DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME
Chapter 16
by Donny Mumford
Saturday morning it's raining cats and dogs. Now what the fuck does that actually mean? Seriously! I know that it infers a hard rain, but why cats and
dogs? That's something for me to ponder some other time. For now I'm lying in bed thinking about getting up when I hear loud thunder and then almost immediately lightning flashes, seemingly right next to my window. Jesus!
Some people say they like thunder storms... not me. Then it occurs to me that I didn't have a scary dream last night. Not that I remember anyway. I was half expecting a nightmare about the potbellied man wearing a Speedo bathing suit. Checking my wristwatch I see it's a little after nine o'clock.
Good! I was in bed before midnight so that's a really good night's sleep. Oh yeah, and there's a Red Sox game today that Chubby has box seat tickets for, although the game's not happening if this rain keeps up. Ya know, it's always something!
Getting out of bed I feel grungy. Last night Robby and I never did get to swim in the reservoir, and when I got home I was too tired to shower. Well I've got plenty of time this morning. I take a long hot shower, then do all the other things I need to do in the bathroom. Last thing I do is stand in front of the mirror looking closely at my face. I'm looking for any signs of beard growth. I'll be twenty-one in less then two weeks so there should be something happening. Growing a beard this late in life probably means that when it finally happens it'll be sparse at best. I'm thinking some whiskers maybe just on my top lip, plus some on the lower part of my chin and below my sideburns. And I mean soft whiskers, not the thick bristly kind some guys have. I'll let my skimpy beard grow out a little, like I don't give a shit, and then keep them short using a beard trimmer. With my face really close to the mirror; hmmm, is it my imagination? No, there's definitely short blond hairs on my upper lip, more like peach fuzz, and on my chin too.
Holy shit! Finally I'll be joining the club most guys join around the age of sixteen or seventeen. Oh boy.
From the shelf in the shower I get shaving cream and a new disposable razor; the stuff previously used to shave pubic hairs. Carefully shaving the peach fuzz off my face I'm hoping that old saying about hair growing back thicker after it's shaved is true and not total bullshit. Hmmm, I wonder if there's after shave lotion somewhere in here although I can't imagine why there would be. Looking in the medicine chest I find a bottle of Advil, a tin of Band-Aids, sun block, an intensely squeezed tube of toothpaste, and a new
toothbrush. That's about it except for prescription pain pills that are past the used-by date. Wonder what they were for? Anyway, wearing just boxer shorts, I change my bedding putting on clean crisp sheets and shoving the dirty sheets in an overflowing hamper.
I'm dressed and making coffee in the kitchen looking at my mom's bedroom door. It's closed so she's in there but still sleeping. I hope she had a good
time last night after work. The moms really need a vacation and it won't be long before we'll all be in Wildwood together. Sipping my too-hot coffee I start texting Chubby just as he comes in through the front door with a big smile on his face. Rain water's dripping off his baseball cap as he exclaims, "Hi Dylan! It's raining cats and dogs out there." I ignore that reference as we hug, then a little kiss on the lips and I tell him, "I finally needed to shave this morning." He goes, "You're shitting me! Huh, we're both way behind where we should be in that department, but I've got what I think could be a mustache if I don't shave for a couple of weeks." I pass him a mug of coffee, saying, "Our dad apparently didn't have much of a beard gene." Chubby goes, "You have the picture. Let me see it, bro." I take out my wallet and hand Chubby the picture of our dad when he was almost eighteen.
We both look at the picture for a second, then Chubby says, "He's good looking, huh?" I nod my head, "He looks like you more than me." Chubby goes, "He looks like he's thirteen," and I say, "For sure he never saw a whisker on his face." We look at each other for a second, then shake our heads slowly, "Put the picture away, Dylan." I do that and we're quiet for a minute while I add more milk to my coffee. We get misty every time we look at that picture. I carry it in my wallet for six months then it's Chubby's turn.
Because of the heavy rain we bring our mugs of coffee to the basement, then out to the garage for a smoke. We don't talk about our dad very much because we didn't know him, for one thing, but mostly it's sad he died so young. That picture of him reminds us how intricate and strange life is. We're alive because of the boy in that picture. It's sort of mystical that we're three years older then he was when we were conceived. It gives me chills thinking about it. I break the silence by telling Chubby about last night at the reservoir. He's like, "Fuck! That's creepy!" We talk about that for a little bit; then, finished our shared cigarette we go back upstairs. For breakfast we share a little individual size box of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes eating it dry from the box. Then, since breakfast is supposed to be the most important meal of the day we have a second box of Frosted Flakes. Mostly we're cursing the weather, then checking the forecast on our iPhones. "It's supposed to clear up by noon, Dylan." I mumble, "Yeah, I see that. Good!"
Finished our breakfast we see the rain has let up a lot, so we're on the balcony standing close together under the big golf umbrella that Chubby borrowed from somebody two summers ago at a chip and putt golf course. The umbrella was just laying against a bench. Damn nice umbrella too. We're sharing another cigarette talking about hitting golf balls at a driving range.
Chubby wants me to give him golf lessons so we can play the Framingham eighteen
hole public golf course before summer's end. We'll start by spending some time at the Wildwood driving range during our vacation. Then we talk about what we'll bring with us to Wildwood this year. For one thing we're trying to decide if we should bring our skim boards, or if we're too old to do that this year. "Nah, we're not too old, Chub. We'll bring our skim boards, but we should advance to paddle boarding too." Chubby like, "Yeah, okay. I wonder how much paddle boards cost." I shrug, "We can check online," which is what we do.
In my bedroom I Google 'Paddle boards' and together we go, "Holy shit!"
