DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME
Chapter 14
by Donny Mumford
It's finally Friday; my last day working with Matt. We're both overly polite with one another now, but there's no sense of camaraderie or friendship.
Some guys just never warm up to me, like Mark from the posse boys, for example. In Matt's case it could be he's a bit, um, dare I say jealous? I mean, I'm back now and Matt doesn't have Chubby's exclusive attention anymore.
Straight guys who Chubby befriends often get attached to him because he's a natural leader. An example of that is Chubby's friend at college, John Beverly. He's like Chubby's wing man. Not that John Beverly ever appeared jealous of me, but then he saw Chubby's and my relationship right from the start whereas Matt did not. Chubby likes just about everyone, but he doesn't invest himself in his friends nearly to the degree he and I are invested in each other. There's no contest if a decision needs to be made as to who Chubby will back between me and anybody else, and that goes equally for girlfriends or male friends. Matt recognized that fact and maybe resents me because of it. Straight guys can form a kind of love for their friends too, and strangely enough jealousies do occur in their straight male world.
Anyway, Matt and I get along okay and then at the end of the day he gives me the 'test' to see what I've learned. The test he officiously told me about on Monday, but without the officious manner today. That evaporated when Chubby and Robby emphatically rejected his evaluation of my so-called 'attitude problem' earlier this week. I can tell Matt's heart isn't in the 'testing'. We're sitting on the bed of the truck with our legs dangling off the back. He's barely going through the motions asking me nine or ten random questions about safety and how to work the equipment, after which he goes, "Oh hell, you know all this shit as well I do. You did good work all week, Newman." We hop off the truck, as he adds, "Ya know, except for our small communication gap, and it was as much my fault as yours, I enjoyed working with you this week." Ha, what a liar! Then I lie too, "You were a big help, Matt. Thanks." Us two liars bump fist and go into the locker room to change.
After changing into my everyday clothes, I'm waiting for Robby outside the locker room kind of dreading that I'll be sleeping at his house the next two nights. Sleeping with him is obviously not what I'm dreading; it's the part about doing it at his parent's house. Last weekend we slept together at my place and Robby has it in his head we should do the same at his house.
It's awkward and uncomfortable for me, much like it was at Ryan's house.
The truth is, I don't know Robby's parents a whole lot better than Ryan's, but Robby would be disappointed if I didn't stay with him, so I'll do it for him.
Chubby comes over, "Hey, Bro, is this the weekend you're spending with Rob?" I nod, "Yeah, but I feel funny about it." He lights a cigarette, takes a drag, then passes the cigarette to me, saying, "Don't do it then. What's the point of it anyway?" I shrug, "I don't know, togetherness maybe. Or perhaps Robby wants his parents to get to know me better so they'll like me more than they do." Chubby goes, "Togetherness, huh? You guys are together 24/7 at college. If that doesn't prove you're compatible I don't know what the fuck would, and his parents couldn't pray for a better boyfriend for their son than you. They should be welcoming you with open arms and kissing your ass!" I sigh, "I love you Chub! And yeah, I know everyone should love me like you do, ha ha, but they don't. Anyway I'd hurt Robby's feelings if I refuse to stay at his house this weekend. He doesn't realize there's no way I
can make his parents like me as their son's lover." Chubby pats my shoulder, "If they give you any shit I'll fire bomb their entire company complex." I laugh, "That'll make them embrace me, bro."
Chubby takes a drag off the cigarette, chuckling, then saying, "Is this one of the complications of romantic love you alluded to yesterday morning?"
I go, "Yeah, I guess it is. Doing something the person you're in love with feels is important, even though you know it's really dumb and unnecessary, but you do it anyway. And you do it without making him feel bad about it."
Chubby nods, "I get that. You know what? You're a really good guy, Dylan,"
and he hugs my shoulders. Then he asks me, "How'd it go with Matt today?" I shrug, telling him, "We were fine but, I don't know, we don't really hit it off all that well." Chubby shakes his head, "Damn, I'm surprised. I like Matt; we've had some good times together. We double dated a couple of times too. Heh heh, although I can't say I'm all the crazy about, Linda, his girlfriend. Matt's a good guy though and maybe you'll warm up to him tomorrow." Whatever that means. Chubby goes, "Hell, Rob must think Matt's a good guy too because he wants him to apply for a supervisory position next summer."
I go, "Huh, ya don't say." That's just what 'Dickers and Son' needs, an officious asshole as a supervisor. What they actually need is an 'S' on the end of the company's name.
To get off the subject of Matt I again bring up the possibility of us buying a motorbike. We kick that idea around and come to the same conclusion we came to last time: it would be too much of a pain in the ass, plus impractical considering Massachusetts winters. Finally Chubby says, "Well, I hope this weekend at Rob's works out good for you, Dylan," and we do a hug. He pats my shoulder, "See you tomorrow," and walks towards the parking lot.
