Bad boy Billy is a cutie – and he loves it. Women and men want him, and he wants them. In fact, Billy's gender is a bit fluid, too. He's a boy when he's with his lover Rebecca; and a girl when crossdressed in the arms of a hunky man. Truth be told, Billy is to die for – and before tonight is over, several will.
Times Square Cutie
a Bi-Noir debacle
by Mykola Dementiuk
I was running up the street away from the cops who were after me...or was it the Mob that was out to get me and teach me its lessons...or the Hell’s Angeles who found out I’ve been pilfering their dope? Whoever it was they were getting very close, too close, and I’d better get out of here.
I ran down 40th Street past Bryant Park and that made me feel better. It was evening before the sun went down but filled with idle people, relaxing, catching up on the paper or trying to pick someone up. It looked like the outlook was very good for that. I slowed down and caught my breath. What the hell? There was no one after me, I chuckled. I just like to do that now and then. Hey, paranoia keeps my senses up and alert…because you never knew when you might need it.
But the park was slow, old people talking to other old people which gave me the creeps until I saw Rebecca, a nut case if ever there was one. As usual, she sat alone and kept up a conversation with someone who wasn’t there. Sometimes talking very loudly, at other times a mute whisper like she was exchanging vows with a lover. The broad was a real basket case and one I knew to keep away from. Then she saw me and broke into a red-faced smile.
“Billy,” she said. “Is that you?”
I hadn’t seen her in almost a year, thinking she had gone off the deep end and figured it would be best to humor her.
“Yes, it’s me,” I said. “Who did you expect?”
Again she looked around as if someone would pop out of the air. For a moment she seemed lost in thought as if something was wrong and I was afraid she was going to start talking to herself. Sure didn’t want to hear that.
I looked at her and however she had survived this past year, her clothes didn’t look bad at all; looked like she was going to work, or just had finished and was relaxing in the park in the evening. The clothes intrigued me, because she looked pretty well off, more than I knew.
“Just get out of work?” I said, for want of something better to say. This broke her into cackles of laughter that made my face also turn red, like I had said something stupid.
“No,” she said, but continued to laugh until she quieted down. Something was brewing in her mind; her expression was one of fascination, like she had discovered something utterly new and never seen before.
“I’m going to work tonight,” she said. “It’s very important work. I have to be there.”
With that I expected her to leave but she made no move, like she was going to stay there. Fat chance, I smiled, she ain’t going nowhere.
“You been there long?” I asked, taking a seat next to her.
She avidly nodded her head. “Four years,” she said, looking around as if she was making sure no one could hear. “One more year then I retire.”
Again she broke into a tirade of laughter. I didn’t know if she was kidding or very serious.
“Retire?” I said, but smirked. “That’s pretty good.”
She looked at me very proudly, like she had won some kind of contest. I added, “At your age, that’s fantastic!” And she wasn’t more than twenty or so. But by then evening had come on and the park was emptying of people but still she made no move of leaving. I figured what hell and inched myself closer to her. The blue skirt she was wearing, with a blue jacket and white blouse, was above her knees and I thought I could get a feel. But I sensed her immediate tension at my sitting next to her.
“Gotta go,” she said. “It’s late, bye.”
I was right behind her. “Where you going?” I asked.
She stopped, as if trying to remember something. “To...work?” she said, but definitely unsure of herself. “I think.” She got incredibly sad. I looked around, in the descending darkness there was a surprising amount of seats for the taking. Man, the park had emptied pretty fast!
“Why don’t we change seats?” I said. “But let’s go over there.” And without a word she was following me to the rear of the library, which was in back of Bryant Park. I looked around, a few people walked in the paths of the park but there were not that many around. I wondered if I could get an ass-fucking or just a mouth-sucking. Whatever it was my cock was already hard and eager for some shared flesh.
I stopped and looked around. A few shadows moved near the entrance, around 6th avenue, but they were too distant to give me any cause for alarm. I put a hand on her shoulder. I could feel a slight quiver of fear but she did nothing to repel me and I figured what the hell, this certainly is going to be good...or good for nothing.
At the end of the park, against the library wall, there was a statue of Billy Bryant, an old namesake who called himself William that they named the park for, dressed in old time clothes that made him look like a fob, just right for his historic age of busy-ness, besides going west, and all that shit. I was thinking of getting her into that alcove behind the statue, where I had fucked before, (or been fucked) but even with my hand softly rubbing her behind the neck, I knew I had to be careful. Who knew what this nut would do? Best of anything, I led her to a seat.
“Let’s sit down,” I said.
She bit her lower lip, nervously looking around, and said, “OK, just for a minute, I’ve still got to go to...work.” And she looked at me as if she expected some disbelieve or displeasure, but I did nothing, not even a shrug. She sat down next to me. I could feel her nervous warmth pulsing through her body but I knew it was nothing but sexual fear, like those little tingles you get when your cock is stirring upwards. And my cock was hard as hell and all it needed was some assistance from her to come full circle to fruition.
I spread out my legs to give her a better view of the bump that was moving and rising in my groin, seemingly on its own. She looked the other way. I could imagine her face turning red. When she said, “That green on the statue; does that mean it’s very old?”