I'm like, "Oh well, fuck paddle boarding, the cheapest one is $399 and they go up to over a thousand dollars." Chubby's shaking his head, "Fuck paddle boarding is right!" Chubby lying on my bed now with his hands behind his head, and I'm at my computer as we start a list of things we need to bring with us to Wildwood. I type in each item as we think of it. The list isn't as long as our lists when we were kids, but we still need to bring beach chairs and the beach umbrella for the moms, because renting them is stupidly expensive. Beach blankets and towels, some floating devices for the pool at a nearby motel, sun screen because it cost twice as much in Wildwood, food for the same reason, a couple of cases of beer, and the list goes on until we're tired of doing it. Turning off my computer, I get up, saying, "As we think of other stuff, Chub, we'll add it to the list," and he says, "Add a cooler," so I sit back down and bring up the list and add 'cooler'. Totally bored with the list by now, we use individual controllers to play against each other on my Xbox 360.
It's still raining, but lightly now and the sky's getting brighter. Its eleven o'clock so Chubby texts Robby and Matt that we'll be picking them up in
ten minutes. Our plan is to get to the game in time to watch batting and infield practice. Chubby says, "I've never seen batting practice," and I go, "Come to think of it, neither have I. I wonder why we never thought to do this before." He shrugs and we go down to our Jeep. Everything is dripping wet but it's just misting now, and the sun's trying to break through the clouds. When all four of us are in the Jeep we head down route 93 into Boston. As we get near Storrow Drive, I ask, "Ya got the tickets, right Chub?" He goes, "Oh fuck! Where can I make a U-turn?" Matt says, "He's got the tickets," and Chubby says, "Yeah, I do." I punch his arm and Chubby grins at me, then mouths, "Love you, bro." The normally heavy traffic, plus the added traffic going to Fenway Park has turned Storrow Drive into a parking lot.
We're barely moving forward as time ticks by. If I was driving I'd be really frustrated, but Chubby's cool as a cucumber, saying, "Matt, check out the bazooms on that girl in the convertible." Matt's like, "Jesus! And look at the dork she's with." They talk about that as Robby and I smirk at each other, shrugging at our lack of interest. Girls' tits are kinda gross, but then so are tits on guys. Bill Belichick comes to mind.
Finally there's a gap in the traffic and Chubby makes a few quick moves to get us over to the outside lane. It's still slow going but we're away from the merging lane that's moving at the speed of a glacier. Finally we're in the vicinity of Fenway Park so we look for a free parking spot. Abandoning that fool's errand after fifteen minutes, Chubby pulls into one of the rip-off parking lots and pays thirty-five dollars. For thirty-five dollars we're still ten blocks from the ballpark. Closer parking lots are fifty dollars. The lot we're in parks the cars bumper to bumper so after the game we're at the mercy of the cars around us. They'll need to move before we can. In other words there's no sense hurrying to the parking lot after the game.
Robby says, "The Red Sox have the highest average ticket prices in all of baseball," and Chubby mumbles, "Well, since we didn't pay a dime for these tickets I couldn't care less." We talk about how the Red Sox organization somehow talked Mayor Manino, when he was the mayor of Boston, and alive, into
selling them exclusive rights to a public street: Lansdowne Street that borders one side of Fenway Park. During game days and nights this street becomes part of the park and nobody can walk on the street unless they have a ticket to that day's game, which we do.
A guy scans our tickets and now we're on Lansdowne Street with about twenty thousand other people. Matt recently turned twenty-one so he gets in line at one of the booths that sells beer. There's no shortage of suckers anxious to pay $9 for a twelve ounce plastic cup of domestic beer. Matt buys the
maximum beers allowed at one time, which is two. He gives the beers to Robby and me saying, "My treat guys," then gets back in line and buys two more. One for Chubby and one for himself. Total cost: $36.00. It's fairly obvious the Red Sox aren't taking any chances on losing money from concessions sales. Hotdog's are $5.50, Cracker Jacks, $4.50 and so forth. We make our way through the crowd to the correct gate for our seats, but we're told we need a special ticket to watch batting practice. I look at my ticket and see it cost somebody a hundred dollars. You gotta be shitting me! A hundred dollars to watch a baseball game and that doesn't include watching batting practice? Huh! Chubby says, "I guess that's why we've never seen batting practice, Dylan." We walk back out to the crowded Lansdowne Street to smoke a cigarette and finish our beers except an usher tell us, "No smoking on Fenway Park grounds, fellows." Chubby says, "Oh thank you for that information, sir, we're from Utah and don't know the rules here." None of us stops smoking though; we wandered away from the usher over near the edges of the crowd and finish smoking there.
When we finally get to our box seats we find they're not actually box seats. We're twenty rows up from the real box seats which begin on the other side of a wide isle below us. There's a steady stream of people walking in both directions on the isle, but we're high enough up that we can see over them. Pity the people in lower so-called box seats. All they'll see is the constant stream of people walking in the isle. Our seats are pretty much even with first base, so we got some pretty good seats, just not box seats like the ticket claims they are. The game starts and seems to go much faster at the ballpark than when watching a game on TV. The players become real people, and in person their feats of athleticism seem more remarkable. It's fun to watch them live, but at the same time the ticket prices and the fact some of these baseball players are being paid $20 million dollars a year to play a boy's game; well, it all seems somehow absurd. I'd feel like a sucker if I paid a $100 for the ticket. There must have been a time when it was all more reasonable and less absurd. Less expensive tickets with the players making a lot less money for doing exactly what they're doing now. You know, more in line with reality. Still, there are only 750 major league baseball players from all over the world, so they're pretty unique individuals.
