Subject: DYLAN’S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER Chapter 34 DYLAN’S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR Chapter 34 by Donny Mumford Rob and I do some cleaning-up in the pool house. Nothing major, just picking-up beer and soda cans and cleaning the barber equipment, straightening the chairs, sweeping a little, and stuff like that. It took five-minutes. Rob looks around and then mumbles, “Yeah, I guess that’s good enough, thanks for helping, Dylan.” Then, with a grin, he puts his hand behind my neck for a squeeze; I hunch my shoulders enjoying pleasant chills down my spine. With the palm of his hand still lightly holding me at the back of my neck, as if he’s worried I might drift away, Rob flicks off the lights and we walk outside. The outside light over the pool house door is off too so there’s only moonlight and the edges of light from the backdoor light fixture illuminating Rob. He’s looking coolly-handsome and confident as usual. Smiling at me, he mumbles, “Just you and me now, huh, babe?” and his hand pulls my head over for a kiss on the lips. In my youthful gay-days I thought kissing with a guy was the ultimate affirmation of my newly-discovered gayness and it was like dangerously thrilling. To this day I still think kissing with another guy is an extremely sexy thing to do. Holding hands with another guy… same thing. In other words, showing affection like heterosexual couples do. It was Willie Worthington who first showed me the exoticness of boys kissing and holding hands. He taught me, or should I say exposed me, to lots of things most of which have stuck with me to this very day. I’m not at all sure of the timeline but I know there was a time, maybe going back to the nineteen-fifties, when males kissing on the mouth was thought taboo in America. Whatever, gay men do it routinely in this part of the twenty-first century, so tough-shit to those who maybe still find it off-putting… Yeah, Rob looks sexy in the moonlight. He’s let his blond hair grow-out from the time he was recuperating from appendicitis. The haircut I did for him using only scissors was his last haircut so far, this summer. Anyhow it looks good and his casual confident expression with those pretty, bright-blue eyes looking right into my almost identical ones gives me goosebumps. Rob’s hair is just about as long as it was the first time I ever spoke to him. I’d worked up the nerve in the latter part of our high school junior year to invite him to write for the school newspaper. I can still see some of the youthful cuteness in his face that got my dick squirming that afternoon so long ago. Yeah, he still has a little of that youthful cuteness he had as a seventeen-year-old shy boy, but mostly he’s a handsome young man now. Christ, back then we were both pathetically shy and of course I hadn’t a clue, never gave a thought, that Rob was gay and sexually active with his brother and Danny. Not that I was a friend of Danny’s back then. Sure, I knew of him because he was one of the cuter boys in my class. It’s just that I was so intrigued by Rob Dickers that even cute-Danny was only a peripheral interest during my youthful gay-boy-watching days. Even before I knew I was gay I was always intrigued by cute guys. Unfortunately, I never thought to ask myself why I was so interested. Maybe I thought everyone watched cute boys, like it was the natural ‘order’ of things. Duh! When I was awakened to my gayness finally, I’d stare at Robby in class some days and almost spontaneously cum in my pants. It was a mammoth crush I had on that star baseball pitcher. I had to have known somewhere in my brain I was gay but the concept never formed into an accepted reality until Carl forced it down my throat… the idea I was gay that is, and then his cock. Or was it the other way around? Squeezing the back of my neck again, Rob asks, “Will you, Dylan?” I frown, mumbling, “Will I what?” He goes, “What I said earlier. Will you stay with me the rest of the summer?” Oh man, he was serious about that? Yeah, I kinda thought he was although I was thinking maybe there’s a chance he may have been jerking Danny around because Danny was supposed to stay with Rob last summer but bailed-out in less than two-weeks. His for reasons for doing that I’ve never been able to exactly pinpoint ’cause I’m not real good at interrogating a friend… or lover in Rob’s case. It’s my opinion everyone has a right to their secrets. I have mine… Standing here in the moonlight with Rob’s hand holding the back of my neck, almost possessively, I take a deep breath trying to think what I should say to Rob’s proposition. I mean he’s become very much like the fantasy ‘lover’ of my gay teenage years, the person I’ve always hoped he would be. In many ways it happened organically, seemingly overnight and on its own, plus I’ve adjusted my fantasy expectations quite a bit as well. Ironically, after I told him we need to abandon all our silly timetables and rules about when we’ll do this or that, and what our roles should be, that he somehow morphed into my ideal partner and lover. I’ve vacillated over the years about the degree my ‘perfect lover’ should be in-control, in-charge of us. I’ve changed my mind about that any number of times and, Jesus, how Rob put up with me all this time I can’t imagine. And now after all the twists and turns we’ve been through Rob’s ended-up just about perfect. Not real bossy, very accommodating and deferential to me, but at the same time with a calm confidence about himself. Nothing wishy-washy about Rob, not at all. It’s like now he doesn’t need to be right all the time and his ideas don’t need to be how everything is going to be worked-out. He’s matured into an almost perfect lover and friend on his own and probably would have done so quicker if I hadn’t constantly tried to mold him into my view of perfection. But still… me living full-time with him? I’m smelling the back of my wrist trying to think what I should do or say about that. It seems on the surface as an unnecessary move, but yet sensible in many ways too. Realizing the back of my hand is at my face I rub my nose like I had an itch, mumbling, “Um, what do your parents think about that?” He grins, saying, “If that’s your only concern I’ll take it as a ‘yes’ you’ll be staying with me. You know damn well my parents enjoy you staying with us… and I’ve told you why like ten-times. They’ve told you why too so you already know how welcome you are.” Hmmm, yeah, they say Rob seems much happier, less grumpy, when I stay over. He takes his hand away from the back of my neck to give me a hug, excitedly saying, “It’ll be so awesomely perfect, babe.” We start walking toward the back door as he adds, “Of course you’ll want to tell your Mom first. You know, explain how this is convenient for work, which it obviously is. We’re fifteen-to-twenty minutes closer to the office from my house than yours and I won’t need to be driving back and forth to your place. Well you can explain it to your Mom better than I can.” While going inside the house it all of a sudden it occurs to be that both of Rob’s parents are home. Oh fuck, are we going to talk with them about this? In the kitchen, like he often does, Rob opens the refrigerator and stares into it without actually wanting anything. Glancing over at me as I’m leaning against the kitchen table, still trying to decide what to say, he goes, “We should probably start bringing some of your things over tomorrow after baseball practice.” Smelling the back of my hand again, feeling trapped but maybe in a good way, I go, “Huh,” and he asks, “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Shaking my head, I finally manage to mutter, “This is happening too fast for me, Robby. I do enjoy staying here with you of course, but let’s not make any final, um, arrangements right this second, okay? Give me time to think about things. I might be forgetting something that, um, I need to think about or, ah, consider or something.” Closing the refrigerator door, he comes over to me and gives me another hug, murmuring, “Sure, okay,” and right then Mr. Dickers walks into the kitchen. He snorts a chuckle, saying, “Oops, sorry to interrupt. I’ll just be a second refilling my nightcap, boys.” Robby lets go of me, and says, “Dad, we’re discussing Dylan spending the rest of the summer with us, like I spoke about with you and Mom the other day.” His father is drinking red wine tonight. There’s a bottle of Kendall Jackson Grand Reserve Merlot on the counter that he picks up and pours some into a wine glass, muttering, “Ah yes, our VIP summer guest.” Turning to me, he goes, “Dylan, we’re happy to have you stay with us,” and he chuckles again, obviously half-in-the-bag, asking Rob, “Was I convincing, son?” Huh, I’m not sure if he was being sarcastic or sincere, or a little of each. Whatever, I manage to say, “Thank you, Sir, but we, um…,” and he says, “Oh, Rob, seriously though, I meant to mention to you at dinner about that McFee contract.” Rob goes, “Its Macafee Corporation, Dad.” His Dad mumbles, “Whatever the f-ing name is, it’s simply not what we’re