I looked at Mr. Bryant, sitting cross-legged forever. I felt my erection going slightly down.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”
“So what color,” she said, “is he really under that?”
I looked at sticky green color of the statue --time, bird-shit, pollution, who knows what else? My hard-on was gone.
I shrugged. “Probably brown,” I said. “Shiny, gleaming…who the hell knows?”
She looked impressed. “That would be nice,” she said. “I’d like to see it in shiny brown. That would be something.”
I stared at her dreamy face, like she was pinning for something close but still out of reach. I supposed I had the same expression, wanting to fuck when all I got was a tease. I took a chance and un-zippered myself and reached in for my cock. Right away I knew it was a big mistake. She saw my cock and pulled slightly back.
“What’re you doing?” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone saw. “Put it away, don’t be silly.” And she looked up and down the row of seats. “There still some people here.”
Again I felt my cock going down, like it was a frustrated troubadour singing romantic songs but getting nothing. But her face showed me nothing. Did she know of my life a few years ago? Neah, I thought, but who can tell? People had a funny way of talking.
“Wait a bit; people are leaving; it’s getting late,” she said. I was about to answer her when I saw a guy in the shadows and darkness looking at us. He stood in that path that circles round the whole park and standing down the stairs he was almost unrecognizable form looking directly at him. But he must have made a movement when I saw him. My first reaction was, Shit! The guy’s looking at me, the ass-hole! And I wanted to zipper up, but thought, Why not? Give him a good show...
“Blow me,” I said. And a little louder, so my voice could carry. “Suck my dick!”
To my surprise, she remained sitting where she was, gaping open-eyed at my cock. I began to pull the skin over my cock-head, revealing the blood-engorged delicacy. Without a word, she stooped down and swallowed my cock. Holy shit! It felt like ecstasy! And she was an expert sucker, bobbing her head, careful of her teeth and melting me into eager expectant bliss. I didn’t care that some asshole was looking at us; this was just like being in heaven. Or paradise, or ecstasy, or it was like watching Uschi Digard, a porno queen of low life royalty, that Russ Myer and other squirming denizens presented, the dream queen who I longed to be but couldn’t get, that big-titted beautiful-faced starlet in Getting into Heaven with manna at your table, along with Mary Magdalene spreading it out for you, while I was lapping it up at my knees or someone was on theirs having fumbled past my panties and nylons...Holy shit! Mother fucker! Jesus! I was
cumming!
I half-opened my eyes to see Rebecca’s head bobbing on my lap. Man, the bitch is good, real good! I thought, when I noticed the guy still standing there, the same guy from before, but his cock was out of his pants and he was frantically jerking it off.
Fucking creep! I thought, but Rebecca still held my cock in her mouth and was slowly moving to kneel down. I thought the rocks would tear into her stockings but if she didn’t care why should I? When the guy must have cum because I heard a faint, Oh Jesus! When he doubled up and seemed to disappear from sight
Good riddance, I thought, and looked at Rebecca, still sucking on my cock, even though it was growing limp. A few more sucks and it fell out. She looked surprised, her mouth half open and a dribble of saliva streaming down to her chin. I guess she was about to say something but instead faintly mumbled, “Shit!” and stood up to take her seat. I worked my cock in and pulled up my zipper.
She wasn’t a bad cock-sucker, at that, I thought, and I wondered if I should say Thanks or See you later or something because it wouldn’t look good if I simply took off. Hell, I knew her, even if she was a mental case. Back when I knew her, some years ago, before I started dressing up, we practically were almost going out, or close to it, but she was too crazy, breaking into conversations with someone who wasn’t there. She was good for a blowjob, never mind the solitary conversations she held with herself, then it was Bye, bye, honey! See ya, basket case!
I looked at her sitting forlornly on the bench next to me, a dangling dollop of saliva hanging on to her chin, like it was waiting for something to happen. She quietly mumbled a word and rubbed her forehead. Pretty much like she had done months ago, then would fall into a tirade of cursing and spitting venom on anyone nearby. I knew I was in for it...unless.
I wiped her chin, getting the scum on my fingers but I didn’t care, it was mine, right? “How you feel?” I said, for want of anything else to say. “Man! That was great!”
She looked at me, her eyes slowly becoming bright, like she was coming to. “It was?” she said. “Really? You’re not just says that? Are you?”
I grinned at her. “No ma’am, uh uh,” I shook my head. “That was the best cock-sucking I ever had!”
She frowned, like she was disappointed. I looked at her eyes, it seemed like she was going to cry any minute. “It’s called...oral sex,” she quietly said, and lowered her head.
I laughed. “Yeah, I know what it’s called,” I said, worried that she would take it the wrong way. “Baby, you’re the best. Yes, you are.”
She smiled, a red faced smile that had my cock beginning to stir.
“Hey,” I said. “You want to go to Nathan’s? I could get us a Coke or a frank, if you want?”
She was beginning to get up, but I said, “You might be late for work, huh?”
She blushed incredibly like she got caught at something she shouldn’t have. “No,” she quietly said. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
I smirked. Tomorrow my ass, I thought and walked down the stairs of Bryant Park.
