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Subject: DYLAN’S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter 58 DYLAN’S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter 58 By Donny Mumford It’s nine o’clock Monday morning and Rob and I are home. We’re showered, shaved, and dressed in suits and ties standing next to one another looking at ourselves in the full-length mirror on the back of our bedroom’s closet door. After a few seconds, I go, “Jeez, does this feel weird to you at all?” He mumbles, “Yeah, it’s a little bit weird wearing a suit and tie when most Monday mornings we’re still sleeping back at college.” Then he adds, “We might as well get used to this version of Monday mornings though.” I don’t know about that, but we do look good. We’re interviewing for jobs at his dad’s company this morning, and I’ll be glad when it’s over. I need to ask myself, do I want to wear a suit and tie five days a week for the next forty or fifty years?’ That’s such a good question I wonder why it’s just now occurred to me? It’s fact, not opinion that there are hardly any occupations requiring suits and ties nowadays and there hasn’t been for, I don’t know, as long as I’ve been alive! I don’t wanna be too critical, but Rob’s dad is stuck in the last century with his company’s dress code. It’s especially puzzling because Dickers & Son has very little interaction with customers, so who exactly are the suits and ties supposed to be impressing? Okay, I suppose upper management needs to impress financial institutions for funding of multimillion-dollar projects, but I can’t think of any other part of the company’s business that suits and ties make any sense, and in fact, they’re a hindrance. Granted, my business experience consists of cutting grass plus one summer working in the office, including that business trip week in Hartford. Frankly, I can’t think of a rational reason I needed to wear a suit for that job other than most of the people I presented the new benefits package to were similarly dressed. While all that is true, this isn’t an appropriate time to have a discussion about it with Rob. Actually, I do sort of understand why wearing a suit to work might not raise any questions for Robby as he’s seen his dad wearing a suit to work every day for as long as he can remember. I haven’t though, so I ask myself again, why haven’t I questioned myself about this until now? Maybe it should have occurred to me when I was slipping and sliding in the mud at that construction site in Hartford? Duh! In the kitchen, Rob and I mumble ‘good morning’ to his mom, both of us pretending it’s no big deal to interview for a real job in the real world. Being honest about it though, we’ll only be partially experiencing the real world considering we’re interviewing for a job with the company Rob’s dad owns. Still, we’re going through the same procedure anyone will who’s interviewing for a job there. Mrs. Dickers says, “Good morning, and don’t you both look nice!” My stomach is filled with butterflies. Well, not really! That would be a serious condition. Whatever, I’m not hungry this morning. That’s problematic, however, as Mrs. D. has made pancakes from scratch and there are Jimmy Dean sausage patties frying in a pan, plus fresh fruit cut up in a bowl. Damn, I don’t want to disappoint Mrs. D. after she went through all the trouble of making us a nice breakfast. I sit at my place as Rob’s asking his mom, “Did Dad call yet?” She says, “No, dear, he only left for work a little while ago.” As Rob’s sitting down, he pulls at the knot of his tie, mumbling, “Christ, how hot is it in here?” Hmm, maybe he’s nervous too. He asks me, “How’s your stomach, Dylan?” I’m like, “What’s that?” How did he know about the nonexistent butterflies, but then he adds, “Those ‘effing gin and tonics, Jesus… the tonic, huh?” I shrug, muttering, “Oh, yeah, our drinks yesterday. Tonic is rough stuff for sure. Not my favorite drink.” Mrs. D. puts cups of freshly brewed coffee in front of Rob and me, saying, “Wow, I can’t get over how spiffy you two look this morning.” Rob goes, “Spiffy? What the hell…?” She says, “Relax, Rob, your dad is setting everything up for you boys.” He goes, “No, mother, he’s not setting anything up for us! Dylan and I are going through the exact same process any schmuck applying for a job at the company goes through. Anyway, Dad isn’t involved in hiring, that’s why we have a Human Resources department.” She’s obviously more correct than Rob, but we’ve never interviewed for anything before so we don’t know what to expect and we don’t want to embarrass ourselves. Anyway, who wouldn’t be a little nervous doing something for the first time? I’m worried I’ll screw-up and disappoint everyone. What if the HR people roll their eyes, saying among themselves…? ‘Are you shitting me? We gotta offer this lame-ass kid a job just because old man Dickers is one of his references?’ Something like that could happen. On the other hand, ‘Yeah, ya better hire this lame-ass kid. The owner wanted to be included as my primary reference, ya dumb-ass! That’s a clue, assuming you care about keeping your own job’. Oh fuck, I gotta stop thinking up these fantasy scenarios… they don’t help. Hey, what are the job openings there anyway? Nobody has talked about that. I say, “Yo, Rob, are there actual job openings we’re applying for? I mean, would they hire someone without a position to fill?” He says, “There are spots HR has been scrambling to fill for months now. Hell, there are more than forty new positions open for the Falmouth project alone, and that’s not counting construction workers. Plus there are bids out for other smaller projects that created more openings.” I’m not going to be a contrarian and mention this, but most of those opening I’ll bet are for office-type worker-bee employees. What the hell kind of job am I even applying for? Hmm, no, I’m not asking that ’cause I’ll look stupid. Huh, as much as I didn’t think I wanted anything to eat, I ate everything Mr. D. put in front of me and it was good too. After breakfast, Rob and I brush our teeth and wash up and then fuck around with our hair and then we’re straightening our ties. Looking at my watch, I’m like, “Your dad said we’d need to be at the office at ten o’clock, didn’t he?” Rob shrugs, “I don’t know, babe. Um, I mean, no. Dottie’s gonna call around ten o’clock I guess. She’ll tell us the exact time… or something.” Then he goes, “I hate this! I hate spur of the moment shit like this. It’s so, um, unprofessional and unlike dad. We should have had more notice.” We’re in the family room fidgeting when Rob gets a text from Dottie telling us our appointments are at ten-forty-five. He tells me, and I mumble, “Oh, should we go over now?” He shakes his head, saying, “Nah, we’ll leave in half an hour,” and then he gets up to pace around the room. This is like waiting for a root canal and yeah, I’ve had a root canal, so… It’s only fifteen minutes later when Rob says, “Fuck it, let’s go now,” and as we’re walking through the kitchen, Rob’s mom says, “Good luck, boys.” Robby mutters, “Luck has nothing to do with it, mom,” and I say, “Thank you, Mrs. Dickers,” and out we go. Actually, if one wanted to nitpick, one could say the ‘luck’ component already happened for Rob, job-wise… he’s the owner’s son. During the ride, I’m like, “You say forty to fifty new job opening for the Falmouth project… that seems like a lot.” He goes, “Have you ever watched the credits scroll after a movie? Even for a shitty movie the list of names for the behind the scenes personnel involved in making that piece of shit movie goes on forever. To a lesser degree, and without the shitty aspect of my example, it’s the same way with each new big project the company starts… in other words, many more new employees are needed than you’d think. And then, after the project is completed our company has the property maintenance for ‘X’ number of years… whatever was agreed to in the contract. Ya know, the grounds’ maintenance that goes on year-round for lawns, shrubs, and snow removal and road maintenance… whatever. That’s an entire division of our company.” I mumble, “I didn’t think of that.” I didn’t, but what’s that have to do with us? What, we’re not applying for a job as custodians? I haven’t thought of a lot of things apparently. Rob parks the pickup in the visitor’s parking lot, which is mere steps from the front door. Huh, I’ve never gone into the office through this door before. We walk into a classy-looking lobby. This is not the entrance for management. I’ve gone in that entrance any number of times but this is on the other side of the main building. Christ, I remember when there were only two buildings surrounded by woods. Mr. D. owned the land along with his vision for eventual expansion, and a couple of years ago it actually happened. I gotta admit… it’s been impressive. Inside there’s a big reception desk and a dressed-up classy looking lady behind it, who says, “Well, good morning, Rob. I have visitor badges for you and Dylan.” Rob mutters, “Thanks, Carol, um, do we wait here, or…?” I’m impressed she didn’t need to look at her notes to know my name. I mean, I’ve never seen her before in my life. There are two men in suits with their briefcases next to the nice armchairs they’re sitting in. I assume they’re salesmen or, um, I don’t know who the fuck they are actually. Carol says, “Have a seat anywhere… someone will be out to get you in a few minutes. Rob hands me a badge with my name on it and under my name in parentheses is, ‘Human Resources Department’. I guess if I try walking into another department I’ll get thrown out of the building on my ass. Rob says, “Clip it on your suit jacket pocket,” and as we sit down, I do that while grinning at Rob, whispering, “Gee, I wish we had briefcases.” Robby frowns and mutters, “Don’t mess around, okay?” Ha, he’s more uptight than I am! Well, I guess I know why that is. Rob must feel pressure being the owner’s son. He especially doesn’t want to do anything untoward that might get leaked back to his dad. Hmm, and there are also probably some small-minded jealous individuals who would like nothing better than Robby fucking up somehow. I’m thinking specifically of those managers Rob was spying on in the meetings when his dad was laid up with the back problem. Or, maybe I can’t even imagine what worries Rob might have as the owner’s son. Maybe it’s only part-luck, and then part-burden being the owner’s son. At exactly ten-forty-five two people appear, one is a tall black man who looks like he’s thirty-five and the other one is a nice looking female type person. The man is average looking with a nice suit and tie, wearing glasses. Big friendly smile as he sort of looks at Robby and me simultaneously, not sure who’s who, saying, “Robert?” Rob gets right up and the guy’s hand comes out to shake hands, as he’s saying, “Good morning! I’m LaVern Johnson… very pleased to meet you, Robert.” He’s very, um, suave and his smile looks sincere, although it probably isn’t. Just part of the job. The man says to Rob, “Please, if you’ll come with me,” and the woman who is right behind LaVern, says, “So you must be Dylan then,” and she holds out her hand with a smile so bright I could use a pair of sunglasses. She says, “Hello, I’m Patricia Martin. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please call me Pat.” I’m out of my seat in a flash shaking her hand, saying, “Yes, of course, I am,” and then I’m blushing at that idiotic too-loud and convoluted response. She grins at that, and says, “Good, I’m glad you are, or else I’d look pretty silly.” Her handshake is perfect, not damp, not too firm or too limp. She says, “Please, come along with me, Dylan.” She walks next to me, chuckling and saying, “I almost wanted to look around the lobby for my interviewee because you look too young to be graduating college. Gee, when I was eighteen I could buy my friends six-packs of beer. That’s how old I looked back then.” I mutter, “What? Ah, I mean, you were lucky, um….” Oh, fuck, another stupid thing to say. She goes, “Yes, I was quite popular in high school because of that, haha.” We go into her very nice, but not too large office. She sits behind her nice, but modest desk and motions with her hand for me to sit in one of the two guests’ chairs in front of the desk. Did she think I was going to sit on her lap? Where else would I sit except in one of these two chairs? Trying to get thoughts like those last two out of my head, I put on my best smile and she grins back at me, saying, “Oh my goodness, you are a good looking young man, aren’t you?” Was that a question? Instead of taking a chance saying anything to that, I do a fake cough and she asks, “Would you like a bottle of water or cup of coffee?” I go, “Excuse me, um, no, I’m fine now, thank you.” Pat says, “Well, what makes you think you’d like to work for Dickers & Son?” Oh, she gets right into it, huh? Clearing my throat, I tell her that my college roommate for the last four years is the owner’s son and he’s told me many good things about his father’s company. Plus, I’ve worked summers for the company starting with lawn cutting. I’ve seen the way the company continues to grow so I’d like to grow with it.” Pat asks, “Oh, um, are you saying that fellow with you in the lobby is Mr. Dickers’ son?” She didn’t know that? I nod, “Um, yes. My roommate, um…” and she says, probably mostly to herself, “Ha, wouldn’t it have been nice if someone told me that, um…” She seems a little pissed off but I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. Saying nothing usually works out pretty well for me. She gets her shit together and says, “Well, it’s actually neither here nor there anyway, is it, Dylan?” I resist the urge to shrug and instead say, “I don’t know.” She does a little laugh at that, and goes, “Well, first we have some paperwork to take care of and then I’d like to talk with you. So,” and she stands up, saying, “If you’ll follow me,” and we go next door into a small room where I see Robby sitting at a desk filling out what appears to be a four or five-page application and there’s another multi-pages form next to the one he’s writing on. Mr. Dickers called it something other than an application, but I forget what. Robby looks up and smiles at me but doesn’t say anything. Pat says to Robby, “Oh, hello there. Sorry to interrupt,” and to me, “We’ll just go through to this next room.” We do that and enter a room identical to the first one. Pat takes a set of papers off a rack behind the door. It looks exactly like the one Rob’s filling out. She hands it to me, saying, “There are pens in the desk drawer,” pointing at a small desk, adding, “Take your time. No rush and when you’ve completed the career application,” and she gets a thicker set of papers, adding, “Please complete this packet. It’s basically an aptitude test… just routine. It will help us better determine the areas of expertise you excel in so we can place you in the best position for you to be successful.” Yeah, and the test will probably indicate if I’m a potential mass murderer as well. I say, “Oh, okay. Um, so when I’m done do I bring the completed forms to your office?” She looks at her watch and nods, saying, “Yes, and then we’ll have lunch and get to know each other, okay?” Oh, man, I need to resist saying an absurd response to that. I mean, what could I say? ‘No, it’s not okay! I don’t want to have lunch with you, bitch! And I don’t want to get to know you either!’ I say, “Yes, sure, okay.” She pats my shoulder and says, “You’ll do fine, Dylan. Take your time.” She leaves, but her nice perfume remains. Not for long though. Sighing, I sit at the desk and look first at all the questions on the psychological test. That’s what it probably is. Putting that aside, I start filling out the, um, career application. That’s the title at the top. Scanning it first I see there are no questions about my race, political party, or sexuality. They must hate not being able to ask those nosy questions. I check off a lot of boxes and fill in some spaces and as I’m signing the career application, Robby sticks his head in my small room and says, “There weren’t any math problems in that test, thank God,” and we both laugh out loud as if that was funny. Jeez, that was a good tension reliever and I didn’t even know I was tense! I go, “Stop it, Robby, you’ll get us in trouble.” He goes, “Why? I’m not copying off your test,” and we both laugh again. Then I’m like, “Why are we laughing?” He shrugs and says, “Hey, we’re good, babe. I’ve decided, we’re good. I have no idea why I was uptight this morning. No worries. My HR guy is a cupcake,” and then he goes, “Oh, I need to have lunch with LaVern now. I guess you’re eating with her, huh?” I nod, and say, “Yes. Now, will you please go back in your friggin’ little room and let me finish this.” He thinks his guy is a cupcake but that’s exactly what the guy wants him to think. That’ll get Rob feeling uber comfortable so he’ll expose more of his true self. Rob pats the door frame a few times and goes, “Okay, babe, but we got this… no problem!” I nod and Robby shoots me with his forefinger pulling the trigger with his thumb. Yeah, well… I suppose his HR guy is aware that Rob’s the boss’s son. I’m super surprised my HR person didn’t know that, and she didn’t know I’m a close friend of Rob’s either, not until I told her we’ve been roommates for four years. I wonder what Pat will think when she sees I put Mr. Dickers down as a reference. Christ, I can’t believe Dottie wouldn’t have mentioned Rob’s and my connection when she set up the appointments. I’ll bet she did too, and then incompetence on someone’s part resulted in that bit of information never reaching my HR person, Pat. Hmm, that’s a shame… It takes me an hour to fill out the test because I need to think about the tricky shit they’re asking and it gets very tedious… so for the last two pages, I’m just checking off the first multiple choice answer that sort of seems like the answer they probably want. Most of these questions are so random that a number of the multiple-choice answers seem applicable and it could give a sane person a headache after a while. Carrying the completed forms through the small room Rob was in and then up the hall, I peek into Pat’s office but don’t go in. Two women are in there kinda yelling at each other. Oh, I guess that’s another thing Human Resources deals with… disputes between the worker bees. Not wanting to hang too close to Pat’s office as though I’m listening in, I wander back to the receptionist area where there’s a different woman behind the desk. She says, “Can I help you?” I hold up the forms, saying, “I’m waiting for Pat, um, the HR lady.” She says, “Pat Martin?” I say, “Yes, she has some people in her office now, so…” She interrupts me, saying, “Well, have a seat in here then.” Well, no shit! That’s a brilliant suggestion. I sit down figuring the regular receptionist must be at lunch. She was more professional. I look at my watch and see it’s twelve-thirty already and the interview hasn’t even started yet. Robby’s attitude turnaround surprised me. He seemed very positive about things which is quite the reversal from this morning. I’ll bet that guy, LaVern, has Robby so relaxed Rob’s saying things he shouldn’t. I’m not falling into that trap with Pat. And that’s one good thing about Pat, her name is easy to remember. Yeah, but what’s her last name? Damn, and that lady just said it a minute ago… Oh, here comes Pat now. I stand and she says, “I’m so sorry, Dylan, that was unexpected,” and she holds her hand out. For a second I’m ready to shake hands again but at the last fraction of a second, I realize she wants the forms. I hand them to her and she gets us walking back to her office and then stops, saying, “You know what, Dylan? I should take a few minutes to glance over these forms and then we’ll have lunch