After a couple of steps he stops and turns around, asking, "You haven't forgotten the Red Sox game, have you? Tomorrow afternoon. You, Robby, me and Matt." I go, "No, I mean yes. I haven't mentioned it to Robby yet. I will as soon as he comes out of the supervisor's meeting. I'll text you, Chub." He smiles, "Okay, Dylan, don't forget." I nod and wave. Oh, that's what he meant about me possibly warming up to Matt tomorrow. Now I remember. Chubby told me on Sunday about the game, but not about Matt coming with us. What happened was his girlfriend's father had company tickets he can't use and the girlfriend hates baseball so she gave them to Chubby. I forgot all about it, but a ballgame at Fenway Park will be fun even though the team sucks this year and I'm not all that thrilled about spending the day with Matt.
The sun's still bright at four-thirty in the afternoon so I put my sunglasses on and light a cigarette. I don't really want a cigarette, but it's something to do while I'm waiting. Exhaling smoke I see Seth coming out of the locker room and I call over to him, "Hey, Preppy, where'd ya get that cool haircut?" he comes over all smiles, "Hey, Dylan!" I reach over and lightly rub my finger in the soft curly whiskers on his chin, mumbling, "Your boyfriend's a lucky guy, Seth." His cheeks turn pink as he shrugs, saying, "You're awesome, Dylan! It's funny you should mention my preppy haircut because last night Jackie called it that. He asked me where I got the preppy haircut. That's what he called it too." I'm like, "Oh yeah? Does he like it?"
Seth goes, "He likes it on me, not on him. That's okay though, I like holding onto his ponytail when we make-out." I'm excited for Seth, "Wow, you guys are making out now, huh?" Seth grins, "We just started, but I had to promise not to smoke just before we do it. We made-out in his car after the movie last night, and Dylan, I got a boner like you wouldn't believe." I ask, "How 'bout Jackie, did he get one?" He shrugs, "Not that I could tell. He said, after like two minutes of making out, that he felt weird kissing a guy, but he'd do it for me." Just then Dallas passes by, saying, "Have a good weekend, guys," and we're like, "Yeah, you too, Dallas." Seth and I talk about how good looking Dallas is, and what a waste it is that he's straight as an arrow. I'd like to hear more about Seth's date, but Robby's walking towards us, so I don't get the chance. Robby and Seth bump fist and wish each other a good weekend, then I walk with Robby to his pickup.
On the way, Robby says, "Mom texted me asking if you like fish 'cause Dad's doing salmon on the grill tonight. You really need to have some very good grilling techniques to grill salmon. Dad does the salmon with a crusty char on the flesh side." I go, "I've never had salmon, but I'll bet it's good." Why the fuck would his mother ask if I like fish if she already decided to have it? What she's really saying is, 'we're having salmon tonight whether your boyfriend likes fish or not'. Robby takes the satchel I'm carrying and puts the strap over his shoulder. We grin at each other, as I mumble, "Thanks. That's my weekender stuff." He says, "Oh, just so ya know, I told my parents about us sleeping together so there's no need to feel uncomfortable about it." Don't be uncomfortable? Is he fucking kidding! I go, "Oh, um, what'd they say?" Robby shrugs, "What you'd expect. They both said they prefer we not sleep together in their house. I was polite about it, but I told them we're adults and adult lovers sleep together and that's what we'll be doing." What the fuck!!! Is he out of his mind? I mumble, "Um, yeah, but it is their house, Rob, and we should respect their wishes. Don't ya think?"
He waves his hand at me, "Nah, don't worry about it. My parents are great, but they need to embrace the fact they have a gay son who's sexually active with the young man I'm in love with." Well, they have two gay sons actually, but that's another issue. I mumble, "I must disagree." He goes, "About what?" I explain, "Your parents don't need to embrace that we're sexually active together, or anything else they don't want to embrace." Robby stops, so I stop. He goes, "Whaddaya mean by that?" I quietly say, "Your parents, or anybody else we know, have no choice about accepting we're gay boyfriends because that's the reality of the situation, but they are under no obligation to embrace that fact. Look at it from your parent's point of view."
We start walking again, but silently now. At the pickup, Robby says, "Now I don't know what to do. You make some good points, but you sleeping in the spare room defeats the whole reason for sleeping at my place." I nod my head, then smell the back of my wrist, but only for a second, as Robby asks, "What do you think we should do?" Shrugging, I mumble, "How about if I have dinner with you this weekend, but leave when it's time to hit the sack.
You and I can have sex any time. It doesn't need to be in your house. Hell, last year we screwed in your pool house and behind it. Remember?" He chuckles, "Yeah, I do. Okay, you'll eat with us and I'll tell them we respect the rules of their house, and get myself some brownie points in the process. I hope eventually you'll feel more comfortable with my mom and dad though.
Dinners are a good start towards that end." Frowning, I go, "I feel comfortable with your parents," and he says, "No you don't!" He's right of course, they're, um, a little odd. Robby grins and gives me a hug around the back of my neck, chuckling, "Mostly I want my parents to see how special you are.
That's my reason for us interacting more with them." I lean against him trying not to grin. Sometimes Robby seems so innocent. Then he asks, "Is it okay, according to your moral code, if we have sex at my house when they're not home?" I go, "Oh, for sure, assuming you're positive they won't come home during my uncontrollable squeal when you fuck a ginormice climax out of me." He laughs, let's goes of me, and says, "That's a promise. C'mon let's get in the truck." I go around to the passenger side, thinking, 'Hot shit, I
don't have to spend the night'.