Even the twenty-fifth worst player on a team was easily the best athlete in the town he grew up in, and almost certainly the only major league player ever from that town. Still, a $100 to watch a baseball game? The Red Sox win the game in two hours and forty minutes without needed to bat in the bottom of the ninth. Then we join 37,000+ people leaving at the same time through eight exits... and its slow going. It's impossible to justify the cost and the inconvenience of dealing with gridlock traffic both to and from the game. Nothing about it makes any common sense whatsoever, but I wish I could come again next Saturday. Also, I discovered something today. Chubby was right about Matt. He was a good guy all day being very friendly with a few funny quips during the game. No officiousness coming from him today, and he did buy us those nine dollar beers. On the other hand neither he nor I warmed up to one another all that much, so us being best friends probably won't happen. We'll settle for being friendly acquaintances, which is okay too.
The drive home is just as bad as the drive coming to the game. No, that's not right, it's worse driving home in bumper to bumper traffic because at least when we were coming here we had the baseball game to look forward to.
Anyway, it's five-thirty by the time Chubby drops off Matt, then Robby, at their houses. Robby gives my shoulder a squeeze telling me, "I'll be over to pick you up in forty-five minutes. Okay, Dylan?" I nod, "Sure, see you then." We drive away with Chubby asking, "Are you having another dinner with the in-laws, bro?" I chuckle, "Yeah, but they're not in-laws yet, Chub, although I guess they will be. I don't see the in-laws and me ever being real tight though." Chubby goes, "Most in-laws aren't real tight with their child's spouse I wouldn't imagine." I mumble, "Yeah, parents are often under the misconception that no one's good enough for their kid." Damn, a disturbing thought occurs to me: Robby's family is a close knit group. When Robby and I are married we'll need to be at all the family gatherings, and they celebrate every fuckin' thing you can think of. Oh the hell with it, I'll worry about that later.
After another shower, a quick one this time, I get dressed and I'm waiting down at the curb looking for Robby's pickup. While I wait I light a cigarette to look cool in case I know someone in one of the cars that keep whizzing by me. I can't help smiling to myself thinking about Dodger and me texting yesterday. He told me he's unequivocally going to be in Wildwood when I'm there. His word, unequivocally. I didn't know if I believed him at first, but he did ask for all the information about dates and addresses. Then, just fifteen minutes ago, right after my shower, he texted me that he made reservations at the Beach Comber motel for two nights. That motel is not near our condo, but it's supposedly only three blocks from the boardwalk, and therefore three blocks from the beach. He bitched about the $198 per night rate, so I guess I believe him about meeting me in Wildwood. What I didn't mention to Dodger is the Beach Comber motel must be pretty dumpy because for one thing they had vacancies, which is very rare, and secondly $198 a night is probably the lowest rate in Wildwood. What the hell, it couldn't be worse than the barracks Dodger spent six months in, right? He might think the Beach Comber's luxurious.
Robby drives up, and cutely says, "Hey, good looking, wanna go for a ride?" I grin at him, casually flicking my cigarette butt off my crotch, then kicking it into the street before walking around the pickup cursing the cigarette butt under my breath. As I get in the passenger seat, Robby asks, "Do you like lamb kabobs?" Huh? What the fuck are lamb kabobs? I go, "Um, kabobs
sound, um, interesting!" I don't tell Robby I've never eaten lamb. I ask, "What's the difference between lamb and sheep?" He goes, "Jeez, I don't know." I'm like, "And to think we at the country fair just a few weeks ago."
Whatever, Chubby and I have never bought lamb chops because we can't get it out of our heads the Mary had a little lamb thing. Little pet. Cute little lambs bleating, "Baaa, baaa." As we drive to Robby's house I tell him about Dodger's latest text. He doesn't seem too thrilled about it, mumbling, "Yeah, he texted me too, but whether he'll actually show up, who knows. Don't hold your breath." Huh! I ask, "Rob, um, did you and Dodger have another argument?" He shrugs, "Nah, not really. I guess I'm jealous he might be with you on vacation and I won't." Well, I again try talking him into spending the weekend with me in Wildwood, but he claims he can't get away. His father is a workaholic and Robby can't say 'no' to him.
We have a beer in the pool house waiting to be called for dinner. When Robby's dad calls us in I find that Saturday night's dinner is served in the dining room, and I discover something new about food too. Lamb kabobs are not a specific part of a lamb. They're cubes of lamb meat on skewers with alternating slices of onion and cherry tomatoes. The whole mess is sprinkled with olive oil, rosemary and thyme, then cooked on the grille and served with rice pilaf. There's also broccoli, and a mixed salad. What can I say? The kabobs aren't horrible or completely uneatable, but lamb is not something I'd want again anytime soon. It must be an acquired taste because Robby can't eat enough of the kabobs. I guess it's the food you grow up with. I eat very slowly moving the contents of one kabob around on my plate. The conversation is about the Red Sox game mostly, with a ten minute period of shop talk between Robby and his dad. Not bad. Chocolate cake and vanilla-bean ice cream for dessert. After thanking the Dickers for dinner, Robby and I are on our way to the movies again. It turns out to be a really funny movie this time starring that fat lady with the potty mouth, Melissa something-or-other. Topping off a really good day, Robby and I get under clean linens on my bed and made love for quite a long time. Eventually we take a break and both fall asleep like we did the other night. Robby wakes up at four in the morning and staggers out of bed to go home, promising to return for Sunday brunch.
Brunch is at Chubby's condo this morning and when I let myself in he has a nice surprise for me. After dropping me off yesterday he went to Stop & Shop and brought the fixings for this morning's brunch. I'm like, "Way to go, bro!" Robby knocks on the door when Chubby and I are making corn beef hash.
We'll drop a poached egg on top of each portion just before serving them.