in the cafeteria. Do you know how to get there?” I say, “Yes, Ma’am, I worked here last summer.” She looks surprised, asking, “Oh? You mean here in this building? I thought you mentioned lawn cutting.” Before I can reply, she goes, kızılay escort “Well, I’ll read about it, won’t I?” and she holds up the forms, adding, “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria in ten minutes, Dylan.” Nodding I mutter, “Sure,” and she goes into her office. First thing I need to do is go downstairs where I know there’s a lavatory near the cafeteria. Oh man, in the lavatory I’m taking a piss that I first noticed I needed to take an hour ago. Friggin’ coffee, ya know? That was a damn good piss, and then I wash up and stare at myself in the mirror over the sink. Yeah, I know I’m nice looking, not that I had a thing to do with that, but why does it get mentioned so often? I’m not better looking than some guys I know and yet I never hear people mentioning their good looks. It embarrassed me when Pat said that. It was almost like I’m a freak or something. I mean the way she said it as though she could hardly believe it… like I had two noses or something. I get my pocket comb out and comb the hairs at the front to the side again. The bangs were drooping. Danny cut the hairs there a perfect length but he put in a little gel and I probably should have done that this morning. I hear the door opening so I turn and see a man in a suit comes in. He doesn’t look at me on his way to a toilet stall. He slams and clicks the lock on the door… time to leave. In the cafeteria, I’m looking for Rob and his HR guy but they’re not here. Huh, that guy must have taken Rob out to lunch. Christ, I hope Rob doesn’t have a drink or he’ll be telling the guy what we do in bed… haha! There are vending machines so I stick a dollar bill in one and get a Coke to sip on as I sit at a table for four. I hate sitting here alone! People are probably looking at me and mumbling behind their hands, ‘look at that asshole sitting alone’. After what seems significantly longer than ten minutes, Pat comes in and motions that we should get in the line for food. Leaving my Coke can on the table I join her and we get behind a couple of men as Pat says, “It sort of shocked me to see Mr. Dickers as your main reference, Dylan.” I mumble, “Oh?” and she shrugs, asking, “Um, did you do that because you worked here last summer, or…?” I say, “No. He suggested I put him as a reference, so I did.” She passes me a tray, saying, “Huh, so he suggested it? You mean, um… what do you mean?” I say, “I’ve been living with the Dickers family since last summer and Mr. Dickers talked with me about any interest I might have in applying for a job here and when I said I was very interested he told me to put his name down as a reference.” As if she doesn’t understand, she says, “You live there?” I go, “Yes. It started as a convenience getting to and from work because I didn’t have a car and Rob did, and I just…” She goes, “Oh, so you’re basically actually living as a member of the Dickers family? The company’s owner’s family.” I nod, “Uh huh, yes Ma’am.” She goes, “Oh, I see.” No, she doesn’t. I take a prepackaged ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of Lay’s potato chips and drop them on my tray. The sandwich looks squished in the plastic wrapper. That’s all I take until the end of the line when I see slices of white cake with vanilla frosting on paper plates so I put one on my tray. At the register, Pat hold out a twenty-dollar bill and says, “Hi, Molly, this is for both of these trays… and I need a receipt.” Pat has a salad and iced tea on her tray. We sit at the table with my Coke can, and she asks, “Where do you see yourself in five years, Dylan?” Oh, so this is the interview? As I’m trying to solve the puzzle of how to unlock the plastic wrap around my sandwich, I say, “That’s a hard question. Let’s see, I guess my goal over the next five years would be to acquire enough experience to take on bigger responsibilities within the company.” She goes, “Well said,” and she takes a mouthful of salad and then chews it with her mouth closed. That’s a good way to chew food. If I can’t get this fucking sandwich out of this miracle plastic wrap Pat’s gonna think I’m spastic or something. No, a person in HR would never even think the word ‘spastic’. She asks, “Why do you think you’re a good fit for Dickers & Son?” I’ve got the sandwich out of the plastic but I had to sort of squish it even more in the process. Looking over at her, I say, “Well, I’ve worked here four summers now, and fit in pretty well so I guess that’s why.” She smiles and says, “Plus you live with the Dickers.” I look serious, saying, “I don’t see how that pertains to your question,” and she says, “It doesn’t. I was kidding you.” I mumble, “Sorry,” and take a bite of my sandwich. We eat for a minute in silence. I suppose she didn’t expect me to sort of snap back about her snarky ‘living with the Dickers’ remark. She gets herself together though, smiles and goes, “Tell me about yourself, Dylan. Aside from the fact you’re living with the Dickers.” Oh, now she’s getting snippy with me, huh? Hmm, telling her about myself? Well, I don’t believe she actually gives a shit about my life. She cares about what I can do for the company. Nonetheless, I give her a cursory history about being an only child raised by a single parent. Then make up a lot of stuff, saying, “I’ve worked a lot starting as an eight-year-old paperboy. I did that for three or four years until I got a job stocking shelves at Stop & Shop, then I was a clerk in a CVS all through middle school and lastly I worked for this company on lawn cutting crews back when it was called Dickers Landscaping and Design, and then last summer I implemented the company’s new benefit package to 300-plus employees.” Her eyebrows are up as she goes, “Wow,” and I add, “In fact, I should have spoken with you last summer but I don’t remember doing that.” She says, “I started with the company this past January, so…” Now, who’s interviewing who? Of course, all of my work history prior to lawn cutting at age seventeen was pure bull shit. My first job ever was lawn cutting with Robby. Before that it was Chubby and me torturing the world together. We felt our job was raising ourselves. My lies about working are the kind she wouldn’t bother trying to verify, and how could she anyway? Pat gets to eat while I’m talking but I’m not missing much because my sandwich sucks. Pat says, “So you apparently enjoy working. How about your academic achievements?” I mention my senior year GPA score for the first semester and how I expect it to be even higher for the second semester, and then I bullshit a little more, saying, “I don’t know why exactly, but I really got into ‘learning’ way back in grade school and its carried over all through my education, and I’ve always had sort of a natural knack for picking things up quickly and then retaining that information.” Hopefully, she won’t spring a pop quiz on me by asking me if I remember her last name. Actually, I’m stupidly grinning inside at how proud Chubby will be of me when I tell him about BS’ing this semi-smug HR person with her sneaky comments about me ‘living with the Dickers’. An unnecessary taunting by her if you ask me. It’s not my fault Pat didn’t get the memo about Rob and me being closely associated with each other as well as with Rob’s dad, the company’s owner. There are more innocuous questions, not especially probing ones which is a good thing although they’re not especially relevant either. In between answering those questions, I eat the slice of cake that’s as disappointing as the sandwich. I finish the cake because, while it was dry and tasteless, it was sweet at least. How could they fuck up cake? I barely ate half the first half of the horrible sandwich before totally squishing the remainder into a ball along with the plastic wrap… like its trash. We dump our paper plates and whatever in the trash and then I put the Coke can in a recycle bin, and we put the trays on a stack of them. Walking back to her office, she says, “You’re a very interesting young man, Dylan. I’d like you to talk with two of our vice presidents if you don’t mind.” Well, I do mind! I don’t tell Pat though. She calls ahead and then directs me to the top floor where I’ve been about ten times before, but I don’t mention it. George Lin is a VP in charge of transportation, whatever that might mean. I go to his office and we shake hands, then I hand him my career application as instructed. George talks fast telling me to call him George as he glances at the career application while making some friendly comments. I can tell George is a nice man although I quickly get the sense that he has many things he’d rather be doing than talking with me. That’s one thing we sort of have in common. He quickly asks basically the same things Pat asked me at lunch and after a cursory fifteen minutes interview, he graciously gets me moving on. He walks along with me four offices to the right of his office where I meet Drew Pierson who’s the finance Executive VP. Oh, Executive VP, huh? I assume that’s a step up the VP ladder from George. Drew Pierson also wants me to call him by his first name, and Drew is old. I mean old compared to most of the managers and VP’s at Dickers & Son. He’s easily in his sixties and he likes to talk. He does way more talking than I do. I listen nodding my head as he expounds upon his number one interest in life which is apparently money. That’s a pretty good thing to be interested in but Drew is doing all the talking so he isn’t finding shit out about me… except that I’m a good listener. Well, hell, maybe that’s what he wanted to find out. I listen to Drew for almost forty minutes and when his phone rings we shake hands quickly and he sends me on my way. I’m carrying my career application back to Pat’s office where, after doing a courtesy knock on the door frame I