I give a thought to asking Robby to spend the night in my bed after dinner, but that would be a slap in the face of his parents, and might even qualify as spiteful too. Robby drives us off the parking lot, as I'm telling him, "Hey, I forgot to tell you, Chubby has complimentary box seats for the Red Sox game tomorrow and we're invited." Robby goes, "Awesome, babe! Tomorrow's game's at one o'clock. I like afternoon games best, don't you?" I say, "Yeah, daytime baseball's the best. Did you know that many years ago they had what's called a double header? They'd play two game for the same ticket, one game right after the other, not like now with the day/night double headers." Robby goes, "Two games for the price of one? That's a little hard to believe." Good! We're past the topic of his parents, plus Robby and I agreed on a nice compromise regarding the sleep over. It's a good sign we can work things out sensibly and, um, the way I want it to turn out. I'm relieved although there's still the matter of the salmon and the generally uncomfortable situation of dining two nights with Robby's parents. This is basically the same situation I found myself in with Ryan's parents, not that it stopped Ryan from fucking me about fifty times in their house. Here in Framingham we have options though.
His parents aren't home when we get there. Mrs. Dickers works Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the office and they're both still at work. We go to Robby's bedroom where he asks, "You wanna shower first?" I shrug, "Okay,"
and while I do that Robby goes on his computer. We change places after my shower and I sit in front of his computer and check emails. I'm in boxer shorts feeling pretty good about how this is turning out. And another reason I'm feeling good is the job. Doing manual labor makes me feel good. I mean after it's over. It's a man's work, ya know? And, from working outdoors in the sun we're all rocking what's called 'a farmer's tan', meaning our arms and faces are tan. Wait a minute! Our legs below the company shorts are tan too, so it's not a farmer's tan. How many farmers do you see wearing shorts? Now that I give it a thought, I don't think I've ever seen a farmer, never mind in shorts. Huh, that's weird! What us guys on the grass cutting crew have is a 'grass-cutter's tan', with green sneakers. I feel better about doing this job than the one at Lockheed-Martin because, like yesterday for example, as hard as that shrub planting was, when we were done it looked great. We built something that'll be there for years, and growing bigger.
Every time I drive past that town hall, which won't likely be very often, I can say I helped plant those shrubberies. In Georgia we never got a glimpse of the finished product. There was an artist's drawing of what it'd look like eventually, but to us we worked with a bunch of unidentifiable widgets.
Robby comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, saying, "I guarantee you that on Friday nights the earliest my parent will be home is forty-five minutes from now, and that's the absolute earliest!" Then, grinning, he asks, "Ya wanna suck a really clean penis and rectum, Dylan?" He drops the towel and I mutter, "Oh boy..." Dropping to my knees, I walk on my knees to Robby. He rubs my head, murmuring, "We get to do this all the time at college, but I've been missing it most of the summer." It's selfish of me, but I'm glad to hear he's been missing it. The way he said that makes me think he's referring to sex, generally speaking. I say 'selfish' because he hasn't had much, if any sex, while I was in Georgia where Ryan and I were having it regularly. An inexcusable double standard on my part, but Whaddaya gonna do, I'm human.
I'm on my knees in front of Robby when a totally unexpected submissiveness begins draping over me and my dick starts tightening-up. It has something to do with the way Robby asked if I wanted to suck a clean penis and anus.
He was kind of brazen about it asking in a voice that sounded more like an order than a question. More likely it's me wanting it to sound like an order, and me walking to him on my knees was icing on the submissive cake, so to speak. Whatever it is, I feel a pleasant shiver down my back as I pick up his cock and hold it against his belly so I can lick his clean balls. Then I shiver again thinking it'd be sexier if he asked me to suck his cock and ass before his shower, leaving out the word 'clean' of course. This will do though. It takes only a minute to meticulously lick all over his scrotum.
When it's shiny with my saliva I suck on a nut making Robby grunt and then shudder a little. Lifting his nuts I lick over to his asshole a few times.
It hurts my neck bending it back this far so I push at the inside of his thighs and Robby obliges by spreading his legs a little. Hunching down I go through his legs on all fours, then lift up on my knees behind him. Robby mumbles, "Nice move, babe."
Robby's body is pink where his clothing covers it from the sun, and it smells sweet and sexy. Spreading his butt cheeks I lick over his anus and up his ass crack. Robby has dark blond hairs around his asshole which I lick flat, then kiss his ass, and mumble, "Don't ever say I never kissed your ass," and I do another wet kiss on each butt cheek, then kiss his anus, and he goes, "That gives me chills," so I do it again and feel him shudder. With my nose pressed in his ass crack I lap at his asshole feeling myself drifting into a really nice dreamy submissive trance. My cock's getting hard but I can't stroke it because I've got a hand on each of Robby's ass cheeks.
They feel very firm; two nice handfuls of buttocks. He has an awesome ass on him and it shows off great in his baseball uniform. Well, in anything actually, but I notice his ass especially when he wears his uniform.
