Saturday when we were planning this trip?" Vinnie shrugs, "I don't know," and Chubby like, "This time of the year it would have cost five to six hundred dollars for a round trip. Sure, we've had a shitty twenty hours so far, but it
cost each of us less than fifty bucks to get to where we're going." There's general shrugs, but no response to that as we eat our lunch.
During the last four hours of the trip everyone, except the unfortunate driver, is again sleeping on and off so there's little to no chatter or complaining except by the person who's next to drive. We're still determining who drives by drawing straws using the ones we stole from Pedro's diner. The guy who just finishes his turn arranges the straws in his hand so it's not obvious which one is the short one and the rest of us choose a straw. The short straw drives. Very democratic. We've abandoned any pretense of safe driving and instead drive the same speed as the vast majority of other drivers on I-95 south, which is to say at least 85 miles an hour. We're really pushing it to get this trip over with. Ironically it's Chubby, who began the trip driving the first hundred miles, who is the driving when we finally hit Fort Lauderdale with a chorus of, "It's about fucking time!" Our increased speed the last four or five hours cut some time off our revised expected time of arrival. Chubby drives into Fort Lauderdale a little after six at night. Ten minutes later we're checking into the Avalon Waterfront Inn on the beach and it's still bright and sunny outside with temperature in the low eighties. Nice!
The hotel is old, claiming to be Florida's original beach hotel. It's situated right in the center of Fort Lauderdale's most popular strip, which is Fort Lauderdale Beach boulevard. The rooms cost a mere hundred dollars each per night. Both rooms have a queen size bed and a sofa with a pull-out double bed. Our check-in goes without a hitch, which is no small thing. I half expected the clerk to say something like he couldn't find a record of our reservation, or the rooms are for two people maximum, or some other screw up, but that's not the case. Grabbing our stuff we go up to check-out the rooms. Amazingly they both have a balcony on the ocean side. We've agreed ahead of time that Dodger and Vinnie will share the queen size bed and Connor will have the pull out bed in one room. Robby and I will use the queen size bed in our room with Chubby getting the pull-out bed. So with tax and everything it's about thirty-five dollars a night per person. You can't beat that for a beach front hotel. Both rooms are on the third floor but they're not next to each other. Dodger's room is three rooms down from ours. Just the luck of the draw that Robby, Chubby, and me get a room at the end with an extra window. In this case the extra window looks out at another hotel's parking lot. Lovely view.
Robby, Chubby, and I are out on the balcony for a smoke and checking the awesome view. Beautiful white beaches, and like Key West the sunsets are supposed to be spectacular here too.The boys come out on their balcony and we get silly, waving and shouting back and forth at each other. During the shouting we decide to put on shorts and sandals and go for a walk around the hotel and then on the beach. Outside we discover a beach promenade which runs alongside the Atlantic Ocean and offers a large variety of things to do as far as shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants go. It can't compare with the boardwalk in Wildwood of course, but it's cool and already jumping with lots of loud college kids eating and drinking outside. Back on the hotel grounds we find two heated swimming pools and an outdoor grille and picnic area that we might take advantage of. There's also a very cool outdoor patio facing the ocean where they serve drinks and food. It's got impressive columns supporting the roof and old time looking fancy railings along the outside like this might have been considered a luxurious resort in the past. Now it's old and slightly run down, but there's free wi/fi in the room and cable TV, plus of course daily maid service. The rooms are kinda small and the bathrooms haven't been updated in like twenty or thirty years, plus the furniture's pretty worn, but the mattresses seem new and all in all we're really pleased with the place. Plus, how much time will we be in the rooms anyway. Then it's down to the beach carrying our sandals and walking on the sand with memories of the arduous road trip fading fast.