Nathan’s was on Broadway and 43rd Street --a packed Coney Island eatery that was filled with fast food eaters on the go. Ever since they closed Grant’s Bar --and cleaned out my favorite fairy-cum-transvestite hang out-- there was nowhere else to go. Oh sure, there were bars along 8th avenue, but they were for serious drinkers, the kind that fall out or drop dead, instead of saying they had enough or too many. If you wore a skirt here it was as good as getting killed without anyone turning their head to look. There were other bars, but mostly the scene was changing. More people were coming in, and some were even staying, in all kinds of dress, or undress
Nathan’s catered to stand up counter eaters --the kind that will eat and go rather then the idlers who will mull over their food as if it were treasure and they had all the time in the world. According to Nathan’s --and other fast food restaurants that were coming in to Times Square-- the days of eating and socializing were forbidden, not allowed, verboten. No wonder the place was quickly changing, and probably for the worse.
We got on the crowded frankfurter line and it moved pretty fast which was OK by me. There were other lines around the restaurant for clams, pizza, knish, chowder, and other tasty delicacies, mostly fast food ‘junk’, but it tasted very good so I had two franks. Rebecca settled for one and didn’t want any French fries to go with them, taking my soda for some sips and I didn’t want any more (because she had just sucked my cock, which wasn’t the most appetizing thing and now was drinking my soda, ugh!).
I looked away at the crowded restaurant --stand-uppies were eating everywhere, the scene was evocative of Times Square, eating and running, fucking and leaving, dreaming and never waking up. I glanced at Rebecca; her face had turned to a sudden deep embarrassing red and she was looking downwards. Then I saw Hector, at the other end of the eatery, the creep I knew from a few years ago but he was smiling like he knew something. He stood a few tables away from us but that smile was a smug reminder of who he was, a creep. I had no need of him and he was bad news. Hector reminded me of a little rat out prowling around for food crumbs that someone has discarded. What do you do with rats? Kill them, and forget about them.
I stared awhile, glaring at Hector, when he started coming towards us. Boy, did he have nerve! The last time I saw him was at Grant’s Bar, where I was all dressed up and waiting for someone to take me anywhere, and it didn’t matter where, as long as it was anywhere. Back then I don’t know what was so funny but Hector had a grin that turned me off right there. I had seen him a few times, always on the fringes of whoever was there, a kind of shadow-man waiting for something to happen…in the shadows.
“What’s so funny?” I remembered the Grant’s Bar, in my upraised natural voice uncaring that someone might hear.
“Nothing,” he said. “What’s your problem?”
I knew then that conversations in Grant’s were always confrontational, even in little things like “Good morning” or “Good night” could spell doom or hope, depending on what the hearer thought he heard.
I chewed my gum and smiled, a facetious smile, still bitter and I puffed my fake bosom so he could see my pointy nipples sticking out.
“Problem?” I asked. “I don’t have a problem, except there’s lots of assholes here who do.”
He looked at me as if trying to read my mind but then smiled.
“Yeah,” he said. “There’s quite allot here tonight.”
I burst out laughing, thinking, what an asshole!
But tonight, those days were over, and I didn’t care to have someone from my past, especially like Hector, butting in. I saw him making his way to us, still smiling like he knew what was going on. I studied Rebecca, still down-faced and embarrassed.
“Hi, Becky,” he said. “How’s tricks?”
I could see Rebecca glare. “The name’s Rebecca,” she said. And to me, “I don’t know where these assholes get these stupid, fucking names! Jesus Christ!”
That certainly quieted him and a forlorn “Rebecca,” escaped his lips.
To which she said, “Do I know you, mister?”
That certainly closed the conversation and Hector nervously looked at us but already Rebecca and I resumed our eating and idle talking. We were far gone from him, smiling and talking like lovers destined to spend the night together, if not the days to come. I could see Hector drifting away from us, to which I was glad. The prospect of someone reminding me of the past was always there, especially in Times Square, but my transvestite recent past was something I didn’t want to look at or have known. I was glad for the way Rebecca had turned things, and slowly I was beginning to like her very much. Maybe that’s why she was nuts, because she wasn’t with me!
But there was a little problem with her, every time there was a lull in the conversation it would set her off to talking to herself. Not exactly a gush of cursing words just a word here and there. When Hector was coming, she quietly said, “Why’s he coming here?” as if to herself. I thought nothing of it. And later, when Hector had left, “That’ll teach him.” Again I thought nothing of it, but this was someone who had given a tirade of curses to herself in Bryant Park. I shrugged and thought, If she curses, big deal, I don’t care! And finished my frank and French fries; I left my soda for Rebecca to finish. Wasn’t I a great guy? I thought. Yeah, sure I was.
That’s when I caught a sight of Hector again with another Spanish guy talking outside of Nathan’s. It seemed a one-way conversation with Hector doing the talking and the Spanish guy staring at the front entrance of Nathan’s and us eating at a nearby counter. Some sight, I thought, Hector looked as stupid as he did and the Spanish guy looked like a killer. Dark skinned, probably a Cuban. That was my first thought at the sight of him and the thoughts increased as I stood there looking at him. It seemed he was casing the place for no good and had me in mind. Well, no thanks, I wouldn’t let him get me. If I was alone I’d take off running down the street but I couldn’t do that now. There was Rebecca and I couldn’t leave her here. I looked over the crowd. It would certainly help me in getting away. The place was packed, with people coming and going out. I nodded to Rebecca.