I'd be content rimming his ass for quite a long time, or until I climaxed which ever came first. Rimming a guy's ass is a very submissive thing to do, especially on your knees. I get lost in a trance licking and sucking his asshole, then getting my tongue inside his body. My hard cock is buzzing in its hardness and my balls are churning cum like mad until Robby moans and strokes his boner, gasping, "I'm gonna cum!" He strokes it twice more arching his back, moaning, "Aaaaaah, oooh," his hips hump and a stream of cum shoots out in a straight line hitting his desk chair. He walk two steps away from me stiff-legged, then shoots out three quick follow up streaks of cum.
I'm sitting back on my heels staring at him, enthralled. How long did I rim his ass? I have no idea, but in all the times I've rimmed his sexy ass this has never happened before. He turns around with a shocked expression on his face, mumbling, "That was a first," then he takes two deep breaths and sits in his desk chair still holding his cock in his fingers. I go over and sit on the floor between his legs. Taking his cock from his hand, then suck and lick it while swallowing any remaining cum from his nuts. Robby's lying back in the chair with a hand on top of my head. He's still gasping a little from that big orgasm he just had, then moaning as my mouth and tongue continuing to stimulate his cock.
Being relatively young, Robby's fat four inch penis gets hard again in my mouth. With neither of us speaking, he stands up and I go on all fours.
Robby pulls my boxer shorts down past my asshole, pokes the head of his cock at my anus, then humps it in, moaning, "Umm, ooh." It's fat so the sensitive lips of my anus, packed with nerve endings, burns for a few seconds. Robby waits knowing it takes a bit for an asshole to get the message, although my ass is quicker on the draw than most. Robby's hands are on my hips, his long fingers around the front of my belly as he's pulling up, so I stick my ass up for him, and he goes, "Yeah, just like that. Thanks, babe." Another hump of his hips pushes that fat hard cock of his another two inches up my ass, then he pushes the last inch or so up there and now he's leaning against my buttocks, murmuring, "Feels so good." He keeps pressure on my buttocks for half a minute rubbing my back and up my sides, asking, "Feel good, Dylan?" I lost most of that nice submissive sense watching Robby climax, so I'm able to say, "Really good, Rob. Ummm, you've got me nicely filled-up back there."
I'm pushing my ass back into his groin area so he'll know I'm good to go.
When he's really horny he won't wait for that, but he just climaxed so he can wait without a problem. He begins with routine steady thrusting, still rubbing my back and messaging my shoulders with both hands. His hard(s out) cock feel real good inside me and I'm feeling awesome all over my body.
Deliciously his steady thrusting goes on for four or five minutes. It's indescribably sexy when all the nerve endings in my rectum are buzzing pleasure signals at the same time... nothing is better than taking it up the ass like this. Quiet moans from me with my shoulders shuddering now and then with a few sizzling chills zipping down my spine. Luscious sexual pleasure, then Robby begins thrusting faster and my orgasm builds noticeably. It's been twenty-four long hours since I've had a climax and the anticipation is growing as I squeak out moans of arousal with every thrust of that fat hard four inch cock. All signs of impending climax are 'go' with pulsating sensations all around my groin. Answering my unspoken desire, Robby speeds up the thrusting even more, and now he's putting some punch behind it too. Sounds of males fucking adds to the sexual thrill of it all. I'm picturing Robby's fat boner, looking wet, disappearing up my ass, the vein throbbing, the swollen head spreading the wall of my rectum as it plows forward, then it's pulled back until it's stretching my anus outward before reversing the process and his boner disappears up inside me again. Robby's grunting with each hard thrust up my ass, his hands now cupping my shoulders. Glancing back I see his eyes are lightly closed, his knees bent a little and his hips rhythmically moving forward and back. He looks totally in control, dominantly pulling me back into each hump of his hips. There's a dominant component to 'topping' as it is, and Robby certainly looks comfortable dominantly fucking my ass the way he wants, further adding to my arousal.
Closing my eyes to better concentrate on the feel of his cock plowing my ass, but just like that my climax is on me and my back arches as I whine, "Oooooh," and with the, "Slap,slap,slap," sounds in my ears I do a gasping squeal thrusting my crotch out as cum flows from my rock-hard boner, straight down. The cum splashes on the hardwood floor with spray hitting both my knees. Then another strong stream of cum follows the first and, as usual, my head drops to the back of my hands as I tighten my stomach muscles squeezing out the remaining bubbles of creamy cum from my nuts. Moaning I take a hand off the floor and tightly stroke my cock with the last drool of cum being squeezed out the pee slit, then I'm limp and quietly moaning at the swirling sensations of climax that fade much too quickly leaving me taking deep breaths while Robby continues fucking my ass, jostling my limp body to and fro.
Two, three, four minutes more of, "Slap, slap, slap," before Robby goes, "Ooh, ooh, ooh." I'm back up on my hands and knees pushing my ass up for him. Then he does his desperate sounding whine, lies against my buttocks humping and gasping as, I suppose, he climaxes a little stream of watery something in my bowels. To him it probably felt like a big orgasm and I'm happy for him. He takes a gasping breath backing up, pulling his cock from my ass.
It makes a sucking wet sound when the fat head pops out. Like always there that weird wide-open feeling back there, my anus gaping open for a while before slowly returning to its natural state.
