Chapter Five
We didn't deal with the police, so I called Renny's restaurant and talked to my mom. "It's after seven o'clock, and Chubby isn't home yet, so I'm worried." She said, "Sweetheart, you're not supposed to call here unless it's a major, major, major crisis. We've talked about that. I'll get in trouble. Renny hates us getting personal phone calls at work." I mumble, "I'm sorry, but what should I do?"
"First, run on down to the window washing shop on Pollard St. and see what's up. Okay?." "Yep, that's what I'll do. He'll be there."
It's embarrassing that I didn't think to do that before calling Mom. Goddammit! I headed for the door, and Chubby walked in all smiles, "Hi, Dylan, wassup?" He had his latest best friend, Ricky, with him. Looking at the food I had ready for the microwave, Chubby says, "Oh, dude, you haven't eaten yet? What's up with that? It's after seven. I already ate with Ricky. I told you yesterday, didn't I?"
I looked from Chubby to Ricky, pissed off at Chubby's flip manner. He doesn't normally talk like that. Chubby rubbed the top of Ricky's head and said, "I mentioned to Ricky that you and I do each other's haircuts and he wants me to give him one. We'll be in the basement. Enjoy your dinner." I stared with my mouth hanging open. I mean, the fucking gall. So unfair, so rude! And the nerve of using my basement to give that dickhead, Rickie, a haircut. Then Chubby stops at the door to the cellar and says, "Oh fuck, my bad. Um, Ricky, meet by best bud, Dylan Newman. Dylan, meet Ricky Ortiz."
Ricky was about as tall as me but bigger. Bigger as a football player, not bigger like a fatso. He was nice looking in a macho way, but looked older than Chubby and me. He has raggedy brown hair that needed cutting, and his skin tone and last name made me think he's Hispanic, but I have no idea of his particular heritage. Anyway, Ricky came over to shake hands briefly and, in a flat, fast manner, said, "Nice to meet you. My main man, Jeff, says you're cool, so any friend of Jeffrey's is okay by me." Nodding, I said, "How ya doing?" That was that. Chubby took Ricky downstairs to give him a haircut.
My main man, Jeffrey, huh? What a fucking phony! Nobody calls Chubby Jeffrey! What a jerk-off! After cooking the chicken and noodle casserole dinner in the microwave, I realized I'd lost my appetite. Neither Chubby nor I have ever walked into my house with a stranger before. And, the fucking nerve of Chubby saying, Dude, you haven't eaten yet? When did either of us ever eat without the other? What a prick Chubby is becoming, saying something like that. We always wait for each other to eat together. And what's all that laughing and giggling downstairs all about?
I go over to the doorway and shout down, "Chubby, we've got homework to do." No response for a few seconds, and then in a voice that was half giggling and half trying to sound serious, "I did mine in study hall, Dylan. I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry, buddy." I stay at the top of the cellar steps, and a few seconds later, they both burst out laughing. Then Ricky screamed, "Jeffrey, you're getting the same."
I slammed the cellar door, went into my bedroom, and got out my homework. Goddamn, but I was worked up. A lot of different emotions were percolating in my head, getting me upset. Is it fear I feel? Is it that I'm afraid I've lost the number one place in Chubby's life that I used to have? I thought I was the stable, steady one, and Chubby was the funny sidekick. No, is that how I really saw it? Is that how it was, or was that just in my head? Well, it's not like that anymore! He's more or less abandoned me. I can't get him a nine-dollar-an-hour job and introduce him to all those new cool asshole friends, but Rickie can.
My anger is closer to rage at how unfair Chubby is being. It makes me feel sick to my stomach and powerless, too. Let's face it, he's betrayed me. We've always stuck together, and now he laughs at me. Then I thought, this is a childish outburst! I'm not thinking sensibly." The reality is that I'm crazy jealous about Chubby having another best friend and doing stuff with him and not with me. That's the simple truth of the matter. I'm green with envy, and I suck for being so small-minded about it. And I might as well get ready for things to worsen, too. I was thinking about this recently. I don't have any close friends because I spend every second with Chubby listening to all that crazy shit he's always saying, all his factoids.
Oh my God, I have the worst headache! After taking three Tylenol, I laid down on my bed and tried to calm down. I said out loud, "Try to think straight and make some fucking sense!"