As we walk we make plans to eat at the outdoor place we saw on the so-called promenade. Also we set as a high priority connecting with someone we can get a couple of cases of beer from. We're leaving that up to Dodger's and Chubby's charming and ballsy manner in dealing with matters such as that. After an hour walking on the beach enjoying the sun and warm weather, we're back at the hotel taking turns showering, and then we get to the restaurant a little after eight o'clock. The place is still jumping so we need to wait for a table. Naturally Chubby tries getting a beer at the bar even though there's a discouraging sign that reads, 'If you don't look like you're at least thirty, we need a picture ID before serving you alcoholic beverages'. That doesn't bode well and even though I watch Chubby get the bar tender laughing, he doesn't get a beer. We're still tired from limited sleep the past twenty-four hours so there isn't the usual bullshitting and messin' around we'd normally be doing. Plus, there was only two guys from about a hundred I passed on the beach earlier that I thought were cute. Most college guys do not look like kids. They look like they could be twenty-five to thirty years old. It's unusual for guys our age to look youngish like Robby, Chubby, and I do, although others like us exist because I've seen them on campus. Still, I don't have a good feeling about this trip and side-sex. On the other hand I didn't expect much last summer in Wildwood and that turned out to be an awesome week as far as me meeting cute gay guys. Of course Robby wasn't with me then so I was free to take advantage of opportunities for side sex when they popped up. This will be more of a challenge.
We get seated outside on this warm night with a fresh breeze off the ocean. I'm glancing around and I do see a couple of cute guys laughing and drinking shots and beers at the bar, so that's encouraging. At the table for six next to ours are three guys and three girls all with sunburned noses. They're average looking, but smiling and happy as they drink their beers. One kid has a hat on with a UConn logo, as in the University Of Connecticut. Before I can point that out Chubby's already talking to the UConn guy, who's almost right next to Chubby. The six college students at the next table are good guys explaining they flew down here Saturday and they're staying at the hotel next to ours. The girl closest to me starts a conversation with me asking where we're from and where we go to college. She's kinda nice looking, but big... as in tall, not fat. She also has ginormous jugs that are half hanging out of her skimpy top. The six of them are juniors at UConn, they're also a little drunk, but very friendly and she tells me about a bonfire beach party tonight. There are a ton of rules and regulations for the beach, but there's a section at each end of the three mile beach that more raucous behavior is unofficially permitted. It's BYOB, bring your own booze, of course, and police conveniently don't patrol that area knowing this is spring break week. The UConn guys and girls learned this bit of interesting news from prior trips. There are no homes or hotels within a couple hundred yards of that section of beach. Big tits tells me her name is Jill. I introduce myself explaining we're underage so getting our BYOB might be a problem. The guy she's with hears me say that, and tells me, "No sweat, dude, I'll buy whatever you guys need. It's spring break, man, so ya gotta get a little drunk." Within five minutes a cute waitress has taken our orders and the guys at the next table are just getting their food orders now. Then, after dinner this guy, Rick, is going to buy us all the beer we need. We all throw a twenty dollar bill on the table planning on buying whatever we can get for a hundred and twenty dollars. Should be a good start anyway. Chubby says, "Yeah, Riley here," nodding toward the guy he's been talking to, "And Rick will hook us up with some booze after dinner." So things are looking up except Jill keeps flirting with me. I guess Rick isn't her boyfriend after all. Naturally I try being as cool as possible because I don't want to alienate any of our sources for the beer that we'll need during spring break. There are college traditions you don't want to fuck with and getting drunk on spring break is one of them.
While eating his fried shrimp dinner Riley's still taking with Chubby. Then Chubby bumps fists with the guy and gives him twenty-four dollars, but not from the hundred and twenty dollars that's still in front of him. When Riley gets the waitress' attention he orders another round of beers, but when it arrives he passes the beers to us. Chubby yells us, "My treat guys. Riley tells me they don't give a shit if we're under age drinking beer as long as the beers were served to someone who's at least twenty-one. There's different ways these places pander to the college crowd without technically breaking the law. All the restaurants are after the college crowd's business." We're all like, "Riley dude, that's so cool of you! Thanks, man!" and then we tap bottles together thanking Chubby for treating. We're off to the races already. Our food arrives along with a bus boy assisting the waitress. She sees the beers on our table, but pretends she doesn't, saying, "Enjoy your dinner, guys." I'm staring at the bus boy, who's seriously cute, although too young. It's another encouraging moment though, seeing another cute guy. As I cut into my chicken breast Jill holds her fork towards me, saying, "Try this fish, Dylan, it melts in your mouth." I'm like, "Oh, thanks, but I have an allergic reaction to seafood." She says, "Wow, that's too bad, sweetie." I shrug and grin, friendly like. If it was that bus boy offering me something off his fork, or his fingers for that matter, I wouldn't be allergic to whatever he was offering, not that I'm allergic to fish either. Both tables finish eating at the same time and we ask for checks with Jill saying to me, "Ride over to the beach party with me, okay?" This is awkward, but I say, "That'd be cool, but I've got to stop at the room to make some calls. My, um, mom's sick and I wanna see how she's doing." Jill's like, "Aw, that is so sweet," and she rubs my head, "I like your haircut." I blush not knowing how to handle this forward girl. For some reason I say, "I like your haircut too, um, I mean," and now my face is on fire. Jill says to one of the other girls, "Isn't he adorable, Amy?" Amy says, "You're robbing the cradle again, Jill." Jill's like, "Oh fuck you, Amy, you're just jealous." She looks at me rubbing my head again, adding, "Dylan and me have karma. Don't we, Dylan?" I shrug and out of the corner of my eye I see Robby glaring at Jill.