“Let’s go out the back way, ok?” I said. She slightly withdrew from my hand on hers but I smiled and she settled into my touch. Throughout she felt very nervous and it was obvious she wasn’t used to being touched and I held her lightly ready to let go at any look or discomfort she felt.
We pushed our way to the back of the street-length restaurant. At the side was a door, not many used compared to the Broadway door, but it was perfect for our way out. We stepped out of a little used 43rd Street doorway and walked to 6th avenue. Throughout it all we still held hands like we were lovers. And it felt good. It was nice to hold someone’s hand. I strangely felt myself growing very close to her.
We walked around the block and passed Kilroy’s Bar, a hard drinking bar that I hardly ever walked in because of that, when she said, “Let’s go for a drink, my treat?”
I frowned, I didn’t care to go into Kilroy’s, it was not my kind of place, but looking at her, I said, “Sure, any thing you want.” I let go of her hand and we entered Kilroy’s Bar.
The place was the lowdown pits. Dingy old people were sitting along the bar but they hardly gave us a look as we walked in. It was obvious the place meant something to Rebecca; maybe an old lover had turned her on to the place…a very old lover. With faded Christmas decorations hanging from the shadows, even though it was July and they were faded and brittle. Just like little kid clothes once the kid has grown up and no longer wears them.
Rebecca smiled and blushed at the bartender. “Hello, Paul,” she said, but there was no remark from him, just a nod as he awaited our order. Gin and tonic usually gets the uneasiness out, while another gets the mellowness in to where I’m feeling happy and content. But she ordered a rum and coke and I did the same. The drinks aren’t bad but they’re tricky; before you knew it, you were drunk. So I eased back on it from the start, taking small sips like I had when I was a fairy, which made me blush.
But Rebecca drank the same and I began to notice that there was nothing wrong with her; just a drinking girl out for a good time. So what did I see just an hour ago, a tirade of cursing and venom? But people can be like that when left alone. Wasn’t my running some kind of mental release, just as her talking was? Who knew? I certainly didn’t.
It was easy to notice there were no young people in Kilroy’s, mostly everyone was in their 50’s or 60’s; amazing that they could still drink, at their age. But once I knew a guy who said that old
people drank not because they were drinkers but had only recently had started to do so. It made sense: they worked, toiled, until they were fired or laid off, and now began to drink cause what else was there?
“You ever been here before?” Rebecca asked, taking another little sip of her drink.
“Just once,” I said, “but didn’t stay long.” I frowned from the morbid atmosphere and took a deep drink of my rum and Coke.
“I used to come here often with my...father,” she quietly said. “He’s sick, I guess.”
I sipped my drink but said nothing. I knew that in this world of Times Square it was just as in the movies, though a little real with not too much faking, real life and real death. For all I knew, her ‘father’ could be nothing more than an old guy she was sucking dry. Now that I thought about it, back then she was always with some old guy giving him the time of their lives. I took a sip and nurtured the drink.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
She looked at me and took a drink. “I don’t know, I tried to wake him up but he just lays there. I don’t know what to do.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
She told me he was at home, at their place, and again she turned red.
“Maybe if you come you can wake him up.” She looked at me, pleading like I was going to help her. But I had my doubts about going to some guy’s house, even if I knew that the girl he screwed had just given me a blow job.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s his house, you know?”
She looked away sadly and resumed her drinking.
“Why don’t you call the cops?” I said facetiously, and smiled. “They’ll know what to do.”
“Yeah,” she snorted. “They’ll just take his money. But it’s not theirs.”
That kind of woke me up. “What money?” I asked. “There’s money?”
She sipped her drink and said, “Uh huh, a lot.”
I lowered my voice. “You know where it is?”
“Yeah,” she said. “In his bedroom. A few suitcases.”
I pondered over what she said.
“How did you find out about it?”
She said, “He showed me,” and she finished her drink. I nodded at the bartender and got her another one. When it came she quickly took a drink. I’m sure the tension had built in her and now, talking to someone, it didn’t seem so bad, plus the drinking was helping somewhat.
“Does he have alot of money?” I asked.
She avidly nodded her head.
“A hell of a lot,” she said. “Three suitcases that I found. He didn’t believe in banks. Didn’t trust them.”
I looked at her, my thoughts running like crazy.
“He trusts you?” I asked. “With all his money?”
“I told you, he sleeps, that’s all. I try to wake him up but nothing.”
Was she so dumb? Maybe she was. A thought was working in my head, it was obvious her friend was dead, or into a bad coma, or a bad stroke, but I knew that somehow I’d have to get in there and get my hands on some of the money that he didn’t trust anyone over. Still, I had to be careful. I looked around. The old men were drinking, talking, not minding us at all; I lowered my voice, hoping she did the same. “Did you take any?” I asked.
She turned red and drank some more, then quietly said, “I bought a few dresses. The one I had was crap. I needed a change.”