looking for… well, come into my office for a second and I’ll lay it out for you.” And then to me, “Excuse us for a minute, Dylan.” Rob says, “Go on upstairs, babe. I’ll be right up.” As they walk off I look around the kitchen, thinking, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to stay here and get served a great breakfast every morning before work. Oh yeah, after sleeping and making exquisite love with Robby there’s this like gourmet breakfast waiting for me. Maybe Rob and I will have a swim in the pool after work and then sit down to a great dinner that Mrs. Dickers prepares for us. I won’t need to do anything. Hell, every dinner I’ve had here is like a special Sunday dinner. After dinner I can just leave my plate on the table along with whatever else for Rob’s Mom to clean-up. Rob and I will go off to do whatever we feel like doing. And Rob treats me special when I stay over, hell all three of them treat me special. I feel special here! They can’t do enough for me, and they actually do act as if I’m a VIP, like Mr. Dickers said. Yeah, but why the fuck am I standing here in the kitchen? I start walking to the hall stairs and at that very second Mrs. Dickers decides to walk out of the living room and down the hall towards me. I just stand here. Jesus! I can’t catch a break here. She’s smiling though, saying, “Oh, Dylan, how nice to see you. Rob tells me you’re moving in with us. Welcome, and I hope you’ll make our home your own.” I go, “Good evening, Mrs. D. Um, we were just, um, it’s not certain…” She pours herself some wine, mumbling a non-sequitur, “Wouldn’t you think Robert would have thought to refill my wine glass too?” I assume she means Mr. Dickers, I go, “Oh, he, um, Mr. Dickers is talking about work with my, um, I mean Rob. Ah, in his office, I think…” She grins at my uncomfortableness while sipping her wine, smiling, and then mumbling, “Talking about the company, are they? What a shocker that is, ha ha.” I nod and force a snorted-out chuckle. She drops the empty wine bottle in the trash and then looks at me, saying, “And, Dylan, you better make sure your Mom’s okay with this move, honey.” Honey? I mumble, “As I was saying, I’m not sure about moving in, Mrs. Dickers, um, Rob, um… well he, ah, sort of invited me but we need to have more of a ‘talk’ about it. I think, um…” She pats my shoulder on her way back to her TV show, saying over her shoulder, “Good luck with your ‘talk’! Rob’s pretty determined this is going to happen and you know how your boyfriend is when he makes up his mind about something.” Huh, they’re all on-board with Rob’s idea; a foregone conclusion. That’s kinda weird. Hey, am I Dodger’s replacement? Confused about what to do, I start upstairs, thinking, ‘Yeah, Rob and his parents are being very nice and Rob id determined obviously, but I can be pretty fucking determined too. I’m not committing to anything… yet. Rob cleared this with his parents, which is surprising in a way, but I give him props for doing that. Oh man though, I still gotta talk to Chubby and then my Mom. Chub always knows just the right thing to do and he’ll tell me right-out what he thinks. Mom, well Mom will go along with whatever she thinks I want. She’s like that, but then I’ll be twenty-two-fucking-years-old in a few weeks so why wouldn’t she let me make my own decisions? My important decisions are almost always run past my brother first though, and this one will be too no matter how determined Mrs. Dickers thinks Rob is. Flopping on Rob’s bed with my hands behind my head I get a goofy thought and snicker out loud thinking about Hayden telling me to do this very thing on his bed yesterday; ‘Get on my bed with your hands behind your head’, or was it, ‘with your legs together’. Something like that… ha ha.. Yeah well… that makes me think about buddy-sex. That’s still in play whether I’m living here or not. That won’t change, or will it? I won’t have the freedom I have now. Yeah except I’ve been mostly staying nights with Rob for weeks now and somehow, we both manage to slip-in some buddy-sex. At least I’ve managed to… although not often! Certainly nothing like last summer, but then Rob’s never been this committed to our sex life before and, consequently, I’m rarely if ever horny. The variety I’ve enjoyed for the past few years has dried-up now that I’m old and I don’t see what difference it’ll make whether I live here or not… or for that matter if I live in a tent somewhere. Hearing stomping on the steps tells me Rob’s coming upstairs, so what am I gonna say? I know he’ll say something like, ‘Tonight, babe, we’ll cement our awesome new arrangement with lover’s sex. How’s that sound?’ Or something like that. How did this come about so quickly? I never gave it a thought before Rob mentioned it a mere hour ago, and now it’s a done-deal in his and his parents’ minds. Is it a done deal with me though? Ya know, the truth is I’ll actually be fine with living here assuming Chubby doesn’t comes up with a reason I shouldn’t be fine with it; some reason I haven’t thought of. I’m sure some people think I’m a pussy for needing my brother’s approval, but fuck them! I always feel better after checking-in with Chubby and usually, although not always, I follow his advice. Rob walks into the bedroom all smiles and then flops on the bed next to me landing on his stomach. He goes up on his elbows looking down at me but doesn’t say what I thought he might say. Instead he says, “Jesus, babe, I just scored major brownie-points with Dad. This manager dude at work, Sol Golden, totally mislead Dad about how the Macafee Corp. thing could work. Dad had this fucked-up idea about how that deal is supposed to go down, and I told him…” I go, “Rob, fuck the Macadoo shit! I wanna talk about me staying with you.” Rob murmurs, “Its Macafee,” as I continue, “Ah, I’m not totally committed to ‘moving-in’, okay? I mean, I’m leaning heavily in favor of it and I appreciate the offer, I really do! My problem is that you’re just assuming I’ll do it without first discussing it with me and I need a little time to think about it and, I don’t know, but it rattles me that your parents already think I’m moving in and… oh balls, I gotta think about it, that’s all.” I can’t tell from his expression what he’s thinking as he lightly traces a finger across my lips, and then goes, “You’re right of course, Dylan. I sprung it on you without thinking. I get carried away when I’m excited about something, especially when it’s about you. Um, didn’t I hear you say you’re mostly gonna do it?” Nodding my head, I’m like, “Yeah, probably but I wanna talk to Chubby first, and I need to fill my Mom in too.” Rob goes, “Sure, I understand that. Hell, I expected you’d need to do that. I mean, that goes without saying, right? And, um, I know how close you and Jeff are so obviously you’d want to talk to him. So, like I said, I understand completely. No problem.” Yeah, well okay then! Don’t make fucking decisions for me without discussing them with me first. I got that across. Rob smiles and gently rubs up my forehead and back on the top of my head messing my hair, murmuring, “Someday I hope the first person you think of before making a big decision is me, but I understand it’s still Jeff for now. Um, but you’re just about positive you’re gonna be staying with me, right?” Well fuck, he is a determined young man, and that’s not a criticism. That’s one of Rob’s good qualities; one of his many good qualities. Reaching up I get a fistful of his hair, saying, “I think I’ll let my hair grow out like you’re doing.” He chuckles, “Changing the subject, are we?” I shrug, muttering, “No, not really, well maybe to catch my breath, yeah.” He says, “Let’s get ready for bed,” and we both hop off the bed and start getting undressed. Pulling off his shirt, Rob goes, “Hey, as far as your hair goes, hell I’m just your barber and you’re my freebie-client, so you tell me how to cut your hair. I don’t decide for you, ya know?” I mumble, “Great that you say that now, but you did decide about Danny’s and my haircuts the last two-times.” He goes, “I don’t believe I cut Danny’s hair before this last haircut.” Shrugging, I’m like, “Well you decided on my haircut the last two times” He goes, “No, I did not! I assumed you wanted this hairstyle,” and his fingers go over the hair on top of my head as he mutters, “Hell, you can get any kind of fucking haircut you want, I don’t care! You’re the one always thinking about haircuts.” He’s a tad put-out obviously, but I also don’t care, sarcastically mumbling, “Yes, I will decide, thank you very much.” He’s stripped-down to his boxer shorts by now and, fuck, I can’t help it… I’m always impressed seeing his hot body. “Nice bod, dude.” He picks-up the clothes I dropped on the floor, saying, “Thanks and I’m glad our arguing about haircuts is over.” Taking my socks off, I go, “We weren’t arguing! Um, anyway what’d we decide?” He shakes his head, chuckling now as he goes, “We decided, like always, that whatever you fucking-want you get. In this case whatever haircut you want, or maybe you won’t get a haircut… whatever the fuck. It’s all ‘good’ as long as you’re happy.” I’m like, “I might get this haircut again and then I ulus escort might not. I’ll let you know.” Expecting Rob to continue our snippy conversation, he instead says, “So, how about we start bringing your clothes and stuff over after baseball practice tomorrow night?” That makes me laugh out loud. And he wasn’t trying to be ironic or funny; he was serious which negated our entire discussion about me not being decided yet. I go, “Rob! What the hell? We both just agreed I need to talk with Chubby and my Mom before committing to staying with you all summer but, be that as it may, you just now bulldozed over all that and went right back to it being a foregone conclusion.” He shrugs, “I don’t mean to assume!” I go, “Yes you do ’cause that’s what you just did, but that’s alright. I mean, I’m staying here three or four nights a week as it is, so it’s not a big stretch to assume you’re gonna get your way again.” He’s grinning, mumbling, “Again? It’ll be a first!” Holding up my clothes that he just picked-up off the floor, Rob smirks, saying, “There will be a few house rules, ya know.” I go, “It’s not even definite yet! Too early for house rules.” I assume he’s referring to my discarded clothing as he lays them on the desk chair, so I ask, “Um, what house rules?” He comes over and puts his arms loosely around my waist facing me, “Well for one, you’ll need to let me make love to you every night.” I nod, “That’s a good rule, but be serious. What house rules?” He shrugs and let’s go of me, “Oh nothing, but don’t thrown your clothes around; that maybe could be a rule. That’s about it for the rules though, I guess.” I’m like, “Well, I was getting good with that clothes thing actually. Remember I folded my towel after showering the other day?” He’s looking a little frustrated now so I take hold of his arm, saying seriously, “I’m wicked flattered you want me to stay with you! And that your parents are so nice about welcoming me too, really I am! Just let me go through the motions of talking with Chub and Mom, that’s off. Hell, I wanna stay with you always. Most of the time I want to crawl into your skin with you; I love you more than anything.” He hugs me, rubbing my back, “Thank you, Dylan, I love you too. I just want us to be together.” We do a tight hug and then, letting go of me, he says, “Okay then, how about you get your toiletry kit and we’ll take a quick shower before getting to bed. Ya know, it’s getting late.” Oh fuck, showering together in the hall bathroom? Before I can say anything, he quickly adds, “Not together though; I know you don’t feel comfortable doing that here… yet. So, do you don’t want to shower first.” I go, “You’re right, I’m not that comfortable yet, but I feel okay now about walking down the hall in my underpants. That’s progress as far as the hall bathroom goes, don’t ya think?” He grins, “Oh man, a big-boy-step in the right direction.” I take a quick shower while thinking I really should be flattered that Rob and his parents want me to be almost one of the family. Talking with Chub and Mom about it first is more a matter of courtesy than anything else; it’d be rude to just move away from home without conferring with them. Out of the shower, drying myself, I realize there is something Rob will need to agree with though, and it’s that three-or-four-days-a-week I’ll want to go home to have dinner with Chubby and I need to be part of Sunday brunches with my family every Sunday. Those two things are nonnegotiable, although after dinners with Chub I will return to Rob’s. Oh, and Rob can join Chub and me for dinner whenever he wants. Me eating dinner with Chub means borrowing Rob’s pickup but Rob’s never had a problem with me borrowing his ‘ride’. Other than those minor stipulation, unless I’m missing something majorly wrong with this move that Chub points out, I’m going to do it. I think it’ll be awesome living with Rob and experiencing a taste of a more traditional family life, one I never had. Last summer with Ryan’s family I do not consider a slice of normalcy because that’s an, um, unusual group. I’ll leave it at that. Normalcy or not, I wouldn’t change my years growing-up with Chubby for anything in the world, but we’re not kids now and it’s become a different ‘world’ for both of us… As I’m brushing my teeth Rob comes in the bathroom and drops his boxer shorts, saying, “Ya know, babe, there’s no reason you can’t still have dinners with your brother, and sometimes I’ll join you guys if that’s okay. Plus, Jeff is always invited to have dinner here with us. I meant to make a point of that when I first started talking about you living with me, but you didn’t give me the chance.” I go, “Oh, okay, that’s considerate of you, but you’re right… you should have started with that right from the get-go. Actually, I was just thinking the same thing two-minutes ago. That plus Sunday brunches at either Chub’s place or mine.” He hugs me from behind, toothpaste drooling down my chin, as he’s saying, “I’m so happy about this!” I mutter, “I am too, Rob, but let me rinse out, will ya?” He’s like, “Yeah, sorry,” and let’s go of me to grab a hand towel that he holds out. I take it and dry my face and hands, grinning and saying, “I’ll naturally expect to be waited-on by you, and I mean hand and foot.” He chuckles, “Well, of course!” Dropping the towel on the toilet-seat-lid, I hug him tightly because, like I was thinking earlier, I’m wicked flattered that Rob and his parents seem sincere about me be part of their family. I’ll be part of it anyway when Rob and I get married but this experience should eliminate any possible awkwardness in that regard later. Yeah, my boyfriend thinks of everything! Rob’s a planner and I suppose one of us should be I. We kiss and rub our naked bodies together. Well almost naked bodies since I’m wearing boxer shorts. Our dicks immediately begin firming up and then our hands are rubbing each other’s body. I manage to murmur, “No Rob, not in here,” but he has his hands on my butt cheeks pulling our crotches and hardening cocks together. I gasp as he murmurs, “Yes, in here. My parents are drinking their wine and won’t be coming to bed for an hour. Trust me.” With a hand holding onto my arm, Rob leans over and turns the shower on, muttering, “A little background noise to hide other sounds, huh?” There’s a big grin on his face as he gets a tube of Vaseline from the medicine chest, chuckling and saying, “Yes, it’s a primitive lube, babe, but it’ll work just fine.” Taking his hand off my arm he pulls my underwear down to my knees and I let my underwear drop to my feet. As I’m kicking them off to the side Rob squeezes some Vaseline on his fingers, mumbling, “If you’ll be so kind as to turn around I’ll Vaseline your rear-end.” My stiff dick tightens further and the lips of my asshole quiver with anticipation as I turn around bending over and holding onto the rim of the sink. Rob’s finger rubs that slippery substance around my asshole and then his finger goes in as he grunts, “Omigod Dylan, your ass is so fucking sexy, I can hardly control my urges.” I mutter, “It doesn’t appear you even tried, but be my guest.” He’s too aroused to respond. With one hand cupping my shoulder the forefinger of his other hand slides around inside my rectum moving right over my prostate and then again with me going, “Mmmm, oooh…” Robby gasps before snorting out a chuckle, muttering, “You get me so fucking aroused it’s like, um, it’s awesomely exciting…” His finger comes out and I glance over my shoulder watching him using the first two fingers and thumb of his right hand to spread Vaseline on his fat penis that’s already fairly hard. His left hand is still griping my shoulder as Rob breathes noisily and then the blunt end of his boner’s head spreads the lips of my asshole. The point of his boner isn’t a lot wider than his finger, and then, “Aaaah,” from me as the full, swollen head spreads my anus significantly. There’s immediate pain too, but that’s nothing new. Rob coos, “Ooooh, this feels so good,” and his left hands tightens on my shoulder. The head of his fat boned-up-cock slides slowly but surely past my sphincter muscle as my back arches and I hold my breath against the burning from the lips of my stretched anus. It’s a delicious kind of pain though, one surrounded by pleasure as contrasting sensations, pain and pleasure, duel for supremacy. A million nerve endings are getting involved. Yeah, well that’s what they’re there for. I know which sensations will triumph and therefore long ago I came to grips with the temporary pain, almost embracing it because I know what comes next. ‘Next’ isn’t here yet though as Rob’s fat boner expands the inside of me and the thought always sneaks into my head that something’s gonna rip in there. It never has though and it won’t this time either. The stretching of my asshole happens quickly and I only need to hold my breath for like thirty-seconds. Rob’s rubbing both hands down my back now, his right hand leaving a Vaseline smear on me as I lean-over further pushing my ass out and gripping the rim of the sink tighter while trying to keep my grunts of pain to myself while I happily share my moans of pleasure with Rob. He’s feeling no pain as he exclaims quietly, but excitedly too, “Oh boy, this feels good, baby!” and he takes a hand away from my back and a, “Smack!” sound rings out in the bathroom as my butt cheeks stings from the palm of his hand slapping the side of it and then another, “Smack!” follows as he thrusts two-inches of hard, fat cock further up my ass. Rob goes, “Ummmm,” and another, “Smack!’ sound as the palm of his hand connects against my buttocks again. Rob smacks hard but its it’s because he’s excited, not because he wants to hurt me. Nonetheless I need to reach back and rub my hot, stinging butt cheek. A grunt from Rob as he does another hard thrust that gets me lifting up on my toes and groaning, “Aaaah, Rob…” He leans in against my buttocks, flat against me now that the docking’s complete. The pain is already retreating as Rob, fully impaling me with his very fat boner, coos words of affection while he rubs my shoulders, “You’re so perfect, babe. I’m the luckiest guy in the world to be your boyfriend.” More rubbing on my back and shoulders as the totally filled-up sensation inside me turns completely to pleasure and I sigh contentedly, “Oooooh, mmmm,” and then, turning my head, I quietly murmur, “Yeah, feels really good, Robby.” The pleasure sensations that I know are pouring off his fat cock get Rob murmuring, “Mmmm, yeah, Dylan, nothing feels more awesome than this.” He drops his hands to grips my hips while pulling his engorged penis back until its most of the way out and then with a moan he slides it very tightly right back up my ass. My back arches again but this time with pleasure sparkling inside of me. Rob humps against my buttocks a few times before again withdrawing that slippery fat-log of pleasure but this time when its pulled back it almost comes out completely. With a low moan, he adds a little additional backward pressure distending my anus muscles. The lip-muscles around my anus hold tenaciously to the swollen head as Rob quietly moans again, “Ummm, nice ass, baby.” Anticipation grows in me and, after a long exhale from Robby, we’re into it as Robby begins fucking steadily and smoothly with me moaning, “Oooh, ooh,” with each thrust. Every nerve ending in my rectum begins screaming delicious sexual pleasure and after a few more thrusts I go, probably too loudly, “Oooooh, yeah, Robby.” This entire summer there’s been an extra intensity to our sex and tonight is no exception as Rob again is super-aroused. The familiar slapping sounds begin ringing off the tile walls of the bathroom, “Slapslapslap,” and that has me, for a few seconds, fighting concerns the sounds of us fucking will be heard by Rob’s parents. That concern soon is forgotten however as instead the rippling sensations of sexual pleasure in my ass overtakes all other concerns and sexual pleasure becomes all I can think or care about. Sex to me is the greatest of all physical pleasures and is reason enough on its own to make life worthwhile even though us humans, on an individual or worldwide scale, struggle to survive one human-manufactured crisis after another. The young and healthy among us tend to take for granted the wonders of our lives but this greatest of all human pleasure shouldn’t ever be taken for granted… sex makes life worth the struggle. The further into it we get Rob and I become basically two animals in heat, not unlike the animals in the animal kingdom. We’re all the result of Natural Selection as a species. A species with a strong enough sex urge to ensure the continuation of ourselves through procreation. Humans, and selected other species, evolved from the earliest emergence of life here on earth 3.8 billion years ago. We come from a form of prokaryotic cells like, yes bacteria… those fuckers again. They’re still with us along with the other best models of reproducing life in uncountable numbers. Nature’s interest in organisms that can reproduce won out and humans have done a hell of a lot of that because sex feels good… reproduction is an unexpected side benefit for lower life forms. Holy shit, it must have shocked the earliest stepping-stones to us humans when one of the participant’s belly began growing and then… what the hell is this? Back at the twenty-first century Rob’s primary interest during this type of extemporaneous sex is obviously getting his horny-self ‘off’, meaning climaxing. He and I can get ‘off’ better together than with anybody else. It’s a mutually-satisfying endeavor and frankly one of the reasons we’ve endured as gay boyfriends for over four-years now. And that’s even though, culturally speaking, gays are supposed to be more promiscuous than your average heterosexual couple. That unfortunately can cause break-ups for many. Not where Rob and I are concerned though. Sure, we’re promiscuous but not to the extent either of us used to be. The thing being we’ve always come back to each other because sex is best when it’s between him and me. We’ve discovered that other sex when compared to ours is a ‘yawn’ a temporary diversion meaning diddly-squat to us. Sometimes I think we have side-sex more from habit than anything else, although there is a fascination with variety. Whatever, for me the best side-sex I’ve ever had is still far back in second-place compared to Rob’s sex. We have the best lover’s sex ever, but our sex tonight is mostly sex for the fun of it, although sometimes it’s also for the need of it. We’re been each other’s best option for a long time and even this random fun-sex is on a higher level than doing it with others because love counts big-time and makes it better; it just does! This type of sex also brings on fast orgasms which can be highly thrilling although much too quick… nothing’s perfect though. This sex is like going from zero to sixty-miles-per-hour in a Porsche 911 in 2.7 seconds… there’s an incredible rush and an exhilarating thrill but then it’s pretty much over, BANG!… just like that and all that’s left is catching your breath. Oh sure, the heart’s racing too but basically its already over almost before it begins. Minus the heart rate and shortness of breath it’s like eating a gourmet chocolate from a box of Godiva and biting into it with a thrilling taste-bud explosion of deliciousness that’s beyond exquisite, but how long does it take to chew a chocolate-covered caramel and swallow? Thirty seconds or less, and then it’s merely a wonderful memory, but oh what an awesome memory! That’s kinda what this fast sex Rob’s and I are into now is like. Rob’s tenaciously gripping my hips and its “Slapslapslap,” sounds as he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts fast-and-hard, his fat boner flying back and forth in my opened-up rectum. For him his hard boner is electric with fabulous pleasure vibrations and sensations constantly bombarding his brain while the movement of that fat boner is simultaneously setting off a blizzard of pleasure for me as nerve endings in my ass, thousands and thousands of them, almost overwhelm my brain’s pleasure zone. We’re both too quickly into the orgasm-zone where there’s no turning back, and neither of us wants to turn back anyway. I like rough sex and this is a hard fucking that requires me holding onto the sink, or holding onto something, because Rob is humping his boner up my ass hard and bumping me forward with every thrust. It’s rough enough to cause one of us to get a nose-bleed if we were inexperienced with this form of hard fucking… we’re not inexperienced though. It’s a rough, hard, and fast fucking reaching climax too quickly but it can’t be slowed down. Nothing new to me as I was exposed to rough-sex during my indoctrination to gay sex by the person known as fat Carl. He cared only about himself and I was merely the vehicle he used to accomplish his orgasm. Repetition taught me to embrace a hard, fast fuck as it was the only kind I knew at the time. And then Willie Worthington taught me to expect it three-or-four times a night. Jesus! Rob’s grinding now and I feel drops of sweat on my bare-back as the droplets fly from his forehead. The exertion required for this fast thrusting is significant and then, just like that… he stops thrusting completely making a whining desperation sound humping against my buttocks. He’s going to blow his load and I’m right on the verge of blowing my mine too and when I feel his hit inside me I squeal as my climax fires off taking me to the mountain top of sexual thrills and pleasure, and then another thrilling shot of cum, and then it’s pretty much all over! Nothing compares to, and no one can describe, the incredible momentary feeling of pure ecstasy when an orgasm burst into your consciousness. There’s some lingering sensations that buzz around my ass and cock but they fade quickly leaving me with only a sigh and another memory of a miracle. Rob goes, “Omigod! Oooh, ooh, oooh, God,” and drops his head against my shoulder as he humps a few more times in my ass. As he does that it draws-out some of his creamy cum that quickly losses it’s thick creamy texture. Perhaps it realizes