walk in. She’s got her hundred-watt smile back in place holding out her hand, so we shake hands. As we’re sitting down she tells me, “You interview very well, Dylan. George and Drew called with their feedback and they both liked you a lot. So, this is the end of our interview process for now. You’ll be hearing from us in the next week to ten days about a job opportunity.” I smile back at her, nodding my head, and then she adds a rather ominous closing, “Assuming, of course, there is an opening we feel you’d be perfect for.” I’m not sure if that means she’ll only call if there’s the perfect opening for me, and I won’t get a call if there isn’t one, or if she’ll call in either case. And you know what? I don’t give a flying fuck what she meant because I just want to get out of here. She stands so I stand. She holds her hand out so I hold my hand out and we shake hands again as I thank her for her time and she goes, “It was my pleasure, Dylan. Thank you so much for coming in and applying for a job opportunity with Dickers & Son.” At least she doesn’t mention that I’m living with the CEO and his family again, although I still am. Pat walks me out to the reception areas, shakes my hand for the third time in the last two minutes and we nod our heads at each other, both saying, “Thank you” for like the third time in the last thirty seconds. One thing I found out for sure… I don’t want her job! Robby’s sitting in the reception area waiting for me. Pat sees him but doesn’t say anything to him. Instead, she gives me one last bright smile before turning around and heading back to her office. As soon as she’s out of sight, I say, “Let’s go, Rob,” and he asks, “What took you so ‘effing long?” I shrug, “Well, for one thing, have you ever talked with that Drew, um, Drew-something? He’s a VP.” Robby shrugs, muttering, “Who?” and I say, “He’s a talker and you’d remember him if you ever talked with him. Anyway, I just did what the HR lady told me to do. How’d you make out?” As we walk out the front door and head for the pickup, he says, “Fine, but I wouldn’t want to do this again even though I thought it went very well” I go, “You’re right, this wasn’t fun at all, not that I thought it would be…” Actually, I did have a little bit of fun bull-shitting Pat. Robby won’t see the humor in it though, so I’ll keep it to myself. As we’re driving home we loosen our ties, and I ask, “Do you think it makes sense that we all need to wear suits and ties every day?” He goes, “Funny you should mention that. When I was taking notes for dad at those meetings, ya know when dad’s back was fucked up.” I nod and he says, “Well, before discussing the Falmouth project there was a recap of current items… and the dress code always came up. You were in a few of those meetings.” I go, “Yeah, but I never knew what was being talked about.” He goes, “Anyway the dress code is a recurring topic. Some of the younger managers were really hot about freely criticizing the need for suit and ties, probably because my dad wasn’t there. They had statistics showing that almost every large corporation in America did away with suits and ties years ago.” Hmm, that could be a factor in where I wanna work, assuming I have an option. And I do have at least one option with Tom’s and Tim’s company although I don’t know what the Rider twins have in mind for me, and they won’t be home until next week. I was hoping they’d be the ones who brought up the subject of my potential job with them, but they’re probably waiting until I actually graduate. I’m like, “It’s interesting there’s a chance the suit and ties might be going out. When do you think changes might happen?” Robby goes, “I’m not sure. The last proposal I heard was for this summer. A new policy would be implemented where all non-management staff will be allowed to wear appropriate casual clothes to work, but not jeans or flip-flops, ya know, sensible clothing. Then in time, there will be less emphasis on suit and ties and dresses, whatever woman wear, for the management staff too. The exceptions would be for specific meetings, like proposal presentations and dealing with bankers and whatever. By next fall I’m guessing we’ll be like everybody else in that regard.” Nodding my head, I mutter, “Sounds encouraging,” and Robby looks at me and says, “Hell, I like wearing a suit to work!” I go, “Well, aren’t you special! That’s nice for you, but not everyone feels that way.” He mumbles, “I know, just saying…” At the house, we’re changing out of our suits as I’m saying, “Why take your suit off? You can wear your suit the rest of the day, Robert.” He goes, “Bite me why don’cha.” Snickering, I mimic, “I like wearing a suit to work. Everyone, look at my new tie!” He chuckles and then uses a goofy voice, saying, “I wanna be like my daddy and wear a suit to work.” We’ve both undressed down to our underpants and socks. I say in my regular voice, “You joke about that, but your subconscious mind is probably telling you to be like daddy.” He goes, “My subconscious can go fuck itself because I want to be just like YOU!” and he pushes me backward onto the bed and gets on top of me, saying, “I meant to say, I want to be inside you,” and we kiss and rub our bodies together. We have a very nice kiss too… sort of a stress reliever. Even though we both ended up relaxed by the end of our interviews, we started out nervous. We’re glad the friggin’ interrogation by HR is over so we kiss a few times more and then, oops, sexual arousal awakens and gets busy tightening up our dicks. Rob and I are pretty much the same sizes so when our faces are together with Rob’s lying on me, our dicks are together too. They get hard together as our initial roughhousing turns into more of a lover’s sexual experience than playful extemporaneous sex. After some lover’s making out, our hearts are pumping a little harder, along with our cocks and Robby murmurs, “Pull your legs back, babe,” and as I slowly do that he reaches to the bedside table and gets the Astroglide out of the drawer. His finger feels good rubbing the slippery substance first around my asshole and then some of it is pushed inside. Rob looked serious while doing that and then a little smile breaks out on his face as he’s now stroking the lubricant on his fairly stiff cock. I’ve got an arm around each leg holding them back watching Robby and feeling pleasantly submissive while waiting patiently for my man to fuck me. When his fat cock is bone-hard and sticking straight out from his soft-looking pubic hair, Rob screws the cap back on the tube and then tosses it in the open drawer. He closes the drawer and holds his boner in his fingers guiding it to my asshole. The head spreads me open but not enough to hurt. Just enough so his cock’s head is stable and then Robby leans over me getting in a pushup position with a hand on the bed next to either side of my chest. He lowers his head and we kiss as he’s pushing his hips forward sliding the head of his fat boner tightly inside me another half-inch and then he pushes it in a little further until it miraculously gets past my sphincter muscle. That’s when the pain can’t be ignored so I stop kissing, but Rob doesn’t. My face scrunches at the pain. I don’t groan but my body is stiff as a board which somehow is causing me to pull my legs back even further, back until my thighs are touching my chest which brings my ass up off the bed a little more. I can’t spread my held-back legs the way I normally would because Rob’s got an arm on either side of me. When the pain begins fading Robby sees my body relax and he slowly pushes his engorged sex organ up, up, up my ass until he’s tight against my buttocks and then he humps against me and I rock back and forth slightly on my rounded arched back. Another long sloppy kiss and then I gasp air into my lungs. That makes Rob take his mouth off mine and, as he looks into my eyes, he begins slow thrusting, his hips pulling back and then pushing his hard cock back and forth in a steady rhythm. We kiss again as his hips keep up that fairly slow steady motion and oooh how good that feels. I’m soon limp all over, except my ridiculously hard cock that’s between us bumping Rob’s belly and wetting a pre-cum spot there every time he leans down for another kiss. I’m moaning quietly in my world of deep sexual pleasure and continue my moaning even during our sexy kisses, our mouths together with me simply moaning into his mouth. Rob has a look of deep contentment, his eyes half-closed like he’s feeling an intense almost impossible to believe pleasure. Letting go of my legs, but still keeping them back, my fingers intertwine behind Robby’s neck and after each kiss, I’m pulling his head down again for another one. Our tongues slide together for juicy sloppy kiss after kiss, our saliva mixing and running out the sides of my mouths. It’s all so enthralling I can hardly remember to breathe. Slow penetrations electrify every quarter inch of my rectum as it opens up for Rob’s slippery fat hard cock that pushes in causing every nerve ending to go apoplectic with pleasure and then his cock moves back and everything happens in reverse… it’s constant coming in and going out, coming in and going out all the time tantalizing my prostate until I’m shivering and shaking while this fantastically good looking, good smelling, perfect lover is above me. I feel we’re almost one as I moan, “Robby, ooh, ooh, ummm, feels so good…” and he gasps and sucks in oxygen and then his mouth is all over mine again. It’s a wonderful dreamy experience and I lose the sense of time until, “Oooh,” when, almost shockingly I feel a strong climax building. I was in a trance but climaxes will not be denied and as the sensations expand and get stronger and stronger my body gets tighter and tighter until I’m lifting my head and shoulder off the mattress using my hold behind Robby’s neck to help, as I groan, “Ah, ahh, ahhh,” and then the world explodes on me as cum shoots from my rock hard