When we're outside Dodger makes sure we knows how to get to the beach party and then he and Chubby go off with Riley and the other guy to buy beer. When Vinnie sees Dodger leaving he's like gum on Dodger's sandal and he goes on the beer run too. The rest of the two groups split up with Jill giving me a hug. Then, with her face dangerously close to mine, she says, "I'll see you on the beach, bad boy," and then a kiss on my lips. A quick one, thank
God. And guess what... Jill has bad breath. Connor, Robby, and me walk towards our hotel with Robby beside me smirking, "Just an observation, babe, but that chick's four inches taller than you." I chuckle, "Yeah, she's a big one alright, but that'll make it all the easier to see her coming so I can hide." Robby puts his arm across my shoulders as we walk, "Just think, if you were hetero all the girls would be drooling over you," then he goes, "What the fuck am I saying? You've got gay guys drooling over you now." I go, "That's just so not true." Up in our room I'm washing up in the bathroom as Robby takes a piss, saying, "Would you be mad if I stayed in tonight? I'm so fucking tired. I couldn't sleep in the car and..." I go, "Robby! This is spring break, fer chrissakes. You're suppose to be tired and hungover." He goes, "I'll fall asleep on the beach." Well, there's still Connor, so I go, "Okay, I don't mind. I'm kinda tired myself. Yeah, get to bed. I won't be out very long myself. I don't think any of us will, but I want to see what this beach party's all about." We do a nice kiss and then I text Connor asking if he ready to go, but he doesn't text back so I call his cellphone. It rings eight times before he answers. He tells me the same thing Robby just told me. He's beat and he's staying in tonight. What the fuck? It's not even ten o'clock! I don't want to make Connor feel bad though so I tell him, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. After I check out the scene on the beach I'll be turning in early too." Balls to that! Deadbeats!
Down in the lobby I text Chubby telling him the news of the two casualties from the twenty-four hour road trip. Chubby texts back telling me that after they buy the booze they'll pick me on the way to the beach party, but I text him saying I don't want to wait around and that I'll walk down the beach. He calls me and I tell him it's no more than a mile and a half since our hotel is in the middle of the three mile beach. Fact is I'd like some time to myself just walking near the ocean on this beautiful night. Chubby doesn't care for the idea, but I insist and he relents saying he'll see me at the beach party. On the beach I take off my sandals, light a cigarette and enjoy the solitude after twenty-four hours in a car with five other guys. I love them, but this is nice too. However it's a little disappointing to discover I'm not the only beachcomber tonight. There are loud mouth college students into the booze romping on the beach in small groups, both guys and girls. It takes me a few minutes to realize the obvious... they're going to the same place I am. Not wanting to take a chance of running into another Jill, I walk near the water gazing out at the endlessly rolling ocean. The oceans of the world occupy about two-thirds of the planet's surface, but human's have no gills. What's up with that? Shouldn't it be planet ocean rather than planet earth? Huh, yeah but life came from the sea, so there's that.
Anyway, oceans fascinate me with their never ending poetry in motion, and then they can get deadly at times too.