Robby cuts up the fruit while Chubby and I carefully cook the poached eggs in simmering water. We added a teaspoon of vinegar to the water to help the eggs stay more or less together. They're cooked until they're almost done, then we float them in a pan of warm water. Just before we serve them they'll carefully be slipped back into simmering water for thirty seconds to reheat them. There's toast and jam, plus Chubby's favorite cinnamon buns that are baking in the over giving the kitchen a nice aroma. Fresh squeezed orange juice, which the three of us take turns squeezing, plus coffee finishes off today's brunch.
While eating Mom and Tris do their thing, complimenting all of us about this or that and concentrating on Robby until he's blushing. They mean well trying to make Robby feel included in the family, although I know he'd rather
they do less of it. We talk about our coming vacation and the moms seem even more excited about Wildwood then Chubby and me. Of course the moms can get excited about a gum drop. Their fiancés will be with us the entire week this summer, which is nice for the moms. After brunch, as usual, the moms insist on doing the cleanup. Like last Sunday, the three of us guys drive to the high school to check out pick-up games. After going to the Red Sox game yesterday we're in the mood to play some baseball. We get there early enough to be part of a baseball game. It's not soft ball but rather we play with a regulation hard ball, so baseball gloves are a must. Beautiful weather all afternoon. Frankie shows up too late to get in the game, so he's one of the four spectators in the stands. After the game he gets me aside wanting to dock our dicks, but that isn't happening, not here and now anyway.
He'd been at a pool somewhere yesterday and has a sunburned nose looking extra cute with his buzz cut. His haircut looks better on him today than I thought it looked right after I did it for him. We're sure to find time next week for some docking, and maybe more than docking.
Sunday night Chubby and I make dinner and enjoy it with the moms. It's a summertime Sunday diner of chicken on the grill, potato salad, sliced locally-grown tomatoes, Chubby's coleslaw, and corn on the cob. I stay in Sunday night with Chubby watching a movie on HBO. A night off is a nice change of pace occasionally and has the side benefit of me being well rested and ready to go Monday morning. After setting the alarm fifteen minutes early so I can make Chubby's and my lunch, I'm in bed before eleven. In the morning I use the two extra chicken breast we grilled last night for today's lunch.
The chickens deboned and sliced thinly, then piled high on rolls with lots of mayo, and for crunch some lettuce. Simple, but very good. Quart bottles of Snapple too, plus a family size bag of Lays potato chips and big double-chocolate brownies. Good lunch!
Working on my own Monday, side by side with the other guys, seems to make the days go by faster. The opposite of last week when I was working with Matt. Everyone gets along fine. Chubby and I talk about next week in Wildwood, New Jersey. As for Robby and me I'm looking forward to pretty much a duplication of last week's sexual activities. He needs to work tonight, but he thinks it'll be the only night this week we won't be together.
Coincidentally Frankie texted me at lunch saying he can use his mother's car if I'm interested in getting together. Why not get together so I text him to come over before dinner and we'll do our quick docking sex. Not that I'm especially horny because since coming back from Georgia Robby and I have been having the best sex ever. It's just that Frankie looked sexy yesterday at the ball game so I'm kinda 'up' for docking with him and his nice looking dick. On the way home Frankie texts me that he's parked at the curb below my condo.
That boy's an eager beaver! I text back that he should drive around back and as Chubby and I drive up I see Frankie just making the left turn a hundred yards in front of us. Chubby parks at the curb and as we're going up the steps we make plans for a pizza dinner tonight, then we'll go to the mall to buy a few new things to wear in Wildwood. It's sort of a tradition we've been doing ever since we got the Jeep.
Inside my condo I go downstairs to the basement and let Frankie in. We're not tight enough to do any kissing. Just a fist bump, I rub his head and he rubs mine with both of us asking, "Wassup?" and neither of us answering.
Frankie isn't what you'd call shy. He says, "I'm so hooked on docking cocks with you I jerked off about ten times this weekend thinking about it." I mumble, "You need to get yourself a boyfriend." He's pulling down his fly, saying, "Your turn to suck my cock first, then I'll suck yours." Frankie 'gets' the concept of buddy sex pretty well and he's got just enough aggressiveness in him to interest me. It's only five o'clock so it's not like we're rushed for time here, but he's already got his cock out so I bend over and suck it into my mouth. He has a real nice penis even though it's circumcised, but I can't help notice he again proves not to be a slave to cleanliness.
His crotch area is a bit raunchy smelling, but sort of in a sexy way. And I've been working outside all day myself so I really shouldn't talk. There's something about Frankie I find enticing in the same way I find Bean kind of enticing, but without knowing exactly why in either case.
Frankie gets aroused quickly, like before, and in less then a minute his dicks firmed up enough for docking. Next time we do this I want to it with flaccid cocks. See how that works. Frankie goes, "That felt good. How 'bout if you suck me off to climax and we'll do the docking later?" I snort, "How 'bout we don't," as I take my dick out. He shrugs, bends over and takes my dick in his hands to slide it on his pink tongue into his mouth. He's really good at sucking and licking cock so I'm soon shuffling my feet and rubbing his buzzed head until, too soon, he pulls my cock from his mouth, saying, "That's good enough." See, he has that little bit of a take-charge attitude that I like. I gotta smile to myself imagining Frankie dominating my ass, although I'm not sure he could pull it off.