cock. It’s a rocket-fast streak of cum that splatters against Rob’s stomach and then drips down on me as another blast fires away and I’m blind for a second before a flash of red burst behind my eyes and every pore in my body quivers with pleasure, my toes curl, and I shudder again as kolej escort Rob’s eyes tightly close and he humps hard against my buttocks. I feel his hard stream of semen blasting from his cock like a thick stream of creamy warmth inside me, only for a split second though… feeling his burst of cum may have been mostly my imagination but so what? If I thought I felt it, what’s the difference? Rob humps again shooting more of his cum up my ass, and then we moan together. As sensations are quickly retreating from that amazing climax, I weirdly think for a second of that awesome song by an old rocker named, Tom Petty. It goes something like… ‘I’m learning to fly but I don’t have wings, coming down is the hardest thing’. Well, coming down from the height of pleasure after my climax, high flying in a world of orgasmic sexual pleasure… that ain’t the hardest thing. It’s disappointing it happens so fast, but it still feels pretty good. The Tom Petty song is, of course, about getting high or drugs and has nothing to do with sex at all. Well, I said it was a weird thought! I sigh as Robby breathes noisily and deeply trying to catch his breath while he’s slowly lowering his body until he’s lying on me, both of us damp with perspiration. Rob’s cock flops out of my ass when I stretch my legs down the bed, my cum squishes between our bodies. Robby’s still breathing deeply but then he did do all the heavy lifting so it’s understandable. When he’s breathing normally again, he says, “Damn, I loved that!” I mumble, “Yeah, me too.” The sticky cum between us, plus Rob’s cum that’s now drooling out of my ass soon makes us uncomfortable and Rob slowly rolls over and off me, saying, ‘”Another bedspread bites the dust, babe.” Instead of taking another shower, we clean ourselves in the bathroom using warm water and a washcloth. After that, we change the bedspread and then put on the summer one. Even though we joke about soiling the bedspread as if we’re worried his mom might see the cum stains, the truth of the matter is Rob’s mom almost never comes in Rob’s bedroom. He’s been responsible for it being clean and picked-up since he was like twelve-years-old. We’ll wash the bedspread with our other dirty clothes from the hamper the next time we’re home. No problem. We dress in jeans and pullover shirts. After putting on sneakers we get together the few things we brought home with us to take back to Merrimack. I’m like, “Should we take our sports coats back with us?” Rob shakes his head, mumbling, “Nah, we’ve never put them on, not once at college and I don’t know why we ever thought we would. Leave them here.” Everything we’re taking with us fits in one satchel and then Rob sits at the desk and calls his dad to tell him about our interviews and thank him for setting them up. That done, Rob picks up the satchel and we go downstairs to say ‘bye for now’ to his mom. We get hugs from his mom and then we’re out the door. In the pickup, Rob goes, “Damn, I’m glad that’s over. Did your HR person say she’d let you know by email?” I go, “She has my email address, obviously, ’cause it’s on the application but I think she said she’d call.” Rob drives us onto the access road, saying, “They always asks the applicants they’re interested in to come back for more interviews… that’ll be the next thing we hear from HR.” Damn, I need to talk to Tom and Timmy about a possible job with their modern-thinking-casual-clothes company. And, yes, I’m kidding. Suit and ties aren’t gonna be the final deal-breaker for me, as they say in the business world. Frankly, that VP, Drew-something, has the right idea… it’s mostly about the money. Nobody is talking to me about money! Rob knows he’s getting $60,000 plus maybe a bonus… or did he say $65,000 plus a bonus? One or the other and I guess that’s what I’ll base my expectations on. I don’t know if that’s a lot or not, but it’s what I’m using as my comparison for what I get offered, assuming I get offered anything. No, I know I’ll get offered something from both Dickers & Son and from Tom and Tim. The amount is the nerve-racking part. Some small amount will be humiliating! Money counts and what if neither of the companies offers me more than say $50,000. Or is that a lot of money for a college grad to start at? I don’t fucking know… Rob and I joke between us about our interviews as we drive back to college. I keep some of the bullshit I told Pat to myself ’cause, as I thought earlier, I don’t think Robby will see the humor in it. Chub will though. By the time Rob is parking the pickup in the lot for our apartment’s building, it’s almost five o’clock. Inside the apartment, we check for text messages and I see a few texts from guys wondering where we were today. Rob’s reading his texts and says, “Carl wants to know if he can eat with us tonight.” Pony texted me asking if he and I are running on the track tomorrow afternoon. Danny, who got a ride back here this morning in time to make his eleven o’clock class, texted to ask if Rob and I want to do something tonight. Mom texted me to tell me they’ll be arriving on Tuesday at Logan. Chubby’s text asked how my interview went this morning? Two different guys from classes I have with them texted me asking if I know what we’re supposed to do preparing for final exam study week and I don’t fucking know what to tell them. And Rob has a couple of text from ballplayers wanted to throw the ball around this afternoon. We don’t reply to any of the text messages because we both want to do nothing and do it quietly, which is what we do lying around the apartment. Cheeseburgers for dinner and then we spend a half-hour reviewing study material for tomorrow’s classes. We lie on the sofa together watching five innings of a Red Sox game before going to bed early… early for us anyway. Tuesday it’s right back to the same old grind of classes and then Rob has baseball practice. I hook up with Pony to run a few miles at the track, work out at the fitness center and then have a fun fuck with him at the apartment. After goofing around for an hour I drop Pony off and pick up Rob and Carl. We do our study group, Carl stays for dinner, Rob drives him back to campus, and then it’s just the two of us and we do what we do best… we screw. Wednesday plays-out basically the same as Tuesday except there’s a home baseball ballgame that Pony and I watch instead of running and exercising and then on Thursday Rob has an away game that I don’t go to. I stay home and read my book after classes, later I grill a steak for dinner and then do most of the college work assigned from today’s classes. It’ll be a nice surprise for Rob when he finds out he doesn’t need to spend a ton of time on it when he gets back, which will be around ten o’clock tonight. Speaking of which, Rob is getting a ride to the apartment from Mouse so I don’t need to pick him up. When he walks in the apartment at ten-thirty-five he’s all smile. I go, “Let me guess… Merrimack won and you had two hits in the game.” He goes, “Yep, we killed them and I had three hits, one of which was a home run bomb that hasn’t come down yet.” I go, “Get outta here! Way to go, Robby!” He drops his hat on the little table next to the door and says, “C’ mere, you,” and we hug and kiss. He’s kinda sweaty and smells like the outdoors, plus he has beer breath. I guess there was a small celebration at Rolf’s bar after the game but I’m not an asshole, so I don’t mention it. With him still holding me around the waist, I’m like, “I did ninety percent of that dumb-ass assignment for next Tuesday’s class. I did it so my man won’t need to.” Letting go of me Rob gets a beer out of the refrigerator, saying, “When do you think you’ll get around to doing the other ten percent?” I snicker at that hot-shit remark, and say, “Get one of those beers for me.” I know he wants to tell me about the game. And that’s what he does as we drink our beers and have a smoke on the balcony. The weather is finally acting like its spring, temperature near seventy degrees during the day. We go inside for another beer and Rob says, “Oh, before I forget, Danny wants you to text him and arrange a time to do his haircut.” I make a ‘face’ saying, “You’re shitting me, right? Danny said that?” Shaking his head, he mutters, “That’s what he said, yeah.” It’s not a topic Rob cares about so we talk about next week’s classes which consist of the dreaded review week for final exams, and then we’ll be studying the reviews at the apartment after classes. The week after that we take the final exams, the last ones of our lives. The Wednesday after that we graduate. I’m like, “It’s hard to get worked up about final exams for these three classes. I feel we’re really on top of this shit.” He swallows some beer, mumbling, ‘Yeah, but you’re the one who said a couple of weeks ago we can’t be cocky. These grades count as much as any other even though they’re electives we took strictly so we could have our four day weekends.” I mutter, “I know.” Rob mumbles, “One of the guys said his sister’s college has yearbooks for seniors. Christ, all I could think was… I’m glad Merrimack doesn’t.” I’m like, “Really, colleges have yearbooks? I never heard of that before… it’s so high schoolish!” Rob takes a shower after his second beer and then I wash up and do whatever else I need to in the bathroom. In bed a little later we have what starts out again as lover’s sex but turns into a mad rush to orgasm in a rough and tumble manner… awesome climaxes too. Ones that leave us both breathless. We do some hugging and murmuring before falling asleep. Friday morning we sleep late and then goof around before eventually getting into a giggling wrestling match that results in steamy hot sex that leaves us both sweaty and yes, breathless again. We’re