its yeni mahalle escort failed in its mission to impregnate a female egg, and then loses interest and merely drools down my right butt cheek, probably shrugging its tiny shoulders like ‘fuck it’, if it had shoulders. My eyes were shut during my climax and then my sigh, and now I open my eyes with a gasp and watch my own unfulfilled-cum drooling off the front of the sink and dripping onto the tile floor at my feet. Rob takes a step back pulling his cock out of my ass as he moans, “Oh fuck… oh shit, that was awesome.” Taking a deep breath, shuddering as a few bonus climate-vibrations skitter around my ass for a second, adding to the memory. Oh man, I straighten up looking at Rob’s reflection in the mirror over the sink, seeing his grinning face as he pulls on his dick. Turning, I smile back at him nodding my head and murmuring, “Damn, that felt good, Rob.” We do a guy’s hug and he goes, “Oh boy, I love our sex, Dylan!” Well yeah, we both got what we wanted from that fun-sex and now it’s back to reality. I hop in the shower with him for a minute to re-wash some of my body parts, concentrating on the Vaseline around my ass while Rob washes my shoulder and back where his Vaseline-covered-hand spread some slippery stuff there. Then as he rubs shampoo in his hair, he says, “That was kinda rude and rough of me, but damn, Dylan, you’re a hottie!” I go, “Always ready to oblige my handsome boyfriend’s sex-fiend-needs.” He goes, “It’s you who turned me into a sex-crazed individual.” Ha! He started having sex at fourteen so he can’t blame anything on me! I’m out of the shower drying off again and then pulling my boxer shorts on again, saying, “I’m gonna get in bed, Rob.” He goes, “I won’t be long, babe.” Getting in bed under the covers I’m like, “Wow, nice!” Mrs. D. changed the sheets again! That’s the second time this week and I love crisp, clean sheets and pillow cases. Sweet! I suppose we’ll talk in bed a little more about me spending most of the remainder of the summer here with the Dickers and I’ll talk with Chub and my Mom, but I can’t envision any reason I won’t be staying here. Of course, I’ve got a week’s vacation coming up next month. It’ll be Chub’s and my first vacation in Wildwood as twenty-one-year-olds. I mean, starting the vacation as legal age for drinking so I guess it’ll be kinda different from past years. Chubby and I turned twenty-one at the end of last year’s vacation so it’s not like we’ve never been in a Wildwood bar. Oh good, here comes Robby now… *********************************************************** A MONTH LATER: WILDWOOD, NEW JERSEY Its a Monday near the end of the first week of August with Chubby and I sitting at a small table on the outdoor patio behind Gregory’s Bar on 24th street in Wildwood, New Jersey. As often happens with us, we’re wearing basically the same thing: cool sunglasses, baggy cargo shorts, T-shirts with inappropriate sayings on the front, and sandals. It’s almost three o’clock in the afternoon and we’ve just finished our first frosted mugs of beer that cost $6.50 each. Rip off? Ha, we’re at the Jersey Shore… of course it’s a rip off. Chub’s working on his pickup-artist technique with our cute, petite waitress who just brought us our second frosted mugs of beer. As Chubby’s hook-up-lines bomb one after the other our waitress grins, glancing at me as if she expects me to jump in to compete with Chub. Basically I’m trying not to break-out in a grin at Chub’s frustration as he’s getting very little response from Carla; that’s the name of our waitress. Chub finally says, “Um, English is your first language, right Carla? You’re comprehending the words coming out of my mouth I assume, and realizing I’m offering you one of the thrills of your life!” She finally laughs and then says, “You’re both very cute,” and then walks away with our empty mugs, wiggling her cute ass. Cute ass for a girl… This part of the patio is in direct sunlight… and it’s hot! The temperature, according to the weather report on my iPhone, is eighty-eight-degrees and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Our super-cold beers are going down easily. Watching Carla wiggle her ass over to another table of drinkers, Chub nods his head, mumbling, “Huh, I think she was hitting on you, bro.” I shrug and mumble, “Didn’t notice.” Smirking then, I imitate Chub, “English is you’re first language, right?” He goes, “Whaddaya talking about? My rap was magic, bro! Saying shit like that in my dulcet tones usually has girls sitting on my lap after a minute or so. That chick has amazing willpower!” I go, “Uh huh,” and Chub adds, “It must be that she saw we’re obviously new arrivals. We’ve got no tan at all and I guess Carla goes for the overly-tanned-and-tattooed macho asshole types.” I mutter, “That’s probably it, but my money’s on you. By tomorrow your magical rap will have some chick spellbound and you’ll have multiple scores before the week’s out.” He drinks some beer and then mutters, “Yeah, I like the sound of that.” Wiping sweat off his foreheads, Chub disgustedly says, “But, Jesus, we’ve already lost basically two-whole-days of vacation because of that fuckin’ Jeep. We need a new car!” The Moms and their boyfriends are already here; maybe at the house the twins rented on 36th street. The four of them drove here Saturday which is when Chub and I started out too; nine o’clock Saturday morning. The Jeep was loaded with our vacation stuff, we had a full tank of gas, and we were most definitely in a South Jersey state of mind. Fuck though, we didn’t even get on route 495 before the Jeep’s temperature gage shit-the-bed showing the engine was overheated. Smoke or something was coming out from under the hood so Chub pulled over to the breakdown-lane. We looked at each other for a few seconds before he muttered, “Should either of us even bother looking under the hood?” I shrugged at the very idea, saying, “Jesus, I don’t even know how to unlatch it. I think we’d need to pull something in here first.” Looking pissed, Chub shook his head, pulled out his cellphone and called a buddy of his who works for a Meineke Car Care Center in Natick. Long-story-short, his friend, Harry Engales, left work and came to our aid. Harry knew how to unlatch the hood. He looked at the motor and all that other stuff under there as Chub and I we’re looking over his shoulder. Harry said, “Ha, there’s a hole rusted-through the Jeep’s radiator,” and Chub was like, “This fucking piece of shit!” Harry said, “For Christ sake, Jeff, this junker is fifteen years old. You’re lucky it’s only the radiator that’s fucked.” Anyway, Harry put some coolant in the radiator and then we were just barely able to drive the Jeep to his shop before the coolant all leaked out. A replacement radiator had to be ordered and wouldn’t normally be delivered until Monday afternoon but Harry called a friend of his who, as a favor to Harry plus a twenty-dollar tip, drove the replacement radiator over from Waltham. I didn’t even know who Harry Engages was; still don’t for that matter. Never heard his name before in my life although Chub claims we got smashed with Harry one New Year’s Day four-years-ago. Even with guys doing favors the car still wasn’t ready until six o’clock Saturday night. Its a seven-hour drive to Wildwood so we didn’t see any sense in starting out then. We spent the night in Framingham and then yesterday, Sunday, it was raining like a bitch. Chub’s Mom texted that it was gonna rain all day Sunday in Wildwood too so we didn’t see any sense in a seven-hour drive through a tropical storm only to get to Wildwood in the rain. Rainy days blow at the shore! Instead we hung-out Sunday at home and then drove down today and here we are drinking beers after a grueling drive that began during Monday rush-hour traffic back home. We haven’t seen the Moms yet and haven’t unpacked the Jeep yet either. We’re both a little pissed-off about the way things are going so far on our vacation. Lighting a cigarette, Chub asks, “Ya wanna get something to eat?” I mutter, “In a little while I guess.” We’re looking out at the picturesque dunes that begin about twenty-feet in front of the patio. The sand still looks wet even though the sun has been out all afternoon. On the dunes there’s that weird grass that somehow grows in sand and then there’s like forty-yards of beach with lots of broken shells and stones, and then the waves of the Atlantic Ocean breaking on the shoreline like they’ve been doing for a couple of billion years. The dark-steel-colored Atlantic Ocean extends out to the horizon and then way beyond it. There’s a nice breeze and that great ocean smell drifting over us and then as always at the shore there’s lots of squawking seagulls floating in the air-currents before diving down to the beach to walk around looking for left over garbage to eat. Like I said, very picturesque! Gregory’s Bar is down past the boardwalk so there’s no grooming or manicuring going on for this part of the beach. Certainly not like they do every morning for the beach that fronts the two-mile boardwalk where lifeguards are provided in selected locations. This part