Chubby and I have too much history together to just split as friends. He has no intention of doing that. I'm being paranoid. He has another friend, so what? Christ, did I think I'd be the only friend he ever had his entire life? Get real, Dylan; grow up, man! I needed this good hard talking to myself, and I'm feeling a little better after it and feel more mature, too. Then I thought, what a difference five hours can make. Five hours ago, I was getting my dick sucked for the first time, and now, I don't know what to call this thing that's happening to me, but I know it's fucked-up, that's for sure.
Getting off the bed with a purpose now, I completed a paper for English and then went into the kitchen for a drink just as Chubby and Ricky came thundering up the cellar steps, giggling like they were ten years old. Ricky popped through the kitchen door first. My mouth dropped open seeing his hair was only a sixteenth of an inch long. Then, Chubby stepped into the kitchen and said, "Ta-da!" His hair was the same.
An enormous new flood of jealousy blackened my brain. Chubby and I cut each other's hair, not that freak, Ricky. This incompetent dork, Ricky, cut off the nice burr haircut I'd just given Chubby? I was speechless with a new, higher level of rage than before. My face felt hot, my eyes blinking wildly, as Chubby asked, "How do you like our new look, Dylan? We were goofing around, and the attachment guide fell off the clippers when I was cutting Ricky's hair, and I started laughing so hard. I mean, he looked so funny with that bald strip down the middle of his head, so I couldn't stop laughing, and then Ricky got me in a headlock and returned the favor."
They put their arms around one another's shoulders, Ricky leaning down to Dylan's size to put their heads together, saying, "What should we call this look, Newman?"
I've never felt like this, hating on Ricky with all my heart and soul. Chubby saw the expression on my face and stopped laughing long enough to say, "It's just hair, Dylan. It'll grow back in a couple of weeks." Then to Ricky, with a chuckle, "But, I kind of like it. What do you think, Ricky?" Ricky said, "Yeah, we'll do each other every week and see if the rest of the guys on the crew want to do it too. We'll call it the window-washers'-haircut, invented by Jeffery Romero."
Ignoring me completely now, Chubby got them both a Coke, and then they patted each other on the back and rubbed each other's almost bald heads. Their laughing was grating on my nerves till I thought I'd die. I said, "I'm trying to do homework, so if you two braying jackasses don't mind, take this silly shit up to your place, Jeffrey."
I may have said it in a nasty way, too. Chubby stopped cold and stared at me; I'd never called him Jeffrey. Slowly shaking his head, he says with real concern, "Don't be so upset, Dylan. We're just goofing around. Bro, are you alright?" He sees that I'm pouting like a toddler and says, "Hey Ricky, how about we call it a night? I'll see you tomorrow in homeroom. Okay, dude?" Ricky had a strange look on his face, staring at me, mumbling, "Sure, Jeff." Then he hesitated, his face got red, like mine, and he asked me, "Do you got your period or something, Newman? You need to chill."
I couldn't help myself, I screamed, "Get the fuck out of here!" My face was purple with rage, the vein pulsing at the side of my forehead. I can never remember hating anyone like I hated him. It was a dizzy, sick-to-my-stomach feeling. As soon as I screamed at him, Ricky took two steps, grabbing the front of my T-shirt and pulling back his other fist to throw a punch. Chubby yelled, "NO! Don't you dare hit him!" and stepped halfway between Ricky and me, facing Ricky. "Let go of him, Ricky! He didn't do nothing." Ricky looked at Chubby with a frown and then pushed me away, ripping my T-shirt, saying, "You're lucky you got your bodyguard with you, asshole, or I'd knock your smartass teeth down your throat. Don't ever scream at me again, ya skinny fucking fairy."
I yelled back, "You're fucking postal, Ortiz! Get some professional help." Chubby, with a hand on both Ricky's and my chest, said, "Calm the fuck down, Dylan," and to Ricky, mildly, he said, "I already told you that Dylan's okay. He's cool; he's my number one homeboy, so stop threatening him and calling him names, or you and I can't be friends." And then, in an even more reconciling manner to Ricky, he added, "Come on dude, save your energy for the freaking window washing. You know we got to do that fucking Morris place tomorrow, and it's got more windows than the Pentagon."