done showering together around eleven o’clock and after getting dressed we make breakfast sandwiches of fried eggs, cheese, some caramelized sweet onion, and Canadian bacon. Christ, our sandwiches are ten times better than McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches. When we’re finished with the sandwiches and coffees we drive to the Rite Aid drugstore for toiletry items. I talked Rob into going to Rite Aid instead of Stop & Shop because I wanted to see if that cute kid was on the register. He wasn’t, the housewife who shares the part-time duties with him is working today. Bummer! Next, we drive to Salem New Hampshire for a carton of cigarettes and then walk around the Salem Rockingham Mall where Rob buys a pair of sneakers and a pair of hundred-dollar sunglasses ’cause he can’t find his other pair. This takes quite a while because he tries on one million pairs of sunglasses at the kiosk. A hundred dollars for a kiosk pair of sunglasses? Get fucking serious! While driving back to Massachusetts we decide we don’t have anything at the apartment we want for lunch, so we eat at Fuddruckers. Both of us order their awesome cheeseburgers but not their wedge potatoes. Fast food joints like McDonald’s have it all over Fuddruckers as far as French fries go, but Fuddruckers burgers are so much better we sometimes sacrifice the French fries and pay a little bit extra for the burgers. As we’re eating, Rob waves at a few teammates in the restaurant but doesn’t go over to talk with them. Rob needs to be at the ballpark by two o’clock for a game that kicks-off at four o’clock. So, after lunch, I drop him off there and then drive back to the apartment where I stop to talk with the always smiling Tom Brooker in the parking lot. He looks pretty much like he did when I first met him, meaning his hair is again sticking straight out all over his head, all of the hairs about two inches long. Danny gave him a buzz cut at the beginning of the semester and that’s the last haircut Tom’s had. With the sun shining off it, it looks like a hair-halo. I try not to stare at how silly it looks as he tells me how he’s kicking ass in all four of his classes this semester and how Merrimack has been more fun than Providence and blah, blah, blah. I finally can’t resist asking, “That hairdo, Tom, um… you do recall that Danny gives FREE haircuts, right?” He laughs out loud and then goes, “You’re a funny motherfucker, Newman.” He’s so bizarrely clueless I can’t help but chuckle along with him although I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was trying to give him a subtle hint that he looks like a clown. He pats my shoulder and heads for his SUV as I go up to the apartment. I’m carrying Rob’s new sneakers wondering if maybe Tom’s efficiency apartment is without a single mirror. That’s possible. Well, Pony and I already agreed we’d go to the game today but I’ve still got an hour and a half so I use the time to make meatballs that I’ll slowly simmer in spaghetti sauce for dinner tonight. Then later, when I pick up Pony he’s got Max Kellerman with him. Max is Pony’s snowball-throwing, sexually-straight, bowling friend. No problem though ’cause Max is harmless although slightly boring. I’m watching the game trying hard not to let Pony and Max annoy me with their screwing around and yelling back and forth with girls a few rows in front of us. Girls who Max keeps throwing popcorn at. Jesus! Mostly though I’m thinking about my life after college and that means, obviously, a job. I’m not lying to myself about applying anyplace other than Rob’s company and the Rider twins’ company… I’m not even contemplating doing more than that. It’ll be one place or the other, at least to start my working career. And can I even call it a career? Merrimack wins the game and as we’re walking out of the park it occurs to me I’m tired of this. I’m tired of all of it! I’m tired of being a college student and I’m not especially thrilled about what comes next either. I don’t know, but there was a phony element to the interview earlier this week at Dickers & Son and I expect to feel the same after talking with Tim and Tom Rider. Those tests and applications and interviewing with HR and then the VP’s… it’s all window dressing because, of course, they’re going to offer me a job. Same with my mom’s future husband so the interviews are phony. Still, I’ll at least start my working career in one of those places and if I have some success, maybe then I’ll try going out on my own and apply for a position with a company my boyfriend’s father, or my mom’s future husband, don’t own. Or maybe I won’t. I need to talk myself out of this negativity and count my blessing instead. Most graduates from colleges from all over the country and all over the world for that matter would like to trade places with me as far as job opportunities right out of college. Okay, I get that, so what do I need to do now? Hmm, I know Mom, Tris, and their guys are back from Italy so I need to talk with the Rider twins about a job with their company. I’m gonna force myself to do that tomorrow assuming Tom and Tim are available. Maybe if I can set up an appointment Robby will ride back with me. No, he won’t because there’s another game tomorrow. I don’t care though, I’m doing it tomorrow if at all possible. I need to know what to say when the Dickers & Son HR person texts or calls me, which should be any day now. Someone will notify us to come in for more interviews and maybe offer us a job of some sort… and maybe eventually somebody will talk about money as well. So that’s settled in my mind, and Rob told me not to bother hanging around after the game because he can get a ride back to the apartment. Pony and Max asked me to drop them off at their dining hall so I do that and then drive to the apartment. Inside I’m hesitating to call mom because she’ll be at work, that’s if this is a normal workday for her. Tom talked her into cutting back on her waitressing so she hasn’t been working as many days the past few months. It’s Friday so maybe this is a day she has off. Well, the smart thing to do is text and ask if this is a good time to talk. I do that and ten seconds later mom calls telling me she hasn’t been working Fridays for a while now. Good for her! She wants to know, “What’s wrong, dear?” I tell her nothing’s wrong and assure her everything is great in my life and that I had a very nice Easter and blah, blah, blah. Satisfied I’m fine, mom starts talking and I listen patiently for fifteen minutes while she tells me more about her trip to Italy. She told me a lot about it Wednesday when I sent a text saying “WELCOME HOME!’ and she called me right away then too. She wasn’t working that day but she was getting dressed for work. Even so, she still managed a nonstop monologue about just about everything they did in Italy. People like my mom, and Rob for that matter, plus I suppose millions of others can hunch their shoulder and head somehow to hold a cell phone against their ear freeing the use of both hands. The concept of using the ‘speaker’ feature somehow doesn’t occur to these people. Anyway, mom tells me about the trip again and I make appropriate responses of amazement, excitement, or chuckle along with mom when she thinks something that happened was funny. She finally says, “Oh, honey, I just wish you and Jeffrey could have been with us. Um, oh, you texted me, didn’t you? I haven’t given you a chance to say anything.” I’m like, “No, um, I love that you had such a fabulous trip, mom. Ah, but actually I was wondering if Tom’s around?” Mom goes, “No, darling, he and Tim are in New York City, but they’ll be back tomorrow morning on the shuttle.” That’s all I need to know but then I get too much information from mom as she explains they would have been back tonight except they’re taking some clients out to dinner and Tom told me…” and then another couple of minutes of chatter from mom, until she stops and says, “Darn, there’s a beep on my phone, Dylan. Tom said he’d call so, do you mind if I call you back?” I go, “That’s not necessary Mom, but would you tell Tom I’d like to talk with him about, um, about asking his advice, ya know, after I graduate and all.” She promises to tell Tom and we say goodbye. Omigod, I’m not big on telephone conversations, not ones of more than two minutes except with Rob or Chubby… those two are the only exceptions. And I don’t think I’m the only person who doesn’t like long telephone conversations. Well, at least one other person agrees with me because they invented texting, and thank God they did. Grinning to myself at how happy my mom is and how good that makes me feel! Then, two minutes later as I’m getting a Coke from the refrigerator Tom calls from New York, saying, “HI, buddy! What’s up? Your mom said you wanted to talk with me.” I go, “Hi, Tom! Yeah, um, but I didn’t mean right now. You’re probably busy and I don’t…” He goes, “Nope, Dylan, I’m never too busy to talk to you.” I go, “Thanks, ah, well, I was just wondering if we, you and I and maybe Tim could have a talk about, ya know, if…” and he goes, “No, ‘IF’ about it, Dylan. You’ve got a career waiting for you in our company. I hope you like to travel.” I don’t! Mostly, I suppose because I’ve never done it. It would sound wicked weak if I said that so I don’t. Instead, I mumble, “Travel?” He goes on to say, “We were waiting for you to graduate before talking about a career, but we don’t need to wait. We’ll be home tomorrow on the ten o’clock shuttle. How about if we go out to lunch, you, me, and Timothy. Let’s say, um, one o’clock tomorrow. What restaurant should we meet at?” Huh, just like that? Restaurant? Fuck! Some people can make split-second decisions, cut through all the bullshit and get right to it! Jesus! It catches me totally off guard so I say the first one I can think of, and I make a question out of it too, saying, “Ken’s Steak House?” Tom says, “It’s a meeting, Dylan! We’ll see you there at one