The moon's shining off the ocean and way out there it looks like the sky meets the water out as far as I can see. I'm walking on the wet part of the beach where waves run out of energy, foamy and clear, then undertow pulls the run off back into the sea. It's so peaceful, then I step on a shell, "OW! Fuck!" I'm hopping on one foot. Back on dry sand I sit down and look at my foot. It's not cut but it sure felt like it was. Putting my sandals on I stand up and light another cigarette looking at the lights way down the beach. Can't hear anything yet, but that's gotta be the beach party. Maybe I should have stayed in tonight too because I'm really feeling tired all of a sudden. I'll hook up with the guys and hope they're getting tired too. That frigin' road trip was exhausting. Walking towards the lights for maybe ten more minutes and then I can clearly see the beach party. There's a lot of college guys and girls there already, but I don't see the bonfire that Jill told me about. There are strings of overhead lights though and music of course. Lot of dancing and laughing and loud talking. As I get closer I zero in on two guys on the outskirts of the festivities smoking and watching what's going on. One of the two looks very familiar except as I keep walking I see he has a patchy curly beard on his upper lip and chin, plus longish hair that's curly at the ends. It's his naked torso that looks the most familiar. Very slim but with nice definition. I think, but I can't be sure, it's Willie. That can't be, of course, but as I get closer and see him laugh at something his companion said, the bridge of his nose kinda wrinkles when he laughs... just like Willie's nose, and he has a longish head as opposed to a more rounded one. It's gotta be Willie, doesn't it? I've always thought Willie was very good looking, cute in a unique way. It's gotta be him, but how can that be?
I stop and light another cigarette staring at him and now I'm sure it's Willie except I didn't notice a beard or curly hair when I saw him last. Of course his hair was never this long either. He's with a guy who has a similar build to Willie's and might be African American. He has light skin though, so he could be Hispanic or Latino or Puerto Rican... I don't know the proper way to refer to them. I thought Hispanic encompassed many ethnicities although I get race and ethnicity mixed up. In any case the guy is gorgeous. Damn! The first guy sure looks like Willie, but the coincidence is hard to fathom especially considering I ran into him in Wildwood just last summer too, so what are the chances he'd be at the very next vacation spot I'm at? I walk a little closer to them and hear Willie's voice. It's him definitely. That voice is very familiar to me and I've always liked hearing him talk. My dick is very active in my cargo shorts now as I take a deep breath feeling funny. Willie, the first boy I thought I was in love with. My first real boyfriend, and for almost two years we did many things together. I've got this squirmy feeling in my belly and balls, almost like I'm nervous. I'm coming up to Willie from behind him with the other ridiculously good looking guy staring at me as I walk. I put my finger to my lips, like, 'Shhh' and then wrap my arms around Willie and recognize his scent immediately. It's always turned me on. What the fuck, Willie's always turned me on, period. He's like, "The fuck?" and easily escapes my hold around his chest, turning around to see who I am. I couldn't be smiling any harder, totally shocked at how happy I am to see him. His eyes open wide as he goes, "Dylan! Oh my God! Can I believe it's you in the flesh," and he wraps his arms around me kissing me on the lips, then licking my lips, then kissing me again.
I've got goose bumps all over me as I hug and kiss him back. The other fellow, who is African American, looks on grinning at us, like, 'What the fuck?' Willie finally leans back with an arm around my waist and his other hand rubbing my head, as he says, "You kept your hair short the way I like it, didn't you? It's so cool, Dylan," and another hug and a kiss. Then he lets go of me and takes my hand in his, saying to his good-looking companion, "Taye, this is the Dylan Newman, in person." Taye says, "Wow, you weren't bullshitting bro, he's special alright." I have that little boy feeling I get with Willie sometimes, a submissive sense that he's developed in me over the
years we were together. I feel tongue-tied as I blush looking at Willie and then squeezing his hand. Damn, my balls and dick feel tight as Willie's telling me, "Taye's my roommate at Cornell, and don't waste your time trying to hook up with him, Dylan, he's beautiful, but straight." Taye says, "You gay boys are something. Willie's told me all about you, Dylan, and no offense, but I know way the fuck more than I need to know about the Dylan Newman. Willie's an original to say the least." I go, "Oh, um, huh," then follow that up with a couple of fake coughs, feeling like an idiot. Willie laughs giving me a hug still holding my hand and now we're standing with our sides touching. Willie has hold of my hand so when he hugged me my arm sort of went around his waist in back. It's awkward standing like this, but of course Willie couldn't possibly be more comfortable and relaxed. He says, "Dylan can verify all the adventures I told you about, Taye. The shit I got us two into back then is sick. Ha ha, How about it, Dylan? Remember that summer I took us to that Marine's barber shop and then later I bungled us into a gay sex club and they put us in hammocks?" I go, "Uh huh," and Taye says, "Look guys, I'm gonna let you two have a reunion. I'm beat and still hungover from last night. I'll see you back in the room, Willie, and it's been really nice meeting you, Dylan," We bump fist with me using my left hand as Willie's still holding my right hand behind his back.