He was ushering Ricky toward the front door as he talked. Ricky looked back at me with hatred in his eyes but said nothing. Chubby followed Ricky outside. Taking a huge breath, I thought that that went pretty well—NOT!
After another deep breath, I peeked out the front window and watched Chubby animatedly explain something to Ricky, who finally threw his hands up in the air. Then they did a quick one-arm hug and rubbed each other's newly barbered heads again. Ricky got into a gray Plymouth SUV and drove away. Chubby turned to come back up the steps to the front door, so I went to my bedroom and slammed the door. Chubby called my name outside my door a few times. I muttered, "I told you already, I gotta do my homework." He said, "I'm sorry about that performance of Ortiz's, Dylan. He's got a wicked bad temper. See you in the morning. Um, and it's your turn for the cigarettes, okay?" Still feeling sick to my stomach, I didn't say anything. I heard him quietly go out my front door a short while later. I felt like crying. Well, I was crying a little.
The crying didn't last long because I gave myself another tough talk. Recognizing that I'm acting wicked jealous and admitting that fact helped me get back to rational thinking. All the emotions involved in jealousy are exhausting. That feeling of fear that something so important to you might be lost or that something unspecified but equally important will never be known. Maybe jealousy is tied into what we learned in biology called a fight or flight response. Feeling your very survival is being threatened. I mean, metaphorically speaking, where friendship and lovers are concerned. That's what you feel when someone so important in your life seems to be leaving you behind for someone else. Jealousy is a bitch!
Thursday morning, I woke up feeling drugged, hung over, or both. On a brighter note, today was a nice, sunny, warm day, so I put on Dockers khaki shorts and a T-shirt. Printed on the front of my T-shirt was, "SARCASM...one more service we offer."
To complete my routine of getting ready for school, I took a piss, washed my face and hands, brushed my teeth, and then spiked my hair with some electric blue, hot head spike'n. I did everything like I was a robot. My brain and body were functioning in slow motion. I ambled aimlessly around the kitchen.
Mom sleeps in because she gets home late, at around one AM. Finally, I got myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a glass of cherry Kool-Aid. I finished breakfast and was ready to leave, but first, I peeked outside through the family room window and saw Chubby waiting for me, just like it was a regular morning. Feeling embarrassed at how I behaved last night and not knowing how to approach Chubby, I hesitated going out. Then I noticed he was wearing his Red Sox baseball cap. Well, that's good! I won't have to look at that hideous haircut, at least. He wore Nike shorts and a bright orange T-shirt that offered this advice in big, blue letters: "PROCRASTINATE NOW!"
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to face the world. Chubby was subdued, "Hi, Dylan." I returned the "Hi," and we started walking in silence. We walked the first six blocks, then right on schedule, I pulled out a Marlboro Light cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and passed it to Chubby, who took a drag, lipping it as usual, and passed it back to me. When we'd finished the cigarette, Chubby flicked the butt halfway across the street and said, "Okay, Dylan, I'll start. I'm sorry I brought Ricky to your place last night and I'm really, really sorry about him cutting off my hair. Especially because of that cool burr haircut you gave me. Mom's going to be pissed off at me; she liked that haircut and told me so. From this day on, I promise only you can cut my hair and no more surprise guests at home. Okay?" He punched my arm lightly and added, "You're not going to be mad at me all day, are you? I can't stand it when you're mad at me, Dylan."
I mumbled, "I'm such a baby sometimes. Shit, Chubby, I'm sorry about how I acted last night." We stopped walking for a quick one-arm hug with two pats on each other's back. Chubby said, "That's a start, but come on and do what you always do." He lifted my arm and pulled it around his neck. It made me smile, and I hugged him around his neck, while Chubby added, "What do you always say, Dylan? Come on, dude." I said, "I love you, bro," and hugged his neck again.
Chubby asked, "All better now?" I nodded, smiling broadly. With Chubby, it's easy to smile. We walked a little further, and it just occurred to me, so I told Chubby, "You know what? Since that fight with the Chavez brothers, you and I have done a complete role reversal on each other. Total role reversal." Chubby looked concerned for a second and then said, "I have no fucking idea what that means, but if you say it's so, it's fine with me." I looked at him, and he put such a cute grin on his face that I had to smile back. I felt so close to him.