I admired it and took a sip of my own drink. “You bought a few,” I said. “What you spend, fifty or so?”
She blushed more then she did before. “Around two hundred,”
I almost gagged on my drink. A few old timers turned to look at me as I coughed and got my breath back.
“You ok?” she asked, deeply concerned. “I was worried.”
I waved her concern off, saying it was nothing and that I was fine, when we were interrupted by a bar-patron going to the bathroom.
“Hey, doll,” said the old guy. “How’s Wally? Haven’t seen him around.”
She immediately blushed but succeeded in saying, “OK,” which got a perplexed look from the old guy. I said nothing and watched the old guy go to the bathroom.
When she said, “I got to go too. Hope the little girl’s room is clean.” She stepped away from the bar and I sat there nursing my drink and wondering how much money would I get out of this. When she came back and said, “Disgusting.”
“Let’s get outta here,” I said.
She swallowed her drink and quickly followed me out.
The street was more filled with people, pretty girls in mini-skirts, tough guys looking like trouble, everyone looking for what was going on and mostly settling for nothing. Surprisingly, nobody walked into Kilroy’s, after taking a look at the old people that could be seen in the doorway. I guess that’s how it goes.
I let Rebecca lead the way to Wally’s apartment on 45th Street and 9th Avenue. We didn’t talk much, for which I was glad, had things on my mind, like if this was good this was going to be grand. I suppose the thing that kept me from laughing was that this might not be so true. Sure, she got money for dresses but it might be that’s all she got. She was a ditsy broad anyway and with just a little good luck she might be nothing more than that.
We stood in front of his building on 9th avenue and she was reticent about going in, just shaking her head, No, no.
I knew I couldn’t leave her, or else she’d be gone. “C’mon,” I said. “I’ll go up with you, alright?”
She looked at me, biting her lower lip. “I left my rum bottle up there,” she said. “He bought it for me.”
I took her hand and said, “We’ll get it, OK?”
She nodded her head and we went into the building...
I was about to go up the stairs when she said stopped me and said, “No, this way.”
It was down the hall, past the garbage cans which were over-filled with garbage, beer cans, pizza boxes, and assorted remains from grocery stock piles. The usual crap that every one uses then throws out. But there seemed to be more of it, more then usual. But I guess it was a holiday weekend coming up or the janitor in this place just didn’t pick up the garbage.
We stopped at the end of the brightly lit hall; amazing how well lit the place was as if the slovenly mess was a temporary sham. It stunk but I looked at Rebecca.
“This it?” I asked, putting my ear to the door. But it was quiet as hell. From somewhere upstairs someone played the clarinet but besides that it was quiet.
“Where’s the key?” I said, holding my hand out. Without a word she handed it me as if glad to be getting rid of it.
With a little trepidation I shoved it into the key hole. That eerie crinkle of a key being inserted always gives me the creeps. With that sound you never knew what to expect from the other side of the closed door. A burglar? A murderer? A lover? Who knew? Even with my own door at home I felt uneasy every time I opened it but what else was there to do? I carefully pushed the door open.
“Is there a light?” I asked, after a few tries of fruitlessly pawing the wall.
“In the kitchen,” she said. “Up on the top. The place is old.”
I frowned; like hell would I go into a sleeping guy’s apartment, even if he was dead, that made it seem more scarier, but I did. I left the front door open; that gave me a little light and my eyes got quickly used to the hall light. I pulled the rope on and saw the shabby old kitchen like something pre-historic or a remnant of before electricity. How old was this guy anyway?
“Where is he?” I asked, looking around.
“In the bedroom,” she said, gesturing with her head to a closed door. “There.”
Shit! I thought. Another closed door. But this one wouldn’t have any locks so that made it seem a little easier. I closed the front door and made my way to the other closed door. Again this was getting scarier, like some kind of ghost movie where the dead come alive and walk. I shook my head. Thoughts like that wouldn’t do me any good. Leave the ghosts alone, this was New York and money to be had. I smiled and flung the door open.
That’s when it hit me, the horrible smell that only the dead make, even if you never smelled it that’s what they smelled like, stagnant, repulsive, a bitter horrible smell. I gagged, my eyes tearing from the oppressive stink and got out of there, closing the door behind me. For an instant I thought this was not worth it but then I realized it just might be. Somehow I’d have to fight the smell. Had no other choice, did I?
“Did you see him?” asked Rebecca.
“Huh?” I answered. “What?” It was like I was coming to, after a few years away oblivious to what was going around me. “See what?” I asked, still in a daze.
She frowned and loudly sighed. “Wally,” she said. “The old man I knew.”
“Oh, him?” I said. “He’s dead. That’s why the place smells like a dead rat or something.”
I didn’t even think about what I was saying or what effect it would have on her.
“Dead?” she said. “Are you a doctor to know that? Or what?”
I could see she had gotten mad and pissed off and I knew my tactics were way off course. I back tracked.
“I think it was peaceful,” I said.
“Peaceful, shit!” she said. “My ass it was peaceful. He said Jesus and Fuck and that was it. I was scarred as hell. I thought he was sleeping when I...”
She turned very red faced like she had been caught stealing something. I’m sure she was hiding something, like they were probably fucking when he dropped dead, but I didn’t say a thing. I changed the subject.