Taye walks off as he and Willie exchange grins while giving each other the finger. Then Willie looks at me, saying, "This is the nicest surprise I've ever had in my life, Dylan. I'm so glad to see you." We're walking side by side with him still holding my hand, as he says, "You saved my life a couple of times and I never repaid you. Plus, ha ha, I still love you something awful." He stops, looks at me pointing to his chest, "It's like a pain in my heart when I think about you," and he laughs as we start walking again, "I told Taye all about us and he says it's a sweet romance you and I had, and that I'm a romantic." I interrupt him, "Where we going, Willie?" He says, "To my rental car. Anyway, Taye's my second roommate this year. College is awesome by the way. My first roommate drove me crazy with his homesick bullshit. What a baby! Taye was advertising for a roommate so we met and hit it off. I told him I was gay right away and he said, 'So what?' He's awesome, but a committed heterosexual. Isn't he beautiful though?" I go, "Yeah, but why are we going to your car?" He says, "So we can go someplace and catch up obviously. Oh, there's the car up ahead. It's that red Mustang convertible. It's a rental from Hertz at the airport. We flew in Saturday. Where are you staying?" I tell him as I look at his hot rental car sitting there with the top down. He says, "Jesus, that place is falling apart," meaning my hotel. He goes, "We're at the Ritz-Carlton at 1 North Fort. It's on the beach. Really nice suite and I'm treating Taye for the week." Willie's always been the most generous person I've ever met. Not that it's his money yet, but it will be one day.
Willie leans me against the front fender of the Mustang with him against me, stomach to stomach, asking, "How have you been? Do you ever think of me?" I run my fingers through his long soft curly hair murmuring, "Yes, I do, Willie. I'm always wearing some of the gifts you've bought for me and every time I do I think of you." He grins, "That's nice, Dylan. Thanks for thinking of me. Um, are you still going with what's-his-name, um, that Robby guy?" I nod my head, "Yes, we're in love and we might get married after college." He goes, "Oh, congratulations," and I ask, "What's with the long hair. Do you curl it?" He laughs, "Fuck no, it curls on it's own. I wanted a new look. Sometimes I wear it in a ponytail. It's cool." I go, "Yeah, it is. Um, and you're growing a beard?" He says, "I started growing a bread when I knew you, but I shaved to try looking as young as you did, and do, you cute thing!" Then he lays his chin on my shoulder with the sides of our faces touching, murmuring, "If something doesn't work out with what's-his-name you know I'll always love you. I owe you so much for straightening out my life." Still playing with his hair, I say, "You did most of the straightening out yourself, Willie, not me." He kisses my cheek, then lifts away from me and my hand drops away from his hair. We stare at each other a second, then he says, "Hop in and we'll take a ride," and then he smacks my ass grinning at me. With his curly scattered whiskers and his always cute face he's looking very handsome and sexy as hell. He's better looking than ever. I'm chewing on my lower lip feeling that squirmy feeling low in my belly and around my groin. I almost always get that sensation being around Willie. He looks at me another second, then nod his head at the car, "Get in, Dylan," and another harder smack on my ass with him still grinning. I know him so well. He's testing me to see if I still feel submissive to him. I'm feeling it and I like it even though I know what he's doing. I want to enjoy this feeling for awhile so I says, "Yes, Willie," and get in his beautiful rental car, then put my seatbelt on watching him.