He has no problem pulling my foreskin over the head of his cock, and as he pulls it tighter his body's squirming a little bumping the head of his cock
against mine, mumbling, "Damn, I like how this feels." Then he looks at me, "Don't you?" I nod, "Yeah, you do this good, Frankie." He's licking his lips tightening his fist on our docked cocks, then he moves his fist from the root of his up over the docked areas and down my cock until the side of his fist is tight against my crotch. As he's drawing his fist back the other way, he says, "I'm thinking of shaving my pubes like you, Dylan." I go, "Ooooh, mmm," as sensations sizzle from the head of my cock. He strokes our docked cock three times kinda fast and I'm up on my toes again, my forehead against his. Stroke, stroke, stroke as Frankie grunts, "Ummm, fuck," our noses rubbing together now with his breath smelling like Spearmint chewing gum. "Aaah, ooh, Frankie..." He gives me a wet sloppy kiss, mostly tongue, as he steadily and tightly strokes our docked cocks for a little over a minute with both of us breathing noisily. Then I moan, my hips buck as I learn against him, "Aaaagh," with cum pouring out of my swollen hard cock and drooling out from under my foreskin. Frankie's hand slips in my cum and we pull apart grabbing our cock and stroking them. He grunts and shoots a long thin streak of cum right at me. It splatters on my shorts next to my open zipper, just like last time. He strokes another two quick spurts as I step back, yelling, 'What the fuck, Frankie?"
He's red in the face stroking his cock tightly, muttering, "Sorry, it just shot out, but fuuuck that felt good!" and his shoulders do a little shudder
like mine are always doing. I take a deep breath as the sizzling sensations around my groin fade out. Another big breath and I mummer, "Yeah, that did feel awfully good." We walking into the half bath chuckling now with Frankie saying, "That's a fast climax, huh?" I go, "Amazingly fast, yeah." Then I add, "Let's do it with soft cocks next time." He wipes his dick with toilet paper, saying, "It doesn't work too good that way. It's hard keeping our cocks docked if they're limp, plus I like sucking your dick. We'll continue doing it my way." Huh, bossy fellow! That's cute. I go, "Look at the big cum stain on my shorts!" He seems sincere, saying, "I'm really sorry. It just went off on its own, ya know?"
We put our dick's away and have a cold Coke on the balcony. Frankie bums a cigarette and we're smoking and joking about how under-appreciated is smoking-hot cock-docking. He's kind of a funny kid and since I'm not going to see Robby tonight I give a thought to suggesting we sneak in a quick fuck before dinner, but I don't get the chance. Frankie flicks his cigarette butt over the railing, drains the rest of his Coke, and says, "Thanks, Dylan.
It's been real, dude! Love doing that docking shit with you, but I promised my mom I'd get the car back by five-thirty." I walk him to the door, we bump fist muttering, "Later, man," and he's gone. Huh, I didn't expect that. Oka y, well now I have time for a shower before dinner.
After the shower, as I'm getting dressed, Dodger texts me that he just got
confirmation for his reservation at the Beach Comber. Huh! So he and his friend will definitely be spending a couple of days in Wildwood while Chubby and I are there. He's such a hot shit! I wonder if his friend is bi, gay, or straight. With Dodger you just never know, but if the friend is gay he better watch himself around Vinnie. Vinnie might cut the guy's dick off if he thinks he's taking time with Dodger away from him.
I'm basically in a countdown to Wildwood mode now. Tuesday's a normal day at work and after work Chubby drops me off, then takes the Jeep for a new inspection sticker. He has a date with one of his girlfriends after that. As for me, I'm waiting for Jameson who's coming over for a haircut. That's a bit of a surprise because when I saw him shortly after I got home he had a barbershop haircut and I assumed he'd moved on from me in that regard. Not the case, and unexpectedly Manny comes with him. My brainiac friend, Manny, gives me a nice hug apologizing for not texting before coming over. No problem. It's fun talking with them and catching up with their lives while giving them haircuts. Obviously no sex from these two, not even a hint of it.
When they leave I take a quick shower and get ready for my date with Robby. We're having dinner together at Dino's Italian Cuisine restaurant. We get there early and Tony, our favorite waiter, buys us a drink at the bar while we wait for our table. He says the drink's are on the house in appreciation of us being loyal customers. Probably our over-tipping has something to do with it too. We both have two cocktails before dinner. After dinner our dessert is a couple of after-dinner drinks. That's just the mood we were in.
When we get up to leave it obvious to both of us we're a tiny bit drunk.
With some giggling, knowing we're acting like fools, we have sex in the pickup parked in the restaurant's small parking lot. Two people come out of the restaurant as I'm doing my orgasmic squeal and even though I had my hand over my mouth the man and woman stop to look around when I squeal. Robby saw them because he was up on his knees giving my ass a good hard pounding, but he ducked down giggling before they saw him. Robby's lying on my back continuing his thrusting. Thrusting and snickering like he does when he's drunk. Later that night we do it again in my bed.
Wednesday at work our asses are dragging and our heads are aching from hangovers. To make matters worse Seth's has a stomach virus of some kind and leaves work at ten o'clock. Robby insisted he go home, so we're one man down with two of us hungover like a mother fucker, to be crude about it. Robby works with the crew from ten o'clock on. Every time we pass each other we exchange 'looks' shaking our heads slowly, like: you gotta be shitting me.
Really hot day too, and in the afternoon as Robby and I are putting up the tailgate to the truck, he mutters, "I'm never drinking anything alcoholic again." I mumble, "Same here." We make it through the day somehow, but Robby says he's going to bed early and we'll make up for it tomorrow night.
Meaning we'll make up for tonight's missed sex. When I get home Chubby comes in with me. He sees I'm hurting so he turns the air conditioning up as I collapse on the sofa. He gets two Advil's for me, then makes me a quart of the boxed Campbell's dry chicken noodle soup mix that we both claim is good for hangovers, flu, and colds. The Advil, noodle soup, plus a sixteen ounce bottle of iced cold Coke keeps me alive at least. You need lots of liquids when you're hungover. Chubby stays with me while I slurp down what serves as my dinner, and then I go to bed with Chubby tucking me in and telling me to text him if I need anything.