Chubby punched my arm again and said in a serious way, "We're unlucky in one way for sure, though, you and me." When I asked why, he said, "We don't have any hair on our chest. Guys with hairless chests are more likely to get cirrhosis of the liver than men without hairy chests."
Another one of Chubby's off-the-wall factoids. He always gets me with those things because they're unexpected non-sequiturs. I recovered and said, "Hmmm. I think a person first needs to drink at least a fifth of gin every day for twenty years, plus have no hair on his chest before he can get cirrhosis." Chubby said, "Oh!" We lit our second of two-morning-walking-to-school cigarettes. What a beautiful morning. I felt much better about life. Chubby and I only have one class together, so I don't see much of him during the day. I thought a lot about him, though, especially today.
Chubby is growing up, making friends, and doing things with them, but even so, I can see our friendship bond is still the strongest. It was time I tried making another friend or two. I should be expanding my horizons or some such thing. It didn't take me more than a second to think of Robby Dickers, the guy I'd like to get to know better. He's in two of my classes, and we have the same lunch period, and his hall locker is near mine, so I see quite a bit of him. We're casual acquaintances, friendly acquaintances, but not buddies.
Hmm, since I'm now the senior editor for the school newspaper, maybe I can somehow use that to open a little conversation with Robby. I'll give it some thought during the Geometry class. Anything to avoid thinking about geometry is a good thing. There's this little thing that Rob's totally unaware of. It's that I've had sort of a crush on him since the beginning of the school year. It's funny, but before fat Carl sort of "outed" me to myself, I'd never considered my interest in Rob as a crush. In those olden days, I told myself that Rob was just a quiet, shy kid who might make a nice friend.
So, I'd like him to be more than just a friend; being a friend is a good place to start, though. Robby is our high school baseball team's second baseman and a pretty good student, too, but other than those two things, I don't know much about him. Well, haha, I mean I know what he looks like. He's my size, five foot, ten inches tall and slim, about a hundred and thirty pounds. Also, like me, he has light blond hair, but the thing I like most about his face is his mouth. It's super cute, like a little kid's. Bow-shaped lips and dimples that show up with almost any facial movement. That's a new concept for me, thinking guys are cute. It's a lot of fun checking out the boys and evaluating their looks. Some guys seem to have ultra-pink tongues and gums... Rob's like that. Then there's his very white teeth, and I really like his looks.
Robby gives that little grin and then looks away as if he's shy. I'm not an outgoing kid, but I seem like a Mr. Personality extrovert compared to Rob Dickers. Now that I've been thinking about him, something has occurred. It's that I'd like to kiss Rob on his mouth. That's freaky because I couldn't stand even the thought of kissing Carl, or any other boy, until now. The fact that I want to do it surprises the hell out of me. Oh my God, so many new things in my life lately.
Carl saw my gayness before I did, and he's done me a big favor by accelerating my acceptance of it, of my sexual nature. I suppose it was always there in my subconscious mind, but I was denying it in my conscious mind or something like that. I guess everyone eventually recognizes their true self at different ages. And, maybe some aren't able to act upon it right away, being more a case of happenstance, and I gotta admit that was my situation. Carl pushed me to recognize myself. I didn't treat him with the respect he deserved. Instead, I took him for granted and thought of him as a bit of a dork. I should have been paying more attention, and I should have told him thank you more often.
Geometry class was almost over and I hadn't devised a plan that would let me easily open a dialogue with Rob, yet. Maybe it's because I keep thinking about Carl or going back to thinking about Chubby and me and that strange thing about us changing roles. It has to do with my gayness. Not too long ago, I was sure Chubby was gay, and I didn't know what I was. And now, I'm sure I'm gay, and I don't know what Chubby is.
The fact is, Carl and I are the only ones in the world who know I'm gay, and Carl is the only gay person I know. Chubby is still a suspect. Then I thought about that horror show with Ricky Ortiz last night. It was the first time in my life that Chubby and I had been on opposite sides of something, of anything. Then, as it turned out, we weren't on opposite sides. Chubby was on my side when it counted the most; he stood up for me, not that shitbag, Ricky. I felt good about that last night and even feel better about it today when everything has had a chance to sink in.
Well, now Geometry class is over, and I'd thought about everything except what I wanted to think about, which was starting a conversation with Rob. The school day ground to a halt finally, and I was at my hall locker putting books away, still without a plan for Rob when here he came down the hall. He's walking with a couple of guys, and, as usual, he isn't saying anything. Rob is popular, as most members of sports teams are, but he's very quiet, too.