He walks around and gets in the driver's seat, then turns to me asking, "Would you like to drive, baby?" He's the first boy to call me that and now Robby calls me 'baby' or 'babe' all the time, and Ryan's starting to do it as well. It's just a little thing that somehow adds a tiny bit to my sense of submissiveness to those three. I shake my head and then grin at him. Willie smiles knowingly and starts the car. He can see my submissive posture towards him. As he pulls away, he asks, "How are you doing at college this year?" I tell him my GPA and he gets excited, "That's awesome! Get that European carryall from the back seat, will ya?" Undoing my seatbelt I reach in back pulling a case that looks suspiciously like a lady's purse to the front seat. "Look inside that thing, Dylan. My latest GPA score is in there." I look through some college workbooks and papers of Willie's until I find it. I'm like, "Oh fuck, you have the exact GPA as mine." He's excited, "Yeah, isn't that weird?" I put everything back in the case and toss it in the backseat, saying, "Yeah, what a coincidence, but not as big a coincidence as us
being in Fort Lauderdale at the same time." He goes, "Cornell's on spring break too, and where are college students suppose to go on spring break except here?" I say, "Fort Lauderdale used to be a lot trendier in years gone by, but you're right, it's still popular and not too expensive. Plus, they cater to the college crowd, like allowing that beach party at the end of the beach." He says, "That's not the end of the beach though. There's still beach all along where we're driving. It's just not maintained here because it's off the strip. No motels and the closest houses are over to our left."
I look over wondering why they didn't build houses on this side of the road near the ocean, and then it's like Willie read my mind, when he says, "They get heavy weather here at times and the ocean can come up to this street so they couldn't build anything unless it was on stilts or something." It's a beautiful night, but I missed the sunset while eating. I ask, "Did you see the sunset? It's suppose to be as spectacular as the ones in Key West." He looks at me grinning, "We had ourselves a time in Key West, didn't we?" I say, "Yeah, mostly Willie, except for the beginning and end of the trip." He looks serious, "I try not to think of the beginning and end of that trip. The days in between were the best days of my life." We're quiet for a minute thinking about that time, then Willie says, "Yeah, I saw the sunset here last night, and tonight, but it's not as special as those Key West sunsets. Nice though." Then, like he's lecturing, he says, "Sunset occurs when the trailing edge of the sun's disk appears just below the horizon. The period between sunset and dusk is called twilight." I go, "Huh," and he laughs, "You knew that, didn't you?" I shrug, "Actually, no, I didn't... ha ha."
Willie parks a couple of miles down from the beach party, saying, "Lets checkout this area of the beach." I get out stepping on sand. There are no houses on the other side of the street now. Across the street is a playground with swings and sliding boards. Behind that is a little league baseball diamond in need of some attention with weeds growing in the infield. Willie pulls a sleeveless t-shirt from his back pocket and pulls it on, then opens the Mustang's trunk, saying, "Grab a couple of cans of Bud, Dylan. We'll wander down to the beach." There's a cooler in the trunk with ice and cans of Coke and Budweiser beer. I grab two beers and Willie closes the trunk, asking, "Ya got any cigarettes? I'm down to my last two." I go, "Yeah, I've got a half pack," and I follow him over a little dune and down to the beach behind the dune. As we walk towards the water, he says, "See the tuffs of weeds or beach grass. I think it's bent grass, that's the kind that can grow in sand." He's full of obscure information like that. I grin at him, really
happy we ran into each other. Seeing my grin, he asks, "What? Am I giving you too much information?" and he laughs, then adds, "I do that when I'm nervous. Seeing you like this makes me unsure of myself. I don't want to do anything to upset you." I go, "Willie, I've never known you to be unsure of anything." He puts his arm around the back of my neck with the can of beer he's holding wetting a spot on my shirt near my nip ring. "Dylan, you've always been the best boy for my ego ever!" and he hugs around my neck pulling my head over to kiss the side my forehead. He murmurs, "And nobody in the world smells as good and is as sexy as you. I can't describe it, but you're delicious and I'm totally serious about that." I mutter, "You're pretty good for my ego too, Willie."