Around nine o'clock I hear the doorbell. I'd dozed off earlier, but I'm just lying in bed awake now so I get up and pad to the front door. It's Robby who says he's feeling better. I can't help but grin. We get in bed naked and one thing leads to another, then an hour and a half later we do it again.
Robby leaves around eleven-thirty with us both feeling much better.
Thursday there's rain showers all day which makes everything about cutting lawns harder and messier. By the end of the day Chubby and I can't wait for vacation. We decide we'll eat dinner at McDonalds because we don't feel like making dinner ourselves. Before we left work I learn that Dallas, Matt, and Chubby are going to shoot some hoops after dinner and they tried talking me and Robby into joining them, but we take a pass. We won't see each other next week and we want to load up on sex together. After McDonalds Chubby drops me off and as soon as I get in the house Robby calls me apologizing that his father needs his help tonight. Some kind of emergency requiring Robby to go with his dad to the property for next spring's major project. I try not to act pissed off, but I am. Then I'm more pissed-off when I discover Chubby's already taken off for the basketball game. I could text him to come back and pick me up, but the hell with it. I'll stay in tonight. Tomorrow is the last day of work before our vacation, and that's mostly on my mind. I get a text from Bean asking what I'm doing. Giving that possibility a thought for two seconds before deciding not to reply. Turning down sex again.
What's to become of me? On our way to work Friday morning Chubby and I are antsy and anxious for tomorrow morning and our drive to Wildwood. Seth's back at work feeling better so we're back to full strength and today's one of our lighter work- schedule days. Robby's going around patting everyone on the back telling us to enjoy the light workload today and our vacation that's mere hours away.
It'll basically begin at four o'clock this afternoon. We're all in good spirits
obviously and we enjoy an extra-long lunch break. I know Robby's putting up a good front while inside he must be dreading a week of supervising borrowed workers from other crews, and working right along with them. Needing the money Seth's forgoing a vacation week to work so Robby will at least have a right hand man to help him. The week before I left Georgia it was Robby's crew that provided a different guy every day to cover for that weeks' vacation crew. His dad thought about eliminating the weekly vacations, but in the end continued the practice because of the morale boost a vacation gives all of us.
I'll miss Robby next week, but Wildwood has always been the highlight of Chubby's and my summers for years. It's become a special tradition for us.
Plus, it's just for a week and then Robby and I can have our reunion date, which have always been really nice. As Friday's workday comes to end there's lots of smiles on our crew. I invite Robby to join Chubby a me for dinner tonight and then ride home with him in his pickup. After a beer Chubby and I cook eight ounce strip steaks on the grill and serve them with French fries, corn on the cob, and a salad. When the steaks come off the grill we let them rest while we deep fry the French fries. It only takes four or five minutes the way we do them. We use frozen fast food fries, meaning they're the same size fries you get at McDonalds or BurgerKing. The frozen fries are dropped in hot vegetable oil. When I drop them in the pot Chubby slams the lid on because grease splatters like mad from the water content in the frozen fries. Five second later we can take the lid off and move the fries around in the sizzling hot oil so they don't stick together. Fishing them out of the oil onto paper towels, then we salt them right away so the salt will stick. They're as good or better than any from a fast food restaurant.
After eating and cleaning the kitchen Chubby goes up to his condo. He's needs to get ready for his date with Dallas' sister. Robby and I wander to the
balcony for a smoke. We're both kinda quiet because this is our last night
together for eight days. I look at him and smile, then rub his shoulder and he puts his arm around my waist pulling me against him. Dropping my cigarette butt over the railing, I take Robby's cigarette from his fingers and drop it next to mine, then lean in for a kiss. Three balconies over there are some people having cocktails, but we don't care if we're seen. Robby murmurs, "I love you," and we get our arms around each other for a hug, swaying ever so slightly side to side. No one's body feels as good to me as Robby's. His scent and tight muscular body is so sexy. He rubs his nose against the side of my head, mumbling, "You're hair isn't bristly anymore, Dylan, it's soft." The ends have grown out the past couple of weeks and are now fuzzy instead of like sandpaper. It's almost impossible to imagine it was only two weeks ago yesterday that Ryan gave me my last haircut in Georgia. He insisted on it and I'm kinda glad he did. We finished my stay the way it started. Only two quick texts from him this week, basically saying 'Hi'. No details about how things are going for him in the romance department.
Robby takes my hand, murmuring, "Come inside with me, Dylan." After two weeks of blissful sex together it's going to feel strange not being with him next week. We go inside but not to my bedroom like I expected. Instead we sit on the sofa and Robby says, "I, um. I'm not sure how to say this, Dylan.
I know you're having buddy sex on the side, although I don't know who you're doing it with and I don't especially care. You've inferred you're doing less of it then you used to and you'll, you know, have sowed all the wild oats by the time we're married. We've agreed to that, and I'm reconciled to it." I nod my head, glad to hear he's okay with that, and he goes on, "Um, its Dodger that I'm concerned about. You know, side sex-wise." I mumble, "Dodger? What...?" He holds up his hand to interrupt me, saying, "We both know my brother feels he's the Dickers brother you should marry, which is ridiculous considering you and I have been lovers for over three years, plus he has almost three years left on his enlistment. That's Dodger for you. Anyway I guess I wanted to see what you thought about, um, you know, Dodger." I shrug, "Whaddaya mean? I feel the same way about him I've always felt. He's one of the most awesome guys I know, but I'm not romantically in love with him. Not even a little bit. I love him as a special friend."