of beach looks more like it’s in a natural state, meaning kinda rough and consequently only a few hardy souls are braving the shells and sharp stones, all of them wearing something on their feet so they don’t get cut. Flip-flops seem to be mostly the choice for footwear. This view is one of the reasons most seashore areas become vacation destinations. Yeah well… whatever. Looking away I glance at one of the menus Carla dropped on our little round table when we were seated, and mutters, “Lots of seafood options.” Chub mutters, “Sea food? That’s a shocker.” Looking at me now, he asks seriously, “Hey bro, are you getting sick of working yet?” Dropping the menu, I’m like, “Sick of my summer job? Um, no, not really. I’ve got kind of a cushy job although next week I’ll be doing interviews out in the field for workers and what not. That won’t be quite as cushy as having an office in the air-conditioned building, but I’ll have lots of independence being on my own handling the job in any manner I decide to do it. For sure I’m gonna stretch it out too. I don’t wanna finish before the end of the summer. Keep that $500.00 a week rolling in until we head off to finish college.” He lights a cigarette nodding his head slightly and then is quiet for a few-seconds before muttering, “I’m happy for you, really! Personally, I’m sick of working in an office though. Fuck all the petty politics those cunts constantly bitch about.” I ask, “By cunts do you mean the women or also the men working in the office?” He shrugs, “Some of each. Not all of them though, and I don’t even know why I care. I’m part-time with only a few weeks to go after this week. It’s just that those people are doing their life’s work. It’s frightening to think that might someday be me too. I don’t know, I’m probably mostly pissed about our fucking Jeep.” We talk about money matters for a few minutes figuring how much money the Jeep is worth as a ‘trade-in’ on a newer model and then how much of our summer earnings we can allocate to a newer ride. The main reason for working summer jobs is to cover living expenses and our general spending money at college, which reduces the amount we need to borrow. This is the first summer we’re both making more than we actually need for those purposes and therefore our discussion about some of our earnings going toward upgrading the Jeep. Talking about money-matters brings to mind Dodger and the three-hundred-thousand-dollars he has in the bank. It’s just sitting there collecting a pittance of interest, not that Chubby knows about Dodger’s jackpot. Thinking about Dodger, I go, “Hey, I was talking with Dodger on the phone just last week. Oh man, he’s royally pissed-off at the Massachusetts’ legislatures because those assholes can’t get their act together about the marijuana-bill us citizenry voted for last election. Those State House fuckers think they know what’s best for us peons no matter what we vote for. Anyway, Dodger’s staying in California until a law gets finalized regarding the legalization of ‘pot’. He needs to know what he’ll be dealing with.” Chub mutters, “Fuckin’ Dodger lives a charmed life so I’m sure everything will work out well for him. Hell, I hardly know him now after his two-years in the Army, plus now this long stay in California with his buddy. Oh hell, I never knew him all that well in the first place.” Chub’s a bit negative at the moment. He drinks some beer, shrugs and then grins, adding, “I always thought Dodger was a hot-shit kid though. Jesus, he was something, huh?” Not really wanting to talk about Dodger anymore, I mutter, “Yeah, I guess.” Finished his smoke, Chub realizes there’s no ashtray so he drops the butts on the stone floor and step on it, saying, “Okay, now I’ve gotta order some food.” We both look at the menus again and then I motion at the waitress, already forgetting her name, and she comes over with a really cute grin for a girl, asking, “Ready to order, guys?” She has perky little tits under her T-shirt. The shirt has the name, ‘Gregory’s!’ on the front, and gee, she’s a perfect height for Chub too. When she’s standing next to our little table, Chub says to me, “You do the talking, Dylan. I’m not talking to Carla.” He didn’t forget her name. Carla does a girlie smirk at me as she taps Chub on the head with her little order-pad, and goes, “Aww, why aren’t you talking to me?” He says, “Dylan, tell her it’s because she shot down my perfectly attractive offer of a date tonight.” She laughs out loud and goes, “But you asked me to go skinny dipping with you and I don’t think that’s a proper first date,” and she looks at me, asking, “Do you, Dylan?” I guess she heard Chub call me by name, but before I can answer Chub contradicts himself about not talking to Carla, saying, “Leave my brother out of this,” and she goes, “Oh, you’re brothers.” She stares at us for two-seconds and goes, “Yeah, I can see that now that you mention it. You both have the same haircuts too,” and she laughs covering her mouth, like girls do. Well yeah, we do have identical haircuts. I never followed-through with what I told Rob after the Fourth of July cookout about letting my hair grow-out the way Rob has. A week after the Fourth Danny and I got another haircut from Rob and neither of us, or Rob for that matter, mentioned anything about a different style. We just sat in the pool-house barber chair and, without asking, Rob gave us the same haircut we got last time except he made it like the haircut he gave Chub and Marty West. The one called an, ‘under cut’. Chub got his second haircut from Rob just a week ago and then Thursday Danny and I got our third ‘under cut’ haircuts. I think they look cool, especially now that my hair on top has grown out more. Seriously, I don’t think we’d get a better ‘cut’ if we went to a shop on Newbury Street in Boston and paid a hundred-dollars for it. Rob’s a really good barber. Carla taps her foot, mumbling, “Well what’s it’s gonna be, guys?” I say, “Okay, I’ll have a cup of clam chowder and the lobster roll… with some fries.” Chub says, “Oh, so this is gonna be a hundred-dollar lunch, huh bro? Okay then, I’ll have the same thing. You tell Carla for me, Dylan,” and then he looks at Clara and says, “Oh hell, forget it. I already talked to her and, what the hell, I’m willing to forget the rude way you rejected my offer to hook-up, Carla. How about if I meet you after work for a walk on the beach.” See, Chub’s persistent! Carla says, “Fine! I get off at six. If you’re here I’ll walk on the beach with you, but no skinny dipping.” Chub says to me, “She’s clever, that one!” Then, looking at her, he goes, “You saw right through my plan, but okay, Carla, no skinny dipping.” She goes, “You’re cute,” and then, “I’ll put your lunch orders in.” I guess that phrase, ‘You’re cute’, works pretty well for her. I wonder how many times a day she says it? I watch Chubby watching Carla walk away wiggling her ass, and then Chub says to me, “Ah ha! I knew she had the hots for me.” I’m like, “Well, that’s swell for you, but what the hell am I gonna do tonight?” He goes, “I have every faith you’ll manage without me, bro.” Huh, I wonder if Charlie’s here this week. Oh man, he was an awesome side-sex kid last summer. Well, he’s less than a year younger than me so I shouldn’t call him a ‘kid’ I guess. It’d be awesome if he’s on vacation this week! Yeah, Charlie with his long, blond, curly-hair that I cut for him… and he’s a fabulous fuck-buddy too… as a ‘bottom’. And a lot of fun to just hang-out with. I suppose it’s too much to expect he’d be here this week, this one week out of the whole summer. So, yeah, what the fuck am I gonna do this week? I’m too old to do my ‘boy-watching’ on the boardwalk. Of course, I’ll spend some time on the boards but it’ll be different from past years. My best years, boardwalk-wise, are behind me. Those teenage years really rocked though! Our cups of clam chowder arrive. As Carla carefully putting the over-full cups of soup in front of us, she says to Chubby, “I probably should know your name if I’m going on a beach-walking date with you tonight.” Chubby goes, “You wanna know my name for a beach-walking date? Omigod, you’re pushy, huh? That’s, um, getting a little personal.” She laughs and I say, “His name is Jeffrey Romero and he’ll be twenty-two this week. So will I.” She says, “Where you guys from?” Chubby jumps in and says, “Miller Springs, Delaware. Its a sweet little town twenty-miles south of Dover.” She goes, “Well, Jeffrey Romero from Delaware, what do you do? Go to college?” After he slurps some soup, and he normally never makes a slurping-sound eating soup, Chub goes, “I work for Meineke as an auto mechanic’s apprentice. Currently I’m just doing oil changes, oh and I sweep-up too.” She mumbles, “I don’t believe a word you said. See you a six o’clock… sharp,” and she’s off to wait on other tables. This place is jumping, but that’s not the least bit surprising. During most of the year there are like 5,000 people in Wildwood but during the summer that numbers swells enormously to 250,000 so every place in Wildwood is ‘jumping’! Good city to have a