We've got to watch where we step because there's stones and rocks in this grassy sand along with broken shells. Willie points to a large cement fixture, saying, "Let's sit on that and drink our beers." Climbing up on the cement block and sitting with our legs dangling off the side, I ask, "What the fuck is this cement block used for?" Willie shrugs, "I don't know, but there's another one over there. Probably a poorly conceived abandoned idea for some structure. Who knows?" For the next half hour we smoke a couple of cigarettes and drink our beers talking about our lives with Willie doing most of the talking. He seems much more grounded than I've ever seen him and there's a quietness about him. It's like he's finally found peace and stopped fighting the world around him. He tells me about trips he taken with his parent's and how they're getting along so well the last year or so. Then he tells me about his last boyfriend and how neither of them could decide if they were the 'top' or 'bottom' or submissive or dominant. "It was a crazy six months when we thought we had serious feelings for each other and the sex was pretty good. The trouble is, Dylan, ha ha, nobody ever comes close to comparing to you. One day the boyfriend and I just agreed it wasn't working. No passion really. Thinking back on it I'm guessing he stuck with me for the freebies. I'd buy him stuff and have him at the house a few weekends. He was a taker, not like you. Hell, I had to force stuff on you. Anyway, I even took him to Key West, but all I could think of was you." I go, "That makes me feel bad, Willie." He rubs my shoulder, "I'm sorry. There's no reason you need to feel bad though. It's my problem, not yours." I hug his waist, knocking and empty beer can off the thing we're sitting on, saying, "No, it's not my problem, but still, I love you, Willie, and I feel bad you can't find mister right." He looks a me with a rye grin, "You love me like a friend, right?" I nod, muttering, "Yeah, and I always will. You mean a lot to me." He rubs his face, mumbling, "Thanks, baby." After another pause, he changes the subject by squeezing by bicep, asking, "Have you been working out? You've always had good guns, but you seem to have bulked up even more," and I tell him about weightlifting through most of my sophomore year. He says, "God, you are so hot!" and we kiss.
Finished the second beer we sit silently for a little while looking out at the majestic ocean, then he quietly asks, "Do you think there's any chance we could, you know." I nod my head, "Buddy sex with you is hard for me to turn down. The memories alone can get me aroused." He slides off the cement thing we're sitting on, saying, "That's sweet, Dylan," as I drop down next to him. He rubs his hand over my head, asking, "I asked you earlier, do you keep your hair short like this because I got you in the habit of very short haircuts? You used to complain when I took you for haircuts and I had to get stern with you." Just thinking about that. Me as a seventeen to twenty year old being taken to the barbers for a haircut by someone younger than me. Being taken to get whatever haircut he wanted me to have is such a submissive act it makes my groin muscles contract and my dick move in my shorts. Man, I never get as dreamily submissive as I did back in those days with Willie, not anymore I don't. God they were sexually hot times for me, and one of the primary reason I stayed with Willie so long. That and the fact I did sincerely care for him and I'm very fond of him now too. I do love him as a special friend. Willie asks, "What are you thinking about, baby? You still haven't answered my question." I rub my fingers across my lips, then go, "Um, yeah, maybe it was you that got me liking short haircuts. You surely got me to accept a lot of things I didn't think I'd ever like." He grins, rubbing my head again, "You mean like walking hand in hand?" I nod, getting a touch of that little boy sensation, murmuring, "Yeah, Willie, and other things too. You did me a favor teaching me that it's okay to be gay in public." He hugs me and then kisses my lips tenderly rubbing his nose against mine a bit, as he goes, "Mmmm, you're so special," and then a serious kiss with his tongue in my mouth and my cock getting firm right away as I hug both my arms around his neck and let myself go, with a moan of arousal, Mmmm, ummm, Willie, mmmm." I wanna see where Willie wants to take me.