I stand up and grin at Robby, who sitting on the edge of his bed, mumbling, "That was good. That was really good." Grabbing Kleenex I wipe at my anus, saying, "You fuck my ass good, Rob. I don't know, it's just so special when you do me. I can't describe how perfect it feels. Great climaxes too."
I'm standing next to him now with my arm across his shoulders and him grinning, looking up at me from his seat on the bed. Leaning my head down, I kiss his cheek, murmuring, "When my man fucks me everything in my world is perfect for a while." He's chuckling, slowly shaking his head, muttering, "My man, huh?" I go, "Well, you are my man," and he says, "I guess I am at that." See, I'm getting him to think like me. No harm in living a little bit of my childhood fantasy. I hug around the back of his neck and press the side of my face on top of his head, going, "Oooh, how I love everything about you, Rob Dickers!!" He gets his arm around my waist and pulls me down to sit next to him, tightly against his side, as he asks, "Are you going to take your man's name when we get married?" He said it like he's joking or teasing, but I believe he really wants me to. I say, "If my man wants me too," and we both do a little laugh. He goes, "What if your man wants you stop calling him your man," and I go, "Oh, then I'd probably stop saying it for a day or so." He laughs a little, then mutters, "I'm so fuckin' sure I'm the one in-charge here."
We wash-up in his bathroom, then wipe cum off the floor with a towel from the hamper. There's Robby's cum on the desk chair from me rimming his ass, and my cum is splattered on the hardwood floor. We clean it up making wisecracks about which one of us made the bigger 'mess'. After getting dressed in shorts and t-shirts, I take my shorts off almost immediately, complaining, "My underpants are wet already with your spunk from my ass." Robby say, "Really? I thought I cleaned all of it off your cute ass." He takes a jockey shorts from his bureau drawer and tosses it to me. Looking at it, I ask, "How about boxer shorts?" and he goes, "Just put the tighty/whitey's on, Dylan." He said that in an offhand way, but it was definitely bossy-like, but he doesn't even realize it. Pretending to be super submissive, I humbly say, "Yes, Rob." He looks over and I grin at him as I'm putting on his jockey underwear. He's not sure what it was, but I think he senses something just happened. Poor boy doesn't have a chance with me. I'm feeling really good as I playfully hang on Robby's shoulder, asking, "What should we do now?" He laughs, mumbling, "You're too much, Dylan. It's like I know you're up to something, but I don't know what it is." I rub my nose against his, murmuring , "I'm in love with you, Rob, and sometimes I can't keep my hands off you, like now." He gives me a tight squeeze, then says, "Let's get a couple of beers from the pool house refrigerator and have a smoke."
Their refrigerator in the pool house is relatively new. A couple of months ago the Dickers did some kitchen renovations with new counter tops and all new kitchen appliances. The previous kitchen refrigerator is now in the pool house. We go out the back door and walk over to the pool house. Robby's pickup is still the only one in the driveway. His parents aren't home yet so Robby was telling the truth about when to expect them. It's good to be able to trust your boyfriend. Getting cold bottles of Coors from the refrigerator we sit on wicker furniture, furniture that was once in their sun room... now demoted to the pool house. Lighting cigarettes, we drink beer and smoke while chuckling about Robby climaxing from me rimming his ass. That's a first, but then it's also the longest I've ever rimmed him. I was in a delicious submissive trance so I wasn't about to stop on my own, and Robby said it felt so good he couldn't pull away like he usually does. Its fun talking sex, so I ask him if he knows what 'docking' is? He furrows his eyebrows thinking, then says, "Obviously you're not referring to boats or spacecraft docking, so I assume it's somehow sexual in nature." I tell him to Google it on his smart phone.
Robby grins while reading the ship docking definition from Google. I say, "No! Try the urban dictionary." He does, and goes, "Wow, that's something I never thought of." Then he looks up from his phone, "Have you ever done that?" First of all this corroborates what I told Frankie when I said it's a fairly obscure sex act, and secondly I'm pleased that Robby doesn't know about it, although I'm not sure why I'm pleased. To Robby's question, I say, "Only a couple of times, um, four to be exact." Yeah, I think that's right: three times with Frankie and one other time with a mystery guest, whose name I can't recall. Robby says, "It sounds like something kids would do experimenting with their bodies. Like a circle jerk. Is that what you did after discovering you're gay?" I shrug, "Yeah, I probably did it then, although my memory's murky about those early days with that pig, fat Carl." No point in mentioning yesterday's docking with horny Frankie. I quickly add, "I never was involved in a circle jerk though." He says, "Neither was I." then he mumbles, "That thing about you and the fat editor of the high school newspaper. You know, when you were seventeen." I go, "Yeah, what about it?"
and he's like, "It's odd. I mean, you never suspecting you were gay before that, don't ya think that's odd?" I go, "Yeah, in hindsight it's really weird, but it's the truth. The first time he took advantage of me was an eye opener for me; like holy shit, what's this? I'd never seriously thought about it before then." Actually, way back I thought Chubby might be gay, not me.
Ha! That's how clueless I was.