business in during the summer. Finished his soup, Chub goes, “That girl’s a spitfire, that Carla.” I mutter, “She’s really cute, bro, but you normally are a, um, a ‘tits’ guy, right?” He says, “And a ‘leg’ and ‘ass’ guy too. Did you see her legs and the way she wiggles that cute ass of hers? Primo invitation!” He’s probably envisioning her legs wrapped around his waist while he… no, I don’t wanna go there! I mutter, “I can’t say I noticed her legs. I thought her small-pointy tits were perfect for her overall size though.” Chub laughs, muttering, ‘Small pointy-tits.” Finished my soup, I’m like, “The clam chowder wasn’t as good as Legal Seafood’s.” Chub shrugs, “It was okay and, oh boy, here come our lobster rolls.” Wow, they do a nice lobster roll here. Usually you get it on a sort of hotdog bun but these are served on some kind of larger roll with plenty of lobster meat sticking out. Taking a bite, I taste a few spices in the mayonnaise and there’s some small-chopped celery too. Really good but for $19.99 they should be really good. We eat for a minute and then, after swallowing, Chubby asks a familiar question, “So, how are things with you at the Dickers?” During our drive to Wildwood we didn’t do much talking. Not a lot of conversation during the drive because we took turns napping while the other guy was driving. Yeah, we had too much to drink all day Sunday at my place. What else are ya gonna do except tie on a load during a rainy Sunday when you should be in sunny Wildwood by the sea? Of course, it wasn’t sunny in Wildwood either, but that didn’t stop us from bitching all day long about not being here. Thinking back almost a month, it was the Sunday after the Fourth that I had my ‘talk’ with Chub about Rob’s proposal for me to basically move in with the Dickers the rest of the summer. Chub listened to my pros and cons for that idea, although I couldn’t come up with much in the way of ‘cons’ except for a vague ‘loss of freedom’ comment, and then me needing to buy lunch every day in the cafeteria. Before I started the ‘talk’ I’d emphasized that nothing was changing as far as Chubby and me having dinners together, or our Sunday brunches, and I probably babbled on a little too long because I felt ‘funny’ about the move, like I was being disloyal somehow. Chub patiently waited until I was through and then calmly asked me something like, ‘What’s the one big negative in your mind about staying there?’ and all I could come up with was the hall bathroom and buying my lunch every day. The hall bathroom was already much less of a concern by then anyway. He laughed and said something about it being obvious I wanted to do the move. My reasons for not doing it were pathetic. That hurt my feelings a little bit, I mean the way he said that, so I emphatically reminded him the whole reason for our ‘talk’ was for him to tell me something I haven’t thought of as a reason I shouldn’t do it. He very nicely said that I’d already done basically the same thing last summer on Georgia and as long as I continued with our time together for dinners during the week, and I’m part of our limited family interaction with the Moms on weekends, there wasn’t any reason I shouldn’t do what I wanted. He actually encouraged me to do it because he thought it would help the transition for both of us leaving home after graduating. He said we certainly aren’t gonna live at home after our Moms are married next year. Of course, he also emphasized what I already knew, which was to talk Mom about it, but that goes without saying and we both know my Mom is going to support anything I want to do. So, it was a good ‘talk’ overall but from the start I never felt Chub would find anything wrong with me staying with the Dickers. Mostly I simply wanted to hear him say there wasn’t any reason I shouldn’t. I suppose there was always an outside chance I’d missed something that would make it a bad idea, but I didn’t really expect it. Of course, Chub was right that I’d already done sort of the same thing last summer but for some reason I’d never connected last summer’s trip to Georgia as moving ‘out’ like I felt this move was. Chub reiterated that he never felt good about the Georgia thing and was opposed to it from the start because he said Ryan was unbalanced and not wrapped-too-tight. Those were Chub’s words early last summer too. It was only because of a bizarre circumstance, namely Danny supposedly living with Rob last summer, that I went to Georgia in the first place. I hardly ever disregard Chubby’s opinion like I did last year and then of course he proved right about it in the end. It got kinda ugly with Ryan for a number of reasons. That is until Chub and Rob made their visit to Marietta and I got back on a right-thinking track. Soon after that I left Georgia for good. So Chub never had a good feeling about Ryan, but his feelings about Rob have become positive ones. Chub’s become fonder of Robby, especially over the past six-months because of what we both perceive as Rob’s personality adjustment, an adjustment that neither of us can describe exactly. For that matter, Rob can’t either and none of us can pinpoint when it first became noticeable… it just happened somehow. Of course, I was in love with Rob before any adjustment so that didn’t change, but I’ve come to ‘like’ him even more than before. “Like’ and ‘love’ being very different emotions, in case you didn’t know. You can love someone without liking them all that much. That seems odd but it’s true, and of course you can ‘like’ lots of people without being in love with them. Anyway, to Chub’s question of, ‘how are things with you at the Dickers?’, I shrug mumbling, “Same as always… good actually, really good.” Chub asks me that question about once a week during our dinners together. I’ve told him in detail how well I’m treated and how I like staying there a lot, not that I see Rob’s parents all that much; mostly in passing or for brief conversations, and then dinner with them for half-an-hour once or twice a week. Chub already knows all that so today he just nods and goes, “This is a fucking awesome lobster roll, huh?” I mutter, “Best I think I’ve ever had. We gotta come back here a few times this week.” Yeah, Chub never pries into my life when he sees I’m doing great. That’s mostly all he cares about; that everything is good with me. I don’t need to worry about how he’s doing because almost always he’s doing awesomely. He enjoys himself and except for that comment about the cunts at the job he’s working with this summer I can’t think of anything he ever worries about. I wanna talk with Chub later this week about his concerns regarding life after college though. His comment earlier about it was very un-Chubby-like. Like he said though, it could be simply a carry-over from the Jeep bullshit. Anyway, since I moved in with Robby a lot of my clothes and stuff are at his house and at first it did seem kinda strange living there, kinda surreal. I think it was especially so because it was absolutely no big deal to any of them. I don’t know what I expected but it was like, um, nothing. They treated me like I’ve always lived there. They didn’t do anything special one way or the other. It was exactly like my earlier sleep-overs days. Mr. and Mrs. Dickers weren’t more friendly than usual and they weren’t less friendly, or less or more accommodating. They were exactly the same as before. It took me a few days to get used to it actually, although what I expected differently I couldn’t tell you. And then Robby’s been his same excited self that I’m there and he was true to his words about having dinner with Chubby and me at my place, or Chubby’s, two-or-three-nights a week. That’s worked out well too because Chubby and him have grown closer this past month. They’ll be brothers-in-law after all, so liking each other is kinda important. And Rob’s always been a good audience for Chubby anyway, easily laughing at Chub’s funny side. Rob invited Chub for dinner every time he ate with us, but Chub always has a reason why he can’t make it. No problem though. The entire arrangement of me basically moving-in with the Dickers this past four-weeks has been pretty much a non-factor for everyone as far I can tell, and nobody’s told me differently, so… My talk with Mom was so sweet. She couldn’t have been more supportive. She had a brief crying jag blaming herself for not being able to provide me a more normal home life as I was growing up but I went into this rant about how I couldn’t be more proud of her as my Mom and how she’s a Mom anybody would be lucky to have. Stuff like that and then some hugs and everything turned-out fine. That reminds me, the Dickers are not big huggers. Oh man, not like my Mom and Chubby’s Mom who are both big-huggers and kissers. Mrs. Dickers is a peck-on-the-cheek type, but not to me yet, I mean for Rob and Mr. Dickers… so that’s good. Mr. Dickers is a pat-on-the-shoulder-type, but only occasionally and only for something special. So that works out for me on both counts; meaning Mr. and Mrs. Also, Rob hasn’t missed a Sunday brunch the four-Sundays since I moved-in with him. That’s been especially good because the twin fiancés join us for brunch most Sundays now and they’re getting to know Rob better too. They actually seem to enjoy talking business with him; Rob enjoys it too. A lot of business talk and not in a pandering or condescending way by the twins either. Serious shit, that’s what it sounds like to me. So our families are really getting to know one another. Also, Rob and me being gay doesn’t come up specifically but its alluded to in subtle ways like always including Rob and me as a couple whenever discussing things like, ‘So, any specific plans after college?’ or ‘Do you guys wanna come with us…’ whatever. And other general-type questions that adult and parental-types tend to ask college students about our plans. It’s like when we were little kids, adult-types would always ask, ‘How old are you now?’ or they’d say, “my goodness but you’ve grown!’ Now it’s more: ‘What are you gonna do after college?’ Chub’s very evasive of course, and I do a lot of shrugging but Rob comes right out saying he and I are getting married and then he’ll talk specifics, like about the condo he’s buying for us and about his plans for us working at Dickers & Son and blah, blah, blah.. It impresses the adult-types no end. Chub and I tend to roll our eyes, like, ‘What the fuck? Who knows…’ We’re not as organized as Rob. My musings are interrupted by an unattractive, surly-looking busboy who cleans our table when we’ve finished eating lunch and then Carla’s back asking if we’d like another beer. I go, “Yes, please. Thanks.” She hits Chubby on the head with her receipt book again, saying, “Don’t be drunk for our walk on the beach,” and Chubby goes, “Did I say walk on the beach? I meant walk on the wild side, Carla, but we can do that on the beach I suppose.” Chuckling, she says to me, ‘Would you please chaperone your brother’s and my walk on the beach, Dylan?” and then, laughing, she leaves to get our third frosted mugs of beer. She’s pretty cool actually. The third beer is our last one here. After splitting the bill and leaving Carla what amounts to a thirty-five percent tip, we say ‘goodbye’ to her and then Chub remembers to get her cellphone number. They goof around a little as I stand here wondering what it’d be like if I were heterosexual. Would Chub and I be in a competition to see who gets a date with Carla, for example, or whoever? We’re finally on our way to the summer cottage that’s only like four blocks from here. We drove down close to 36th street looking for a bar and found Gregory’s Bar. The boardwalk begins a few blocks up so we should be no more than three-or-four blocks in the other direction from the rental house. Even though we both think we know exactly how to get to the house on 36th street, we can’t find it. We’re in the vicinity of where the house should be, but after fighting the traffic going around the block twice, Chub pulls over and we both go through our bags looking for the directions Tris and my Mom wrote out for us. Pain in the ass that our GPD isn’t doing what it’s supposed to do! I’m like, “This is mysterious,” and then Chub finds his directions first, muttering, “It’s on the corner of 36th street and Ocean Drive so why the fuck can’t we find it? We drove by there twice!” I ask, “What’s the house number?” He reads it off to me and I go, “I’m getting out and walking down 36th street. We’ve been getting rushed and hassled by this fucking traffic on Ocean Drive and we aren’t able to look closely enough.” Chub looks confused, asking, “What traffic?” He’s never bothered by the traffic around him, preferring instead to ignore it as if it isn’t even there much to the other drivers’ consternation. I say, “Just sit here, Chub, and I’ll ask someone.” He shrugs and waves his hand at me. We’re both frustrated with everything, and I mean everything starting with Saturday morning. Walking through the people milling around on the sidewalk I finally show a candy store shop clerk the directions and ask if he knows where this address is? He nods and asks, “Ya gonna buy something?” Asshole! I buy a half-pound of Jolly Roger Licorice Bridge Mix ’cause like everyone else who likes licorice, I really like licorice! The old duffer nods his head and rings-up $7.79 as I bite my tongue to keep from shouting, ‘Are you out of your fucking mind charging…?’ but get myself under control. He tells me there’s new construction and we both step out of his shop so he can point to a temporary sign for ‘Beach Alley’ which is where we need to turn, I thank him as I chew on some soft super-sweet licorice and wave at Chubby to drive down to me. He pulls out of his parking spot amid a cacophony of blowing-horns and makes his way through a yellow traffic light to pull up beside me, blocking cars behind him as he asks calmly, “Where is it, bro?” I point at the temporary street sign, saying, “The house is right on the fucking beach! It’s behind 36th street.” With horns blowing from the cars he’s holding up, Chub looks at the directions and goes, “Oh, so that’s what Mom meant by ‘Beach alley’.” I get in, saying, “Chub, just drive down and turn onto that road, please. People are going nuts behind you.” He chuckles, muttering, “Bunch of assholes,” and we roll forward to a narrow alley next to four attached stores on 36th street. Chubby stops on 36th street again and we both look down the unfinished alley and sees some new houses. Chub goes, ‘Sweet, bro! Brand new houses!” I go, “Chub, pull around the corner onto the alley, please, and let the other cars get by.” He looks in the rearview mirror, and appears shocked, asking, “Are those assholes blowing their fucking horns at me?” Well yeah! He mutters, “Jerk-offs,” and pulls the Jeep around the corner onto the unfinished road named, Beach Alley. We drive down the short, newly-made Beach Alley while looking at ten brand new houses staggered on the beach facing the ocean. The alley is like thirty-feet long with dunes on either side with more dunes in front of the new construction. The alley connects with a gravel road that runs behind the ten houses. Our place is the first house. The house numbers are on the garage doors in big numerals. Chub pulls the Jeep in next to Tom’s BMW. We get out and walk around front and, omigod!… what a great view! There are lots of dunes and then the sand beach that’s very much like in front of the bar’s patio, meaning in a natural state and therefore not real conducive to sunbathing. The broken shells and stones wouldn’t be comfortable under a beach towel. Walking over the first dune to get a better look at the ocean we see a ‘NO TRESPASSING: Endangered Plant Species Habitat’ sign. Chubby goes, “Somebody got paid-off authorizing these houses to be built just before the no-trespassing area.” I go, “Yeah, they probably moved this sign about twenty-yards nearer the ocean to allow for the construction and fuck twenty-yards of endangered plant species or whatever.” These houses have tons of privacy and a wicked awesome view! They must be very expensive rentals, but neither Chub nor I even mention it because we’re getting used to our future Step-Dads’ tendency to go first class. There’s like fifty-feet between each house and, while the houses are the same basic format, there are some differences too. Ours has a large deck fifteen feet off the ground facing the ocean whereas the next house has a large patio at ground level with a three-foot brick wall around it. Huh, I like that one better. And what an ingrate I am for thinking that! Chub goes, “Let’s go inside and see our bedroom.” Walking to the back of the house where we parked in front of two garage doors, there’s also a people door. We try it and find its locked so we go back around front and try the door under the deck but its locked too. Chub goes, “Well I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch! Nothing is working out for us, Dylan!” I go, “The Moms would have left a key for us somewhere, or some means of getting inside” and Chub mutters, “Yeah, you’re right.” We go around back again and Chub looks in the BMW as I slowly walk along the garage doors and then think to try a garage door and it slides right up. Chub comes over, “That a boy, bro,” and we go inside where there’s a door from the garage to a finished basement with a pool table. Jesus, what’s this place is going to be like upstairs… to be continued… Donny Mumford [email protected] [email protected] ====================================================== Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on zon. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around 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 zon. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you. Donny Mumford ======================================================== Hey guys, how about making a small (or large, go for it!) tax deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty. They could use your help covering the expenses inherent in maintaining a free story site this size. Easy directions about how to do that on their ‘home page’. fty/donate.html

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