Standing up, Robby says, "That's what I thought. He might, ya know, try to convince you to reconsider marrying me. You know how Dodger is. I thought I'd mention it considering he'll be spending a couple of days with you." I standup too, "Gee, Rob, that's kinda paranoid of you, don'cha think?" He forces out a little laugh, then says, "Yeah, after hearing what you have to say on the matter I guess I was paranoid. Forget I mentioned it, babe." I mutter, "Yeah, sure," and he gives my shoulders a hug, mumbling, "I feel kind of stupid now, but you've been away much of the summer with, um, Ryan, and now you're going away again and Dodger will be with you." I'm like, "For two days only, and with my brother and our moms. After that it's you and me for the rest of our lives." He chuckles, "Yeah, I like the sound of that." I ask, "Did, um, Dodger say anything to you about what you we're saying a minute ago?" He shakes his head, "Nah, you're right, I was paranoid. It's just that I know how he feels about you." This talk was weirdly unexpected. I mumble, "So there's nothing Dodger told you recently that's prompted you to have this little talk with me about him, right?" Robby shrugs, "Oh, he's only trying to break my balls I guess. Dodger kids around a lot." Yeah, Robby's the serious one and Dodger's the kidder and ball-buster. I give Robby a hug, murmuring, "It's you and me against the world, Robby." We have a sweet hug. Sometimes Robby seems so innocent.
A minute later, "How about we grab a couple of beers and forget I ever mentioned Dodger." I go, "Sure. I'll see what Tris has in her refrigerator."
Then I add, "Wow, now that I think about it, Rob, this will be the last time I ever need to borrow beer from Tris' stash. I'll be twenty-one and buying my own beer when I get back from vacation." We walk outside, then up the steps to Chubby's condo with Robby saying, "Yeah, it's hard to believe we'll finally be twenty one. I'll tell you what though, you better have about ten forms of ID with you at all times because no one is gonna believe you're twenty-one." I mutter, "Look who's talking." Opening Tris' refrigerator I see she's still on a Coors kick so we both get two cans of Coors and I write the IOU stating it's my final one ever, and that the Romaro household has some cases of beer coming from me in the near future.
Back on my balcony we light cigarettes and pop the tab on the beer cans.
Robby takes a few swallows of beer as he's exhaling cigarette smoke through his nose, then asks, "Do you want to continue sleeping together on Friday and Saturday nights when you get back?" I go, "Sure I do!" Robby asks, "Is your mom okay with it? I mean has she said anything about me coming out of your bedroom Sunday morning?" Apparently Robby's stuck on his paranoia theme.
I shake my head, "Nope. Mom hasn't said anything one way or the other." He goes, "That's cool," and I try putting it in perspective for him, saying, "We've been more or less on our own since we were eight years old and they've come to trust our judgement about everything, including who we sleep with." He frowns, "Wow, that's pretty fucking unreal." I go, "Yeah, it is, but we grew up in unusual circumstances. Never once did the moms ever need to intercede for Chub and me about anything. We've never been involved with the police, not that the moms know about anyway, and never once was it necessary for the moms to talk with a school administrator or teacher. As far as they know we've never been in any kind of trouble, although we've had our share." Robby goes, "You guys have been in trouble?" and I'm like, "Nothing we couldn't get ourselves out of without the help of our moms."
He talks about how his mother and father, his father more than his mother, closely monitored every step of the way while Dodger and he were growing up. Hell, that's probably partially the reason Dodger basically ran away from
home and joined the Army, but I don't mention that. It's also why Robby's so used to taking orders from his father. After all he's been taking them all his life so it comes naturally now that Robby's working for him. Just the complete opposite of Chubby and me. And it's also partially the reason Robby was initially very reluctant to take charge of him and me. Giving orders was an alien concept for him, but during the years we've been together he finally feels more comfortable with that. It's helped that he was a take-charge guy on the baseball teams in high school, then his supervisory position at work the last two years has helped as well. Those two things plus my encouragement that he should be our leader has finally resulted in him partially being in charge.
I like him being in-charge, but Robby and I know the reality of the situation is I'll get my way whenever push comes to shove, but usually I like him getting his way. It's fun thinking of Robby as 'my man'. Everything being equal, the truth of the matter is Dodger and Ryan actually are better suited to fill the role I have in my head about 'my man', that is except for the small matter that I'm very much in romantic love with Robby, and not with either of them. Love rules all for most of us. It's a delicious feeling being in love with someone, someone who at the very least loves you back as much as you love him. It's very delicious indeed. Another thing I was thinking about when Robby was describing how closely his parents monitored their activities is this: they didn't monitor the boy's bedroom very closely. The thought the boys might be having sex with each other obviously never entered his parent's minds. I suppose that's completely understandable of course.
A glitch in their monitoring system.
After drinking our beers and telling one another the reasons we love each other so much, we drift down the hall to my bedroom with our heads full of compliments, convinced more than ever that we're perfect together. Now we're in a very romantic mood of course so we do lovers' kisses slowly and fully with our hands rubbing one another's body and our hips lightly humping. My fingers ruffle his soft, pretty hair as we moan quietly and our mouths make subtle wet sounds sucking together. It's dreamy with nothing on my mind except Robby and this moment. A long series of kisses followed by both of us gasping for air, hugging one another with the sides of our faces together and our penises hard and throbbing. Robby's voice sounds raspy as he quietly says, "Lift your arms, Dylan," and we begin undressing each other taking turns removing shirts, then stepping out of our sneakers and pulling each others's shorts down, and finally our underwear comes off and we both put a fist around the other's hard cock.