We hear his parent's pickup truck coming up the driveway, and then car doors slamming. Robby says, "C'mon, Dylan, let's say 'hello'." I go, "Sure thing," thinking, BALLS! When we emerge from the pool house his parent are through the arbor that leads to the back yard, and eventually to the back door, but they stop and Mrs. Dickers gives us a nice smile, "Rob! And... Dylan of course." I don't like that 'of course' remark, but I give both his parents my smile. The one I use for older adults and guys' parents. I've practiced it in the mirror as a young teen. It's intended to be an innocent and friendly smile with no commitment to anything whatsoever. It's not clear to me if it's perceived that way by everyone, but it's never gotten me a negative response. Robby asks, "Everything good at the office? No surprises at the week-end meeting?" Mr. Dickers says, "There's always surprises, Son, but nothing serious. Oh yeah, Pat Burns handed in his resignation after the meeting." Robby shrugs, "That's good though, right, Dad?" His father nods and chuckles, "Yes, but it's supposed to be a secret that we were less than thrilled with his performance in the design department. He must have heard some things and resigned before we could fire him."
Mrs. Dickers sits at one of the two outdoor tables, the one with a big umbrellas over it, and says, "Bob, let's have a beer out here," and Mr. D. says, "Good idea," then to us, "Will one of you boys be so kind?" Robby hands me his beer, saying, "Absolutely, I'll get a couple of beers for you guys,"
and he goes back into the pool house leaving me here with my smile fading.
Ryan would have sent me for the beers. "Sit down, Dylan. Join us," says Mrs. Dickers. I nod my head, mumbling, "Sure," and sit across from them. Mr.
D. says, "Rob tells us you want to sleep over a couple of nights," and Mrs.
D. adds, "In the same bed." I go, "Huh! No, that's not true. It was Rob's idea we sleep together here, not mine. We do sleep together at college though, and sometimes at my house. We're in love." Mr. D. clears his throat and checks his cellphone, then taps on it as if he's sending a text, and maybe he is. Mrs. D. says, "Oh, I was misinformed. I assumed it was your idea because Rob wouldn't... oh never mind. Suffice to say that Bob and I don't feel comfortable having you boys sleeping together in our house, if I may be so blunt about it. Has Rob mentioned that to you?" Before I can answer, she adds, "And no offense intended at all to you or Rob. Call us old fashion."
Mr. D. is still tapping on his cell phone.
Robby's back with the beers and plastic cups, as I'm saying, "Yes, Rob told me about your feelings, which is why we're not going to be sleeping together, um, here." Robby puts the beers and cups in front of his parents, saying, "Actually it was Dylan who insisted I respect your rules. It's your house and as long as I'm living under your roof I'll respect your wishes." Mr.
D. looks up from his cellphone, saying, "Rob, I'm texting with the head of night security. He's just received a signed contract delivered via Federal Express. Get this, Son: the signed contract is for the Weston hotel project. The one Sidney thought we'd lost to McCarthy's Inc.." Robby goes, "Awesome, Dad!" and Mrs. D. asks, "Is that for new construction or the existing Weston Hotel?" The three of then proceed to talk business for the next twenty-five hours. I mean minutes, with me finishing my beer and pretending to be interested.
Robby's done his beer, but he's not making a move for another one so I don't either, although I could sure use one. I could go for a cigarette too.
Finally, after they discuss about a million possible new projects that they 'may' be getting assuming everything works out perfectly, meaning if some people named Sidney and Maverick can close their sales presentation. And, if they do, the company will then need to hire someone to work with someone named McNaulty in design. Drinking very slowly, Robby's parents mercifully finally finish their beers. My spirits perk up when Mr. D. stands, saying, "I'm taking a shower now, then an icy cocktail after that. Um, Rob, would you clean the grill for me, then wipe it down with vegetable oil." Robby frowns, "I guess I know how to clean the damn grill, Dad. I've done it a hundred times." Mrs. D. gets up, "Don't talk fresh, Rob. Please!" Robby mutters, "Sorry, but I guess I don't need instructions for cleaning a gas grill."
His parents ignore that and go inside. Robby looks at me, grinning, "Have you died of boredom yet, babe?" I go, "No, but I'm on life support." He gets up laughing, and says, "Let's get another beer."
We do that, then I watch Robby use a wire brush on the grates of the gas grill. As I'm taking a swallow from my second beer of the night it occurs to me that beer still doesn't taste good. If I have four or five beers they begin tasting okay, and sometimes the first swallow of an iced cold beer taste good, but mostly I drink beer either because my friends are, or I want to get a little high. Robby says, "I'm breaking a sweat here," and I mumble, "Let me do it, Rob." He goes, "You're my guest! Guest don't clean grilles." Shrugging, I take another swallow of beer and sit down at the table with the umbrella blocking the sun. Watching Robby work I get a really good feeling about him. I wish we could stay twenty-one years old forever, once we reach that awesome age that is. I'll be twenty-one during our Wildwood vacation, which happens the week after next, and two days later it's Chubby's turn. Robby will still be at the in-between age of twenty for a couple of weeks after that. Twenty is a no-where age. Not a teenager and not adult enough to rent a car or get a drink in a bar.
As Robby's rubbing the grates with paper towels soaked with Crisco vegetable oil, I ask, "Hear from Dodger lately?" He stops and looks at me, "You know what? He'll be home the week you're on vacation. I just realized that."