“Where’s the money you said there was?” I said, still hopeful.
She frowned, obviously disappointed.
“In the bedroom,” she said, and she brightened. “But I took some.” And she reached for a new purse, still shiny and immaculate, opened it and withdrew wads of money. “See?” she said. “There’s lots of it. Gobs and gobs. Allot.”
She probably had a couple of hundreds but it was old and wrinkled, like someone had been saving it for years.
“Why’d you leave it in there?” I said, looking at the shut bedroom door. Then I looked at the keys that were lined and hanging by the door, maybe 30 or so.
“What’s with all the keys?” I said.
She shrugged. “He’s the super of a few buildings.” I thought about that, then was about to open the door again, when she stopped me.
“You might wake him up,” she said. “I’m worried.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Wake him up?” I said. “He’s dead, like a door nail.” I wanted to laugh but she looked very surprised.
“Dead, no,” she said. “He always passed out after fucking me.....I mean,” and she turned very red-faced and embarrassed then simply repeated, “He always passed out.”
I said nothing and turned to the bedroom door. A waft of him was beginning to smell, like something unwashed really bad, and I knew that once I got in the bedroom the unwashed smell would turn putrid and horribly decaying.
“But he can’t be dead,” she said. “Can he?”
I nodded my head. “That’s why he smells.”
I took a small dirty towel hanging from the wall and held it up to my face and pushed the door open. The old man Wally lay on the bed face down, like he was in deep sleep and we were about to disturb him, when she coughed and ran out of the room.
“Man, he smells bad!” she said. “I told him to take bath but he said it was nothing. Shit, it’s disgusting!” And she closed the door after me.
As horrible as I felt, it sure was a relief to be rid of her with all her denials of his death. It got to where I was about to say he’s still alive but in a coma just to get her to shut up. And I’m glad I left. But I hardly looked at Wally’s body; my eyes immediately went to the money on a corner table. A grocery bag shoved into a plastic bag containing bills in 5’s, 10’s and 20’s, though there were a few of them and the majority were old and frayed, it was obvious he had held on to the bills for a long time and kept them in a plastic bag for safe keeping from the damp, fetid air in the ground floor apartment. I had no idea how much money there was but I knew there was allot. I knew Rebecca had a few hundred that she spent on clothes, a few hundred on her, and I’m sure she had a few that she lost along the way. I grabbed the bag --couldn’t breathe there any longer-- and got the hell out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I collapsed in a fit of gagging and coughing, desperate for air, as if I was choking, until it came back slowly, wheezing and panting. But it felt good.
“You ok?” Rebecca asked, worried.
I shook my head, the tears heavy in my eyes, still desperate for air, but clutching the money bag.
“I was concerned, you know,” she said.
I took a look at her; she had changed wigs from a blonde to a brunette, and her skirt was off, two garter straps wove down her legs, clutching very shiny translucent black hose; incredible that I was getting a hard-on but that’s exactly what I felt growing in my pants. Still, I didn’t let go off the money bag when she saw it.
“No,” she said. “You can’t take that. It’s not yours, give it back.”
And she made a move towards the money bag, but I stood up and shook my head.
“This’ll be better,” I said, desperate for a good way out of this. “You hold onto the money, ok? It’ll be better that way.”
She looked at me carefully, studying my expression as if there were any ulterior motives. I held out the bag. “You take care of it, ok? It’s yours.
She interrupted. “No, it’s his,” she said, gently taking the money.
“That’s it,” I said. “You hold onto it. Don’t give it to anyone else.” I licked my lips, man, were they dry, like I hadn’t had a drink of water in days! The kitchen sink was inches from me and I filled a glass. I quickly drank a glass and was refilling another one when she quietly said, “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting to stink really bad.” And I saw she was clutching the money bag to her breast.
“OK, let’s go,” she said. “I could use a drink.”
I grinned and followed her out...
Out on the street a light drizzle had begun and we walked in a hurry, not only to get out of the rain but to distance ourselves from dead Willy’s house. But as we walked I saw the top of one her hose beginning to peek from the bottom of her blue skirt. That certainly would’ve aroused me but my mind was clouded with how to get the money away from her. And how much was there? I didn’t know, but certainly allot. More than a few hundred, more like a couple of thousands, maybe 25 or 30. I never thought of it, because how the hell would I get it and how big would a couple of thousands have to be? Certainly more then a few inches; maybe a couple of feet? Looking at her loose hose sliding down her leg got me aroused but thinking about the money I would soon have gave me a fucking hard-on just thinking about what I would do.
I don’t know but she must have been thinking the same when suddenly I heard a familiar voice say, “Hey Chika, nice leg!”
It was Hector and his Spanish friend smirking at Rebecca. It was obvious what they were looking at; the black nylon had worked its way down her leg but still clung to the garter belt which was now below her knee. The sight was highly erotic, a real hard-on inducer which could’ve had me jerking off for days but instead got me mad over that I had not seen it coming. What was I thinking? The movies on 42nd Street were all jerk-off dreams and here was a girl, a real blowjob princess, and I wasn’t paying her any attention. A woman’s clothes were coming off but I didn’t see a thing. Shit!