It's like traveling back in time making out again with the first boy I ever really made out with. Kissing with fat Carl never felt like making out, and when Willie taught me how to do it, I knew the difference then. I'm in the perfect frame of mind to experience a submissive sexual experience. It come naturally to me when I'm with Willie and all my programmed memory banks ignite and it's like two years ago all over again. Willie has me backed up against the cement block that's as high as my shoulders. One of his hands is rubbing through the short bristly hairs on the crown of my head and the other hand he uses to gently massage my cock and balls as I slide deeper into the dreamy stages of submissiveness. Oh it feels so nice, so sexual, and very arousing. Willie's familiar scent, taste and the feel of him is so familiar and comfortable. Also familiar is the way he assumes the dominant role for whatever we do together. It's just the way it is between us and tonight I love it. My arms are still around his neck as his lips and tongue against mine feel so sexy, our mixed saliva surrounding our mouths making it slippery and hot. His fingers relentlessly rubbing my short hair and massaging my now hard cock, then light squeezing of my nuts as I moan and we drift together off the beach. There's nothing hurried about Willie as he conveys to me somehow that this time, right now, is the best time of his life and there's no one else in the world he'd rather be with than me. It's like I get that message from him via mental telepathy. No one could fake the sincerity of Willie's love making. His lips are to my ear making me shiver as he murmurs, "So you'll remember how you used to feel, I'm going to make you cum in your pants first, and then you'll rim my ass and lick my cock and balls. Do it like you used to and I'll fuck you really hard afterwards. Okay, Dylan." I just moan, "Oooh, mmm," then, "Uh huh, Willie." He murmurs, "That's my boy, just like old times together." He pushes my face back a little using his hand on my forehead, and stares at me, "You're the most special person I've ever known, Dylan," than a hug as I hug him back and rub the side of my face on his curly whiskers getting my shoulders to shudder. This is so wonderful.
He kisses me again, a long wet passionate kiss with his tongue sliding on mine and I begin moaning into his mouth. He moves his head to the side of mine, going, "Shhh, baby, just let it happen," and the hand on my head pulls my head down so my forehead is on his shoulder as he continues massaging my cock and now his hand goes inside my shorts and he's stoking my bare boner, murmuring, "Be my boy tonight, Dylan," as I'm docile against him. His lips on my ear, cooing, "That's my boy, Dylan. Good boy. Feel your orgasm building," then a kiss on my cheek and more whispered words in my ear with his lips touching there, "You're so beautiful, baby. So awesome and I love you with all my heart." I'm hypnotized into a wonderful submissive state as my cock throbs and his long hard boner pokes out his shorts and bumps the front of my leg. I cling to him nodding my head slightly as he whispers each compliment in my ear until my orgasm builds to a crescendo, and he whispers a question, "You like being my boy, don't you, Dylan. We were and are very special together, each one bringing the best out in the other." I groan then moan as sensations from my cock become almost unbearable now and my desire
to climax is great, as I manage, "Yes, Willie, always," not even sure what I'm saying, but wanting to agree with him. The urge to climax grows in me, but he just keeps a slow stimulation on my boner that can't quite get me over the hump. "Oooh, Willie," and he puts a hand on my outside cheek pulling my head around so his lips can cover mine and his tongue goes into my mouth for a hot wet kiss again as I shudder and then hump my hips squealing into his mouth with cum pouring into my pants. I'm shaking as he takes his hand out of my pants rubbing my cum off on the back of my shirt. That hand goes to my butt cheek now massaging it, then pressing his finger on my asshole. His lips slide off mine in our saliva and he quietly says again, imprinting it on my subconscious, "That's my good boy," and my hips buck again as my body shakes with another stream of cum hitting my boxer shorts soaking though the material now. My groin muscles clench squeezing out drools of cum, my shoulders shudder and I lay limply against Willie, the side of our faces together as my heart pounds and all kinds of sensation sizzle around my groin and then fade away and now I hear the quiet around us. Quiet except for the sounds of waves breaking on the shore, and I'm out of my trance knowing where I am again, but still in a very submissive frame of mind.
Willie gently rubs my head and rocks us slowly back and forth with an arm around my back. I feel totally relaxed and I'm very comfortable letting Willie decide what comes next. His scent is in my head completely and it'd be hard to imagine feeling a hotter body against mine than Willie's. We stay in each other arms for a few minutes. Finally he takes my hand, quietly saying, "Lets walk on the beach a little." We walk hand in hand as my cum cools and squishes in my shorts with me leaning into Willie's side and then he lets go of my hand, and my arm goes around his waist and his arm goes across my shoulders at first, and then around the back of my neck. We walk for a few minutes until he says, "Light me a cigarette, baby," and I do that passing it to him after taking a drag. I go to get one for myself, but he says, "We'll share this one," so I put the box of Marlboro in my side pocket, staring at the big wet cum spot that soaked through my khaki shorts. It's so nice walking like this with Willie again....
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are three books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are under ten dollars. Three book about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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