I'm like, "What the fuck! Are you sure?" He's thinking, "Yes, the first week he's home, but he has a two week leave. I know he has plans for traveling a little with a friend he's bringing home with him. They don't want to spend the entire two weeks here apparently." I ask, "You mean Connor? He's the friend?" Robby shakes his head, "No, Connor's going home with his boyfriend. He has no family here as you know." Fuck! I'll miss seeing Connor! Then I say, "I'm texting Dodger to see if I can get him to spend a couple of days with me in Wildwood." Robby's finished with the grill, so he sits at the table across from me shaking his head, "Well, I'm jealous that I won't be there. Hell, I won't see you that whole week." I'm like, "Could you come down on the weekend at least?" He goes, "Nah, there's things at work I'll probably need to do. That's if I know my Dad, and I do know him." I say, "I'm sorry to hear that. Um, do ya think Dodger will visit me in Wildwood?" Robby shrugs, "Maybe, but that's a six or seven hour drive from here. I don't know if he'll want to do that." I go, "Well, I'm asking him anyway."
Mr. Dickers sticks his head out the back door, "Rob, the damn ice maker isn't working again. Would you run down to Seven/Eleven and get a couple bags of ice?" Robby hops up, "Sure, Dad! C'mon Dylan, take a ride with me." He sure jumps when his dad speaks. Just think, Robby will be working for his dad his whole life... jumping forever. Huh, I should probably stop negative thoughts like that one. Then, as we get in Robby's pickup I smile to myself about my negative thought a second ago. I mean, tomorrow Robby and I will be with Chubby and Matt at the ballgame and I'll need to be on my toes about a positive attitude or Matt will be like, 'Ah ha! Jeff, I told you Dylan had an attitude problem'. What a pain in my ass he is.
Robby drives us to the Seven/Eleven store where we find the ice machine is outside. We each carry a ten pound bag of ice inside to pay for it, and oh my, what a cute cashier boy behind the counter. Definitely old enough too.
He's got my body type with long light brown hair that he combs straight back. You don't see that very often. I'd enjoy very much improving that hair style for him. Very light completed lad with cute facial features. He's wearing glasses, but on him they look good. And, oh fuck, he just pushed his glasses up his cute nose with his middle finger like Ryan used to do. At the moment he's busy giving a senior citizen, who's ahead of us, lottery scratch tickets that she's complaining about. Robby glances at me with his head nodding slightly at the cashier-boy. I raise my eyebrows and make a face, like "Hot!'. The little old lady says in a frail voice, "Sorry, Sonny, but like I've patiently told you twice, I asked for the 40X scratch tickets, not the 20X." He gives her a look like he'd like to kill the woman, saying, "No ya didn't. Next!" She's flustered, "Yes I did."
The cute cashier-boy says to me, "What have you got there, pal?" I say, "Two ten pound bags of ice." The kid says, "Anything else?" I shake my head, and he says, "That'll be four bucks," then to the little old lady, "Move away from the counter, please!" I'm handing him a five dollar bill, basically over the little old lady's shoulder. The kid holds my five dollar bill in his fingers, snarling at the old lady, "MOVE! Granny!" Robby says, "Why don't you just give her the tickets she wants and take back the ones she doesn't want? It's an even swap." The kid rings up the four dollars, takes a one dollar bill from the register and passes it to me, saying to Robby out of the side of his mouth, "Mind your own fucking business, asshole." Then he looks right at Robby, staring defiantly at him. Robby drops his bag of ice and grabs the kid by the front of his shirt with both hands pulling him off his feet so the kids supporting himself with his hands flat on the counter, his glasses comically hanging on one of his cute ears with his long hair now in his face. It happened so fast I'm not sure how it happened. I'm stunned, with the little old lady still standing in front of me. Cocking her head now and staring at register-boy, she holding the bogus scratch tickets near the counter-boy's face. With the kid dragged closer to me like this I can easily read his name tag: it says, "Butch". He doesn't look like a Butch.
Robby snarls now, "Change the tickets for this woman or I'll pull you over the counter and kick the shit outta you right here." The kid's very red in the face, but apparently he recognizes a madman when he sees one so he takes the lady's tickets, still silently staring defiantly at Robby. Robby let him go and the kid drops down to his feet, uses his fingers to comb his hair back, straighten his glasses, then turns around and pulls two 40X scratch tickets from a roll of them, and slaps them loudly on the counter. His tee-shirt is stretched and badly wrinkled where Robby's fist grabbed it. The little old lady picks up the two scratch tickets and walks out of the store without so much as a thank you, or a 'go fuck yourself', or anything.
Robby picks up his bag of ice and we leave. The cute cashier boy doesn't have anything more to say than the little old lady.
In the pickup, I mumble, "That was random," and Robby says, "I feel sick.