“Chika!” laughed Hector. “Why you run away from us? That’s not nice.”
But I didn’t think that was so funny, I knew Hector, he had a strange sense of humor that no one else had. Maybe it was a national thing, maybe that’s why he hung out with Spanish guys who came to Times Square instead of the white trash that prettied itself up, and which I was one, but a long time ago, but I’m sure Hector had plans for me in all the girly slut clothes or maybe no clothes, I’m sure that’s what he would like. But besides Hector and his Spanish buddy’s lewd looks, other passers were also getting an eyeful. The nylon was at Rebecca’s knees now, held by a crazy loose garter, like something out of a Times Square movie that she had just stepped out of. She looked confused, as if she was lost.
“Billy,” she said. “I’m afraid.”
I put an arm around her and glared at the smart laughing Spicks and crossed 42nd street. Behind me I heard more laughter, hooting and obscene cat calls. The idiots were having a good time. I cursed at every step I took.
We made our way past the lurid lookers trying to get a better view and came to 41st Street and turned east on 41st Street. Halfway down the block she stopped, looked around her and nervously gave me the money bag, saying, “Hold this,” and took off her errant nylon, flinging it aside. “Stupid thing,” she said, then rolled the other nylon down her leg.
My cock was hard and I slowly un-zippered my pants. I watched her raise her skirt up and begin rolling the other nylon down. The sight was incredible! Seeing a girl barefoot was better than seeing her in nylons and seeing one in a raised skirt and bending over, got my cock out ready for anything. I pulled my zipper down and got me cock out. It was red and stiff and ready for a tight-fitting cunt, much like Rebecca’s, I hoped.
I looked around, not a car or people around. On Broadway, in the distance, two people walked by but I quickly didn’t pay them any mind. I put the money bag and told Rebecca, “Stay down, baby.” My voice was very slow and distant, like I had lost sight myself.
“What?” she said and straightened up, getting a look at me. “What the hell are you doing?” And also taking a look around. “Are you crazy or something?”
“No,,” I said. “It’s you I want.” And I put my hands on her, she felt very good, like something I had already creamed into.
“Stop it, Wally…I mean Billy,” and I could see her face getting red from her mistake. That got me harder. I swung her around.
“Don’t you want a fucking?” I said, raising her skirt up.
The garter belt hung round her like a loose sentinel, the torn and misshapen one swaying loosely and limply. A tight little panty clutched her cunt; and she had a nice ass.
“Please, Billy,” she said. “Let’s go to the park, ok? Bryant Park’s right there,” gesturing with head.
But I pushed her lower and pulled the tiny panty down. “Shut up, bitch,” I said, unbuttoning my pants and pulling them down too. “Get ready for an ass fucking, you whore!”
I knew that wasn’t the thing to say but it got me very excited too. Had a guy who once called me names, like no good whore and filthy cock sucking cunt and boy! the cumming wasn’t that, it was an explosion of bliss! Besides the dirty names he called me I felt more erotic and dirty also, like I was a whore and no good cunt. The few times I had the opportunity of having sex with a girl my mouth went off like it had its own life, a filthy life that girls didn’t like at all. Tough, I certainly did!
Then I heard laughter and Hector’s snide remark.
“Hey, mira!” he said. “Nice ass…”
I froze, pissed off and hating that I was caught with my pants down, especially by someone like Hector. It didn’t matter that Rebecca’s ass was in the air too.
“What the fuck?” I said, still surprised.
But Hector’s Spanish friend put his hand on Rebecca’s ass and he was getting a good feel. She froze as I did.
Unbelievable that this was Times Square, only a block from 42nd street and about 9 o’clock in the evening. There was a small conversation in Spanish that I didn’t understand, but kind of agreement had been reached. The Spanish guy was pushing Rebecca, face down, onto a car bracing her dress up. Somehow she had stepped out of her panties and the guy bent down over her, ready to enter. I was bent like Rebecca, but like hell would I let Hector fuck me in the ass, faggot or no faggot!
I made a move but Hector was there, waving a knife in my face and pointing it in my neck.
“C’mon, you fucking puta miera,” he cursed and laughed. “You used to like this, you little white puta.”
Again I felt his weight on me and one hand grasping at my chest. Then suddenly his penis drilled into my ass, like it had looking for its mark and now settled at home and at peace. I felt very ashamed and worthless, but suddenly I felt him spasm and clutch my waist.
“Mother fucker!” he screamed. “Maricone!”
He made a few more thrusts at me and crudely pulled out. Boy, was he fast, the sick faggot!
“Maricone!” he spat out at me, said a few more curses in Spanish followed, as his friend was getting finished with Rebecca. I felt bad and stupid and didn’t want to look at her. All I wanted was to get out of there but I knew like hell would they let me leave. Here I was, two years from wearing a dress, with fake tits and phony walk but still getting it in the ass. I thought that had changed; how little I knew. Oh God! I felt like an idiot.
“You have a nice tight asshole,” said Hector, “just like a virgin cunt!” He laughed, and I wanted to kill him.