Like I said, shy. It's funny how some kids are so shy. It must be in their genes. Looking at him, I'm again thinking, he's cute. It is amazing to realize that I am gay. It's still a very new concept to me. And the fact that I'm thinking like a gay boy is different now. too. A new realization about myself and a little bit of a scary one sometimes because I get to feeling alone with it. Also, I wonder why I didn't realize all this earlier. That's something to ponder another time because I need to figure out what I should do about Rob right now.
And there he is, two lockers down from me. I try for cool with, "Hey, Rob, wassup?" He sticks with being shy and, without actually looking at me, says quietly, "Oh, hi, Dylan. Gee, I meant to congratulate you a while back when I heard you'd gotten next year's senior editor's position. You write well, and you deserve the position, so congratulations."
That was a long speech for Robby, and unexpected. I thanked him and devised an idea on the spot, just like that! "Hey Rob, would you be interested in being a reporter for the newspaper next year?" He closed his locker and leaned against my open locker door as I jammed my backpack inside. Up close, his blue eyes looked like a light shone behind each one; his eyebrows were very light and perfectly shaped. Very healthy looking, pinkish-white skin, completely smooth. He has that blotch of dark, rosy pink on each cheek that is rare for guys. And this is crazy, but I stared at his hairline, too. It's so perfectly straight, following the contour of his forehead, and his hair above it was full-bodied and shining clean. That's my overall impression; Rob was ultra clean, as if he were brand new.
He said, "What's wrong?" when he noticed me staring at him, my mouth slightly open. I shook my head and said, "Ha ha, sorry, Rob. I space out sometimes." I told him what I had in mind for his reporter's job next year, "Ya know, about twenty percent of the senior class is on a varsity sports team, and I thought it would be interesting if the other eighty percent of us got an inside look at how the elite twenty percent see things here at school. What's it like looking through the eyes of a student-athlete? You know, this would be for next year, as a senior. What do you think?"
He said, "I'm flattered you'd think of me for this, Dylan. I'm surprised you even knew I was on the baseball team." I told him he was the first person I thought of when I got this idea, "I swear, Rob, I thought of you." I could be sincere about that because it's basically true. Rob looked away and blushed a dark pink, which matched the color of his cheek blotches, the same dark rosy pink all over his face, from his forehead to his chin. He mumbled, "Thank you."
I wanted to hug him! Instead, I asked if he'd walk with me for a bit since we both go home in the same direction for the first six blocks, and he was excited, saying, "Sure, I'd like to walk with you." I couldn't believe that he thought walking with me was something cool to do. As we walked, I asked him again if he'd like to be on the paper, and he said, "Oh yeah, definitely. Those kinds of extra-curricular activities look good on college applications. The only thing is, you'll have to guide me along and spend some one-on-one time with me."
Ha! I was like, "Oh, of course, Robby, I'll give you all the time you need." He chuckled and bumped my shoulder with his shoulder, saying, "Only my little brother and my Mom call me Robby anymore." Quickly saying I was sorry, he piped in with, "No, not at all, I like it."
So, I'll call him Robby. We agreed to get together one day after school to kick some ideas around for the newspaper. It was so easy to talk to him and I was kind of giddy thinking about working with him one-on-one. Rob turned left on Waverly Road, and I went straight. I spent the rest of the walk home thinking about how I missed having Chubby to walk home with. I missed his rants, his factoids, and his energy. I didn't even smoke a cigarette. It's more fun when I'm sharing them with him.
After saying "Hi" to Mom and putting on my running outfit, I was off to do my four-mile run. Running is addictive, and my Mom says I have an addictive personality. It's the same for Chubby. We get in a grove with something and don't want to change anything about it. Naturally, as I ran, I thought about tomorrow and meeting with my Marine again. He might have had almost as much to do with acknowledging my feelings for Robby as fat Carl had. They both brought me "out," so to speak. Frankly, I'm over being scared of the Marine and looking forward to my second encounter with him.