Fucking adrenaline!" I rub his back and he says, "You drive," so I get out and Robby slides over on the bench seat. By the time I drive us back to the house he's feeling fine. He tells me, "I just snapped imagining my grandmother standing there instead of that random old lady. You saw how easy it was for the kid to change the tickets, so why didn't he do it in the first place?" I go, "I don't know, but damn he was cute." Robby chuckles, then says, "Did you get a whiff of the little old lady?" I'm like, "Jesus, yeah. I was standing right behind her. Instead of the scratch tickets maybe a feminine deodorant might have been money better spent." Robby goes, "I was talking about the dirty-hair smell." I start laughing as I'm pulling into the driveway, then I ask, "Is that what made you think of your grandmother?" He punches my arm playfully, shouting, "NO!" but we get into a fit of laughing that's just winding-down as we give his father the ice.
While Robby's parents have their cocktail hour Robby and I drink a couple of beers in the pool house. Thank God for that too because I was afraid Robby would insist we spend the time with his mom and dad. An hour or so later we get called for dinner. It's served outside, buffet style. We'll be eating on the outdoor table. They have an 'oldies' FM station playing and it's still light out so no mosquitoes. Of course they have the propane gas-operated mosquito killers for night time. His parents insist Robby and I make our plates first. While Robby's filling his plate I'm doing a frantic inventory of the food. Last Saturday when I had dinner with the Dickers I couldn't help but compare Mrs. D's. culinary skills with Mrs. Wilcox's, and Mrs. D. is a distant second place. And now I'm looking at fish as the main course.
There a big bowl of Caesar salad with croutons and thin slices of Parmigano-Reggiano cheese so I pile salad on my plate. If there were anchovies, like traditional Caesar salad, I'd have passed on that. There's a bowl of potatoes with slices of red and green peppers, plus red onion. Robby says, "Dad
cooked these potatoes, peppers, and onion with olive oil in heavy aluminum foil right on the grill. There's some nice browning on the potatoes too."
I take a big spoonful of the potato mixture, passing on the grilled asparagus, think better of it, and take two spears, but only for plate appearance sake. I'll dump them in the trash later. Lastly the salmon with thin slices of lemon that looks as if they've been grilled along with the salmon. I select the smallest piece and sit at the table next to Robby, saying, "Everything looks delicious Mr. and Mrs. Dickers." Robby snickers.
I actually try the salmon and it's at least eatable. It's very fishy tasting, but I expected that. During dinner they talk about how James and Tina Fountail, their neighbors, are moving to Montana in November. Mrs. D. asks, "Is that a final decision? I though Tina was resisting the idea." Mr. D. goes, "Oh for Christ sakes, she's such a pain in the ass. James has been planning this for months. He's going into business with his brother-in-law."
Mrs. D. asks, "Is he the one who lost a hand when he was a child?" I glance at Robby who snickers again. He can't drink beer for shit.
As it turns out I go back for more potatoes and, surprisingly, more asparagus because there's some marinade or something on them that's good, plus sea salt, and the grilling is nice too. There's almost a crunch when I bite into a spear. With the beers providing the bravado, Robby starts talking emphatically about needing the new pickup he's been promised since last summer, and there an argument about that for a while. Without thinking about it I finish the salmon and consider getting another small piece, but Robby's finished his dinner, saying, "Dylan and I are going to check out Richardson's and maybe hit some golf balls." His mother says, "There's a key lime pie in the kitchen." Robby and I exchange glances, then he says, "Okay, then,"
and we get up and head for the kitchen. Robby cuts us two nice size pieces and we grab a couple of forks and carry our dessert outside.
At the table Robby pushes his dinner plate out of the way, so I do too. We eat the pie as Robby's father is saying, "Oh, I meant to ask you, Rob, can you help me with something at the office tomorrow morning. It'll only take an hour." Robby takes an exasperated deep breath, then asks, "What time?"
His dad says, "Anytime in the morning, Son." Robby goes, "Yeah, okay, but there better be a new pickup in the not too distant future for me." His mother says, "Rob, why don't you ask Dylan to give you a haircut. It's growing on top of your ears." We finish the pie and Robby says, "I got a haircut when I was in Georgia visiting Dylan." She says, "Well you need another one.
Your brother sent Dad and me a picture of him and I just thought he looked so neat with his short hair." I ask, "What kind of short haircut did he have." She goes, "Oh, I don't know, real short on the sides. He had a part and his hair combed over on top. Bob, didn't Dodger look handsome?" Robby's dad says, "Dodger's a good looking boy; both our boys are handsome. Is there any salmon left?" I ask, "Mrs. D, did Dodger have a pompadour in front?"
and she frowns, "I little one I think. I'll have to look at the picture again. He looked so sharp in his uniform too." Huh, I guess the parents are finally warming up to Dodger's Army experience. About fucking time too.
Robby says, "We're taking off now, c'mon, Dylan." I say, "Thank you for dinner, it was delicious." Mrs. D. says, "You're very welcome. Um, Rob, could you pick up a pack of Winston Lights in your travels tonight?" and Mr. D. says, "For Christ sakes! It pisses me off you're smoking again," but I'm following Robby out of the back yard and down the driveway to his pickup so I never get to hear what Mrs. D. has to say about her smoking. In the pickup I realize not only didn't Robby and I need to clear the table, never mind clean the kitchen, we just left our plates there for someone else to take to the kitchen. Families are different. Robby asks, "Ya wanna go to the reservoir?" I say, "Hell yeah."
To be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are 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. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. 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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