Slow stroking with our faces so close our noses rub together as we breathe raggedly, hearts thumping and our brains full of sexual desire. "Oh Robby, I love you so," and he nods his head, "Me too, babe." Letting go of his boner I slowly sink to my knees to suck his cock. I'd love to give him pleasure like he never imagined was possible. I lick the head of his cock as he rubs my head making a low humming sound, "Mmmmm, mmm." Precum drools out onto my tongue and I make a swallowing sound with my cock throbbing in its hardness causing an involuntary moan to escape from my throat, "Oooh, ummm."
My body is tingling all over with little chills as my shoulders shudder.
Robby purrs, "That's enough, Dylan. Ummm, it feels so good though." He helps lift me up with a hand under each of my arms and we hug again as I float in the air swooning. It feels so good doing this with him.
I don't remember getting in bed but we're in bed hugging and rubbing our hands on each other like we can't touch enough. Somehow we both know when to go up on our sides, Robby behind me. His arm goes over me and his fingers play with my nip ring as he guides the head of his granite-hard cock to my asshole. I tremble with anticipation feeling his cock begin spreading the lips of my asshole and then, "Ooooh. OOH!" as the head tightly penetrates past my sphincter and I whimper like it's the first time we've ever done this.
Robby's kissing the back of my neck hugging my back against his chest and I actually feel the soft whiskers on his upper lip tickle my neck.
Slowly his hard sex organ moves tightly up my rectum with my shoulders shuddering again and Robby oh so quietly moaning, "Umm, umm, oooh." His cock feels extra fat tonight and I bite my lip at the wonder of it all. How can anything feel this good? There are sexual thrills and then there's this intertwining of two romantic lover's bodies that elevates the thrill of sex to ecstasy. It's truly too overwhelming to appreciate all of it at the moment it's happening. Pleasure overflows and the overflow will be relieved in dreams and daydreams afterwards. For now though all I can think of is how indescribably wonderful Robby's making me feel. Our love thrives and grows from this even as I'm reveling in this immediate world of sexual pleasure.
Withdrawing his boner, and then sliding it right back up inside me makes both of us moan and shake together. Again he pulls his cock back and again it goes tightly back up my ass. Then a little faster, and, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds begin ringing out as sensations from the sensitive lips of my anus and the powerful throbbing pleasure from my prostate escalate with every, "Slap, slap, slap." Robby and I moan as he increases the speed of his thrusting, his arm more insistently holding me tightly against him. The pleasure centers in my brain glow bright red as my balls churn semen and move with their load up my scrotum and prepare for climax. Two, three, four minutes before of sexual pleasure before I lose all sense of time as I squirm against Robby, humping back at his thrusting while whining with sexual desire as my world expands like a star ready to go supernova, an explosion that will outshine an entire galaxy. I'm struggling now, getting ready to experience the pinnacle of human pleasure. Then it's here and I squeal, struggling in Robby's arms as, "BOOM!" a long stream of cum shoots straight out from my cock streaking across the sheet. My vision goes dark with pinpoints of light streaming in at me as another streak of cum shoots up from my nuts and out my quivering boner, a boner so hard it aches with pleasure.
Moaning quietly, then a sigh as I'm trying to make sense of the pleasure soaring through my body.
Shivering with the after effects of my climax I feel Robby's body get stiff as he groans, humping against my butt cheeks, them "Arrggg, ooh," from Robby and I feel his hard streak of cum hit my bowels, then another hard hump against me and my rectum is sloppy with Robby's load of spunk. He humps weakly against my ass, then his body's as limp as mine. He takes a deep noisy breath and lies against my back forcing me onto my stomach, his heart beating fast. My shoulders do a late shudder and then I'm feeling so good I sigh again, this time with contentment. It feels good to breathe deeply while feeling completely sexually satisfied. What a wonderful feeling. I'm so relaxed, and I feel so good I can't help smiling, then take another deep breath knowing nothing feels as good as this.
A minute later I turn over and Robby's soft cock pulls from my ass with some of his cum following it out. We get in each other arms, kissing lightly, then I push him on his back with me lying on top of him. Lifting my head, I
murmur, "That was so perfect, Robby. So unbelievable perfect and I love you so much I can't even find the words." We kiss again, then Robby murmurs, "You're perfect, Dylan. That's what's perfect, you." We get cum on us as we cuddle together and then lay on each other not talking for quite a while.
Maybe Robby's doing what I'm doing, which is savoring our latest sexual act together. How awesome I feel lying with him. Nothing is as good as this.
We talk quietly after our silent period, laughing a little as we try describing our sensations during our latest sex. It's indescribable, as I've said hundreds of times.
Later we shower together and do recreational sex that's rough. Robby really takes charge pounding my ass doggy style. A true sex thrill ride that creates an astonishing climax considering I had one an hour ago. We both sit on
the floor of the shower stall afterwards catching our breath with water pouring down on us. A sweet kiss before we stagger up and finishing bathing each other. Drying ourselves we're laughing about the shower sex and both feeling pretty fucking good about ourselves. Robby gets dressed, saying, "I'd feel awkward being here in the morning when you and your mom are getting ready to go on vacation." I try talking him into sleeping with me, claiming, "It's Friday night, Rob, and you said we'd sleep together Friday and Saturday nights the rest of the summer." He's tying his sneakers, "Not this Friday night though, and anyway my parents pretty much screwed up my plans for that." Wearing only boxer shorts I walk him to the door where we kiss and tell each other how much we'll miss one another next week. And it's true, we will miss each other, but it's only a week. I watch him go down the steps to his pickup and with a wave he drives away. What a wonderful night though. I fall asleep thinking about Robby... in years past I'd be thinking about Wildwood. So that's new.
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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