o’clock! I’m excited about this, buddy!” I go, “Oh, yeah, me too. Thanks, Tom.” He goes, “Okay, pal, we’ll see you then.” I thank him again and drop the phone on the sofa. Omigod, that was torture! I sounded like such a dweeb. Oh God, let me try remembering everything we said. It was quick and to the point, just like that… BANG! maltepe escort I can’t remember anything except I sounded pathetically needy. Oh, shit! That was so NOT COOL of me! I call Chubby because I want to tell him what happened and ask him what I should say to the Rider twins at lunch. A miracle… Chubby answers his phone, “Dylan, bro! How are you?” I go, “Good, Chub. How you doing?” He tells me he’s never been better and asks me, “When are you gonna make that soup again? The soup you brought over to save John Beverly’s and my life.” I go, “Whenever you want it, bro! You know that, but let me ask you something,” and I tell him about the lunch meeting I’m having with Tom and Tim. Chub goes, “First of all, the meeting should be about you going to Amherst with me to get your Master’s Degree. I’ll never make it if you’re not with me, bro. That’s what you should talk about with the guys about!” I mumble, “No, Chub, I’d just hold you back and I’m all done with college. I can’t wait for the next two and a half weeks to be over, but right now I’m nervous about what happens after that. Before that, I’m worried about what I should say to the guys.” Chubby tells me that the only reason I want to get away from college is I never got the full college experience. You get that by living on campus. He lived in the apartment with me freshman year so he knows what that was like and he claims it’s a night and day difference living on campus. I don’t argue with him, saying, “I believe you, Chub, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. I need to start working and making money to begin paying back my college loans.” Chub goes, “Aw, fuck that, bro. The twins will pay off our college loans,” and I’m like, “Really? Did they say that?” He goes, “No, but you wait and see.” I’m like, “That’d be beyond awesome, but for now what do I say at the lunch tomorrow?” He tells me to be myself and be honest with them. Tell them I’m considering working at Dickers & Son. “Mostly, Dylan, listen to what they say and be sure to ask about anything you’re not one hundred percent sure you understand. Tell them money matters too. I did… but the truth is money’s not everything, not by a long shot.” We talk a little more and then Chubby insists I use our Kia to drive home. Hell, I could use the pickup. Rob will get a ride to the ballpark with Mouse, but I’ll take our car if it makes Chub happy. He ends with, “My advice, brother, is to consider the money only as a secondary factor. Work where you’ll feel the most comfortable and that’s probably with Rob’s company. I only say that because I know a little about, well a lot about, The Rider Corp. and it’s, um, kinda high pressure. Not that you couldn’t handle it with one hand tied behind your back, but, um… just saying. Anyway, you’ll decide for yourself and I know you’ll do fantastic in whatever you decide. Don’t commit to either place though, not until we can talk some more after your talk with the guys, okay?” We leave it at that and I’ll pick up the Kia later today and then talk with Chub after I talk with the twins. It was like a ‘duh’ moment for me realizing I have no fucking idea what Tim and Tom’s company is about. Chubby thought it’d be better if the twins tell me about it in their own way. Jeez, it sounds ominous. I can’t believe I’ve never asked what they do for work. Chub said ‘high pressure’ and he subtly suggested it isn’t for me. Yeah, but it’s for him. Well, that doesn’t tell me anything because Chubby and I are NOT two peas in a pod. Far from it. Chub has always oozed confidence and has always had a wild go-for-it attitude. I was merely riding his coattails all those years we were growing up. Well, all of us, we can only be who we are. Trying to fake anything different usually doesn’t work out very well. Being a phony is no way to go through life and, Jesus, it’s gotta be exhausting for those who try doing life that way. When Robby comes in the apartment after the game I’m kinda nervous, feeling like a traitor considering the possibility of a job with my future step dad’s company. Complicating my thinking is Chub’s suggestion I’d probably be better off working with Robby. Why would he say that when he, basically, doesn’t know anything about Dickers & Son? Well, because he knows something about The Rider Corp and he doesn’t think I’d be good at. That’s a little ominous too… From one glance at Rob I can tell immediately Merrimack lost the game and it doesn’t fool me that Rob smiles and mumbles, “Hey, babe. How ya doing?” We do a hug as I ask, “How bad was it?” Rob goes to the refrigerator and opens the door, as he does at home. He peers inside the refrigerator, not actually wanting anything, mumbling, “Oh, we lost 6 to 4 and it was kinda ugly too.” I’m like, “How so?” and he says, “Well, it’s the top of the ninth and we’re leading by a run. Minnow and Paul Simmons collide while both looking up calling for a pop-up. Minnow catches it but has to leave the game because Paul’s elbow breaks his nose. Coach already used two pinch hitters so he has to use Carl off the bench. Carl goes in cold, no time to warm up. He’s playing second base, not his normal position, and the first batter hits a double-play ball right at him and he lets it go through his legs for an error. We would have been out of the inning, winning the game 5 to 4. But, no! The next guy up hits a bomb over the center-field fence for a three-run homer to take a one-run lead and then we go out one, two, three in the bottom of the ninth.” I don’t have anything to say to that as Robby finishes with, “Our guys are going in the locker room muttering and Carl’s sitting at the end of the bench covering his head crying and, ya know… I’m sick of baseball. That poor kid…” Fuck! Robby closes the refrigerator door and looks over, saying, “I spent fifteen minutes with Carl at his locker consoling him. Christ, I never saw him cry before and he was bawling!” I ask, “Where’s Carl now?” Rob shrugs, “The other three freshmen on the team took him someplace to show support. If it was anyone else they’d all get hammered and forget about it for a while, but Carl doesn’t drink or do weed or anything. He’ll be alright though. Everyone goes through that at one time or another.” I’m sitting at the bar, mumbling, “Jeez, that sucks for Carl.” Rob’s on the kitchen side of the bar. He leans his elbows on the bar in front of me and says, “Yeah, it sucks but our team basically sucks this year anyway. What I wanna know is, what’s wrong with you?” I’m like, “What the fuck ya talking about? Nothing’s wrong with me.” He goes, “Come on, Dylan, what is it? I know something’s bothering you.” I shrug, “It’s nothing, um, no big deal. I’m, that is, my future stepdad wants me to have lunch with him tomorrow with his brother, that’s all. Um, at Ken’s Steak House. I’m taking the Kia to drive down and then drive back… no big deal, right?” Pushing away from the bar, he goes, “Whew, I get worried when I see that ‘look’ you have.” I go, “What look?” He comes around and sits next to me, saying, “The ‘look’ I recognized when I came in… but never mind that. Those guys want you to work for their company, right?” I shrug again, mumbling, “I wouldn’t say they’re trying very hard to get me to work there, no. I sort of had to ask if I could talk with them.” Rob goes, “Yeah? Well, you said you were gonna do that, so what’s the problem?” There isn’t a problem if Rob isn’t hurt by me basically interviewing for a job other than at Dickers & Son. I mumble, “Chubby hinted I’d be better off working for your company.” Robby goes, “My dad’s company, technically. So, as I said, what’s the problem?” Shrugging again, I go, “No problem. I don’t even know what Rider Corp., um, does.” Patting my shoulder, Rob gets up, saying, “Here’s my advice… follow your brother’s advice.” That’s it? That’s our ‘talk’? Rob takes out his phone, mumbling, “I’m gonna text Carl to tell him I’m here for him, ya know? After all, I’m his fucking mentor.” He sits on the arm of the upholstered chair, muttering, “He’s probably enjoying all the attention he’s getting.” Looking up, he goes, “Dylan, the fucking ball went right through his skinny legs. Jesus! Haha, the poor bastard.” Huh, he’s not too concerned about losing the game or me interviewing for another job. He’s busy typing on his phone. What the fuck? He doesn’t care if I talk with the Rider twins! I hear a ping on Rob’s phone as he gets a text back. Grinning, he’s texting something back. I guess that crisis is over. Hmm, what should I wear tomorrow? I’m in the bedroom looking at my clothes when my phone pings and when I get it out of my pocket, I see it’s a text from Danny… ‘Hey, Dylan, didn’t Rob tell you I need an ‘effing haircut? Graduation pictures, ya know?’ Graduation is two and a half weeks away. What’s his rush? And, holy shit, can I believe I just had that dumb thought? I’ve been trying to get Danny to let me give him a haircut for ten weeks now and he’s finally asking me to do it, and my first thought is… what’s the rush? Fuck! Hmm, he has a game tomorrow and I’m gonna be in Framingham anyway, so maybe we can get together this Sunday. I text that to Danny and he texts back… ‘Bingo! That’s a date. What are you guys doing tonight?’ After our spaghetti and meatball dinner, we drive over so I can pick up the Kia and then drive it back to the apartment. As for what we’re doing tonight, it’s not original. We go drinking with Danny and six other ballplayers, none of whom seem all that broken up about the team’s latest loss. I suppose after a while you get used to losing and just accept it. I mean, whaddya gonna do? Actually, I think it’s a head coaching failure that his team has this defeatist attitude. As usual, when there are baseball teammates involved, I don’t get to spend much time with Danny or Robby. Danny’s very popular and Rob is too so I’m on the fringes of the group talking with a ballplayer in his junior year named Chico who’s in love with a girl in his basket weaving class, or some such jock bullshit class. I’m not listening real closely but I’m paying him a lot of attention because I love his face. His skin is so smooth and the prettiest shade of light tan… it’s the same as my brother’s skin tone. Chico has a cool haircut too and his teeth are absurdly white with his rosy-pink sexy lips contrasting with the brilliant white of his perfect teeth. I watch his lips move as he talks a blue streak… I see rosy-pink lips and flashes of brilliant white… quite a sight to see. Chico has a habit of leaning over close to me from his bar seat next to me and touching the back of my hand with his index finger every time he makes a point about anything. Right now all his points are about why this girl isn’t good enough for him and then there are many points and many touches on the back of my hand about why he loves her anyway. He’s drinking shots of Grey Goose vodka as if he’s bought stock in the company. I’m not drinking shots, and not much beer either because I do NOT want to be hungover for tomorrow’s lunch. Chico’s hair is very black and very soft looking and his hairline is perfectly straight across his smooth forehead. He has very thin eyebrows and longish eyelashes protecting bright multi-shades of brown eyes. He doesn’t appear to have a beard, or maybe he shaves very closely, so closely I can’t see even a shadow of a beard pattern. I’d like to lick Chico’s face and suck his cock… that’s what I’d like to do, but for a million good reasons, I’m not going to do either of those things. Rob comes over and stands behind us putting a hand on each of our shoulders, saying, “Chico, you’re not boring the shit out of my roommate about that slut Denise, are you?” Chico goes, “Fuck you, Dickers! She’s my angel!” He talks with a hint of a sexy-sounding Hispanic accent. I would eat him up if I were at a different time in my life and if, obviously, Chico was so inclined. God almighty, the straight boys who are wasting their lives on the clueless Denises of the world. We leave around midnight because there’s a game tomorrow at one o’clock. Back at the apartment, Rob gets a beer from the refrigerator and we share it passing it back and forth as we smoke cigarettes on the balcony. Robby seems pleasantly drunk but he wasn’t doing shots with the boys for once so, consequently, he’s not slurring his words and he seems happily coherent. I’m like, “The guys seem to have taken the latest loss in stride.” Robby goes, “Ya know what? That’s what’s wrong with this team. It’s a good locker room with everyone mostly liking each other but there are no fanatically competitive players. Not like Danny and me anyway. We were that way in high school too. I guess you’re either competitive or you’re not. It basically sucks that most of the guys just wanna have fun playing baseball.” I don’t know where this is coming from, but I say, “Speaking of Danny, um…” Robby goes, “Yeah, what about him?” Oh boy, why’d I start to say what I was going to say? I was gonna talk about Danny’s and my, um, relationship. Then I remember to say, “Oh, just that I texted him because you said he wanted me to give him a haircut. Um, Sunday is supposedly the day although he probably won’t remember, ya know?” Robby mumbles, “Haha, yeah, Danny’s one of a kind alright. He’s a great guy though. I know you think so, right?” Nodding my head, I go, “Ha, yeah.” Dammit, I know I need to talk about this so I force myself to mumble, “Yeah, Danny’s, um. What I mean is, do you think it’d be alright if he and I, ah, and I know what you said about Dodger, and I agree you’re right about that! Oh man, but, um, that is… well, do you think you could stand it if I finish out my urges, my immature urges for side sex with just Danny after we graduate? Ya know, for this summer maybe, or maybe longer…” Robby goes, “Christ! If it were anyone else but Danny I’d be royally hurt that you’d wanna do that. Danny though, what’s the difference, I mean before we graduate and after we graduate? Now, if you were talking about after we marry my answer would be… I’d be like, are you out of your fucking mind?” I mutter, “I’m sorry, Rob. I just, um… if you don’t want me to, then…” and he goes, “Fuck, don’t put this on me! Don’t give me ‘if I don’t want you to’ bullshit. It’s when you don’t want to do that matters. And, when you don’t want to do side sex or buddy sex as you oddly differentiate the two, then we’ll get married. Until then, what’s the dif? We live together now and you’re still unable to give up on side sex, so…” and I interrupt, saying, “I’ve almost given it up, sort of…” He actually laughs and then hugs my shoulders, saying, “Yeah, I believe you have ‘almost’, haven’t you? I mean, for now.” I’m like, “Do you think I feel good about myself? Good that I haven’t been able to break the side-sex habit yet? That I can’t control my urges?” He grins and squeezes my shoulders again, saying, “I like that you’re so honest about it. Let me ask you something though. And, hell, I mean, since you brought it up which was against our arrangement by the way, but here’s what I wanna ask. Except for your harmless, ah, helping out the clueless one, Pony, have you been dabbling in your side-sex habit with anyone else besides Danny? Let’s say, this semester?” Have I? Sonny was around Christmas break, right? I say, “No, I haven’t.” Robby rolls his eyes and says, “Well, that’s progress, huh? This is what I think, and I’ve told you this before, it’s that I have no doubt about your love for me, and while it’s puzzling to me how it sort of happened out of thin air that you and Danny are currently hotly attracted to each other, I’ll wait for you! I’ll wait for you to get over Danny and anything else that pops up before we finally pledge ourselves to each other exclusively.” How could I ask for more than that? As far as getting married goes, I don’t see the need but as I’ve said before, if it’s important to Robby I’ll marry him when he wants to do that. In the US only 12% of males are married before age 23 and that’s for heterosexual couples! It’s gotta be much lower for gays and that’s for a lot of reason one of which the legality battles about it in some states. And anyway, 50% of all marriages end in divorce, so there’s that too. Cohabitation has become much more acceptable in recent years and that seems a much more realistic arrangement to me. We’ll see how it goes… Overall though, I honestly feel bad Robby has had to put up with a lot from me, but Goddammit, I am who I am. I say, “Ya know, Robby, I love you even more because you’re so freakin’ understanding, but we are still wicked young, ya know. It doesn’t feel like it to us now maybe, but we are! Ask a fifty-year-old person if they think twenty-two is young.” He nods and smirks, saying, “That’s true, babe. All I’m saying is, I’ve waited through your multiple infatuations over the years and it seems like they’re winding down and maybe my wait is coming to an end. Maybe you’re getting close to using up, um, what’d we use to call ‘wild oats’ back when we were both irresponsibly fucking our brains out with side-sex buddies?” “It was sowing our wild oats, Rob, and we still don’t know what ‘sowing’ means.” He goes, “Yeah, that was it! Bottom line, Dylan. Here’s the deal… I’m still waiting for you. I’ve always told you that but I am getting impatient, just saying. Okay?” Well, fuck! I go, “Yeah, okay, and thanks for being so understanding! Does it also have, um, something to do with what you said about Danny? Your experience with him for like eight or nine years now?” Rob goes, “Do you mean about Danny loving ’em and then he doesn’t.” I mutter, “Yeah, and what a prick’s move that is!” and Robby laughs. I didn’t mean it as a joke, but I can’t help snickering too. Snickering, but not saying anything else because what better outcome could I have hoped for? As a smarmy salesman once said, when you’ve closed the deal… shut the fuck up! Then in bed later we have a long lover’s sexathon that gets us messy with cum. We get comfortable and feeling good and then Robby murmurs, “Ya know, babe, I’m not sacrificing a lot ’cause I already have most of what I want, meaning most of you most of the time. Of course, I’d prefer all of you all of the time but no one has anybody like that.” I look at him and shrug, saying, “Yeah, a hundred percent of anyone’s time is impossible to have.” Robby goes, “I mean sexually. No, nobody has a hundred percent of someone’s life, get real. I meant in bed.” I go, “Oh. I go back to our age again, Rob, and plus, for gay guys, we’re probably considered as close to a monogamist relationship as there is… we’re like one out of a hundred at our age.” He mutters, “I don’t know anything about that and I don’t especially care either. I care about you and me.” I look at him and say, “We’re doing pretty fucking great.” He says, “Almost, yeah.” We’re quiet for a minute and then Rob says, “I’m okay with things for a little while, Dylan. Are you?” I mumble, “Yes, absolutely, you’re awesome!” He chuckles, saying, “You know, of course, that this summer Danny and you are gonna have a helluva difficult time finding opportunities to be bad.” Hmm, he’s right ’cause Danny’s gonna be meeting a lot of new guys at his summer teaching job and then at his two baseball coaching camps after that, and… and, Robby ain’t really giving in much here, is he? Huh, very sneaky of Rob to think ahead like that. Maybe I should try thinking ahead. to be continued… Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo donnymumford@outlook ======================================================== 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

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