Sure, I vacillated back and forth with that, but seeing him again is the winner. At the two-mile point, I came around some trees, half expecting the Marine to be there. He wasn't, though; no one was. After looking around for thirty seconds, I had no trouble peeing against the Marine's pee tree. Then I put my wrist under my chin, but with no hair on my arm, it didn't feel like when he did it. Over at that bench, leaving my shorts and jockstrap cup under my nuts like they were for my pee, I stood up straight with my hands clasped behind my back the way the Marine ordered me to stand, and I got the hardest boner just thinking about him sucking my dick. I muttered out loud, "No way I'm jerking off here."
As soon as I was all put back together, I smacked myself on my ass as the Marine did, and off I flew, running like I was doing the hundred-yard dash, same as yesterday. When I got winded, way down the trail, I slowed to a jog, thinking that the Marine was hot, and I was excited and anxious for tomorrow afternoon to get here. I need to shave my pubic hair, but how do I propose that crazy idea to Chubby? I need a believable explanation for doing that because I don't dare meet the Marine unless I do it.
Later, Chubby and I we're acting slightly awkward after that yelling episode with the creatin, Ricky, last night. Chubby quietly asked, "How was the run today? I miss running with you, and I miss walking home from school with you, too." That started us talking a little more, and we started relaxing. We did homework in my bedroom, and then watched the Red Sox on TV. During the third inning, I muttered, "I'm sorry for making a big deal out of you shaving your head." Chubby rubs his head, "It's not shaved. It's an eighth inch, I think."
So, I got a brainstorm and muttered, "Hmm, how random and cool would it be to use that on my pubes." Chubby jumped right on top of that idea and took over the proceedings. "Hey, bro, what a ballsy idea! You first, Dylan," and, just that easy, he got the barber clippers. He wanted us to totally make up after last night and would have said it was a great idea if I'd suggested we used pink fingernail polish.
Chubby said, "Take off your shorts and underpants, and your socks off, too. Your feet need a foot massage." He was slightly up-tight when he said that because he has that crazy foot fetish and he gets a bit aroused, that's what it looked like to me anyway. He recognized what a bizarre suggestion shaving our pubes was, so he took the opportunity to include his bizarre foot fetish, which he seems to be losing interest in the older he gets. He used to massage my feet and do all kinds of shit to them, but not much lately.
In my condo's finished basement, I marvel at how easily this worked out. I sat on the toilet seat in the basement's half-bath and Chubby massaged, smelled, licked and sucked on my feet until his entire almost five inches of boner could be seen sideways in his shorts. He made little quiet humming sounds along with some groans as he fondled and made love to my feet.
I don't have even a touch of foot fetish, but watching Chubby get sexually aroused got my dick firming up a little. His foot fondling went on for a while, but the TV is in a direct line from where I sat so I mostly watched the baseball game while Chubby enjoyed his fetish. The way he sucked on my big toe was kind of erotic, even to me. He'd lick slowly up the arch of my foot, ending with my big toe in his mouth where he gave it as much tongue all over my toe as the Marine had given my dick. Guess what I was thinking.
Glancing down, seeing Chubby's cute face, his eyes lightly closed, I though, I'll bet you anything he ain't doing this with Ricky. Chubby wouldn't be comfortable doing this with anyone but me. He finally took a deep breath, said, "Oh man, your feet needed a lot of attention tonight, Dylan."
He took another deep breath, adjusted his crotch and asked, "How do your feet feel now?" I told him that they've never felt better and after one more deep breath he turned on the clippers and within ten seconds all my pubes lay around the base of the toilet. "That was cool." he said, then added, "We should have thought of this sooner."
I mutter, "Yeah, that almost gave me a boner, but now the stubble is prickly against my nuts, my scrotum. He said, "Oh, well, we'll shave the area. You know, this could turn out to be a pain in the ass doing it regularly." I shrug and he uses a washcloth to wet my groin and then spreads shaving cream from the same can we've been using for three years to shave the peach fuzz from our upper lips. Chub sits back on his heels and says, "You better stand up now, Dylan. I think I can shave you easier that way while avoiding cutting your dick off."
Standing up nice and straight with my hands clasped behind my back as I did for the Marine, I'm getting another boner, so I relaxed. There was no hesitation, Chubby held my dick out of the way and, using a safety razor, shaved my pubes. I couldn't help it; I got a roaringly hard boner. Chubby grinned, then squeezes my boner and finished, saying, "This looks so cool, Dylan! Come on, do mine now." then he added, "You got a longer boner than I do. You're lucky." I just said, "Dude!" I used the barber clippers on his pubes, moving his smaller penis this way and that.
It occurred to me that this is the first time either of us have ever touched the other guy's privates. My dick had been touched many times by Carl, who thought he owned it, and by the Marine, who will own it if I'm not careful. I tried to make my mind blank, but the mutual penis touching and the whole idea of shaving each other's pubes was too arousing to ignore. Putting it out of my mind didn't seem to work because my penis has a mind of its own, and in this instance, it was determined to get harder and harder, eventually sticking at least six inches straight out from my crotch.
I was mad at myself for not putting my shorts back on before starting on Chubby's pubes. By the time I was done shaving Chubby's stubble, holding his cock the whole time, his cock had gotten as rock hard as mine. Breathing hard, I definitely felt I was going to cum any second. This is NOT what I thought would happen to me. If anything, I expected Chubby to get sexually turned on, not me.
Concentrating hard, imagining myself sitting in a tub of cold water, hoping this would get my dick to back off. It wouldn't stop vibrating, though, and feeling awesome until I groaned, "Oh, fuck!" and, facing away from Chubby, I stroked my throbbing boner. The foreskin sheath slid easily back and forth over the sensitive, swollen head of my penis. "Oh! Ohh! Oooh!", my body shuddered and a string of cum three feet long shot out and dropped to the bathroom floor. I stroked it again wicked fast, my eyes and mouth tightly shut, making soft moaning sounds in my throat as another shorter spurt of cum shot out making be shudder all over. Then cum drools as I kept stroking, slower now. I managed to grunt, "Ohhhh, Jesus! That was not in my plans, Chubby. Man, I'm so embarrassed, but it just happened."
Chubby said, "Whoa, that was da bomb, man! I never saw you spunk. Well, fuck, I never saw anyone spunk before. In person, I mean. Wow, watch me." I noticed his boner is now sticking straight out, an almost five-inch steel pipe. Standing with stiff legs, Chubby used the circle formed by his thumb and index finger tightly around his boner to manipulate his foreskin back and forth over the dark red head of his cock. I watched in fascination while he jerked-off for less than a minute, his face all scrunched up, blowing spit sprays out a small opening between his lips. Then he arched his back thrusting his groin out as far as he could and said, "Ooooahhh" and a hard, thin, four-foot squirt of cum shot out hitting the bathroom door.
Chubby squeaks out, "Oh yeah! Shit! Ohhh!" and two more quick squirts of spunk splatter on the tile floor, then he drained his nuts, the cum drooling down his shortish root. Chubby grunts, "Fuck, that was awesome. Damn!" He sat on the toilet seat again, breathing hard, still stroking his cock. "Whoa, Dylan. It was hot having you watch me. Goddammit to hell, what's wrong with us two. We should have started doing this years ago. Lots of guys do it together, ya know?"
He's partially right. Some guys do it, but even a couple of months ago, something like this wouldn't even enter my mind. That's a major reason why we didn't do this together earlier. I certainly didn't want to tell Chubby about Carl or the Marine. I nodded, muttering, "Yeah, you're right ,Chub. It's pretty cool." Chubby's smirking and taking credit for the whole thing, "It's good to see you lighten the fuck up a little bit, Dylan. We're not queer, you know. Just doing a little natural experimenting with our bodies like everybody."
He went on a little bit about this topic as we got dressed. Me nodding my head, and grinning because you'd have thought we should be ashamed of ourselves for not whacking off together sooner. The funny thing is, Chubby talks an aggressive sexy adventurous life, while I'm the one who is living one. Um, that's as far as I know, anyway.
Dressed, I wrap Chubby in my arms and hug him because I love him like a cherished brother, or maybe more than that. He hugged back and we swayed a little before kissing cheeks and letting go. So soon after climaxing, that hug felt like much more than our regular hugs. Neither of us had anything to say after the hug. We finished putting the barbering stuff away, wiped up the sperm, and crawled into our favorite recliner together to watch the rest of the game.
Chubby dozed off as I thought, "Damn, I didn't leave the little patch of pubes on top like the Marine said. Fuck it; this worked out better than I could have hoped for. Goddamn, I wonder if the Marine will be surprised I did it. I'm surprised!
To be continued...