I glanced at Rebecca, just slightly, like I was too nervous to look at her but it was nothing to her. She was just pulling her panties up and straightening her skirt and I’m sure that it was no big thing, just an ass fucking. So why did I feel like this? Years ago I took it up the ass and in the mouth --my greatest experience was getting fucked in the ass and the mouth while a third was sucking me like crazy; I still get hard from thinking of that. But this was different this was rape, brutal rape, a knife to my throat and a cock up my ass. That was the difference, I wasn’t in charge and I didn’t like it!
I watched the Spanish guy pull up his pants as Hector said something to him and they both laughed, looking at me. Rebecca was blushing. I was pissed.
Mother fucking faggot! I thought. He fucking liked it! Liked fucking me in the ass!
Just then I saw Rebecca make a move for the money bag but I was faster, retrieving it before she could get her hands on it.
“Hey,” she said. “It’s mine!”
Hector and the Spanish guy looked at each other.
“He took my money,” she said. “Give it back!”
And she stood there with hands held out. I saw Hector and the Spanish guy were making a move towards me but I gripped the bag and bolted a few steps. Suddenly, my leg caved in and I went down, dropping and scattering the old wrinkled money.
“Mother fucker!” I screamed in pain, rolling on the ground. “Shit! Jesus fucking Christ!”
The money went flying like New Year’s confetti, too bad I had nothing to celebrate.
The first thing I thought was mother fucker then I saw Hector and the Spanish guy, their mouths and eyes open in pleasurable disbelief, like this was manna from heaven. Still down, I saw Rebecca push her way through and stoop down to get the bag when the Spanish guy said “Puta!” and shoved her aside.
“It’s mine!” screamed Rebecca. “Mine!” Trying to get to the bag as the Spanish guy shoveled the money back in. There was some kind of bitter exchange of words between them and I was surprised that Rebecca knew so much of a foreign tongue, maybe not enough to hold a conversation but enough to curse back and know what she was saying. “Mother fucking creep!” I heard Rebecca shout.
With one hand I rubbed my face. A stream of blood appeared on my fingers, like limp Kool-aid before the frosting had set in. For a second I thought of putting it to my tongue but then the burning started, it felt like a side of my face was ripped off and flies were already nibbling and feasting on it. I sat up, somewhat in a daze, and watched them gathering the money up. I saw a twenty dollar bill lying by the side of a parked car and thought of telling them but then I frowned and shook my head, Fuck the idiots! I thought, Stupid mother fuckers! By then, somehow the Spanish guy and Rebecca, were both now talking to each other --in somewhat like Spanish-- and Rebecca kept her head down like she was embarrassed or something. I quietly cursed. How many times had I seen this? Shit! Countless times; have a guy with the gift-of-gab and he’ll take your girl-friend away...even if he doesn’t understand the language. It was inevitable and fucking boring because when they were picking up the money the Spanish guy was smiling and talking to Rebecca, who paid him no mind at first, but soon was blushing and covering up her smiles. And by the time they stood up they were the best of friends, or at the least, ass-fuckers extraordinaire, even Hector who joined in their camaraderie and was laughing along with them.
I felt like shit, and except for the twenty --and other bills that had gotten away under cars and down sewers and cellars-- I supposed that would be it, the money was gone, or at least my share of it, gone as quickly as I had gotten it. Wish I had taken a pocketful...but I didn’t.
“Hey!” I heard Hector’s voice, nudging my shoulder with his knee. “Get up; we’re going to her house.”
I sat there, stunned and in a kind of daze because there was no way to look at it but the sidewalk had taken a good wallop of my chin and I was bloodied, bruised, feeling like hell. I heard Hector again.
“Mira!” Hector said again, and quietly, “She knows; I told her about your wanting to look like a girl and all the men you went out with.” I don’t know why I turned red but I felt my face burning from shame as much as from my bruise. Huh? Look like a girl? But that was a long time ago...“Come on, man, you just got a little bump, that’s all.” But why was he looking so smug?
Bump my ass! I thought, but somehow I stood up, trying to understand the fog I was in.
Everything looked so clear but still somehow so far away, like this was a haze I was trying to get out of but couldn’t. And quietly, Hector whispered, “Don’t let Miguel get mad.”
That kind of woke me up. I shook my head and my eyes and looked at Miguel talking to Rebecca. Her head was down, but she was an obvious listener to what ever Miguel was saying. What the hell did Hector tell her? That I was a crossdresser? Or that he liked me but I wouldn’t let him near me?
For a second I thought of joining them, but I didn’t, this was obviously a two people talk, a guy and girl, flirting, seducing, and leading up to something I wasn’t a part of. I studied Rebecca, not bad, her black skirt now showing her bare enticing legs made the white sleeveless turtle neck she was wearing look more erotic and appealing, like she was eager and ready for anything, especially a fucking. She just couldn’t wait for one. That’s the way I always wanted to look, I sadly thought, but didn’t...That’s the problem with being a guy, pretty soon the makeup goes, as does the smoothly shaven face, as do the fake tits you are wearing, either pulled off or fallen away. Aw, shit, I looked at Rebecca, incredibly sexy looking and I’m sure her pheromones were stinking to high heaven of hunger that was growing by the minute.
“What do you call yourself now?” snidely hissed Hector. “Rose? Or is it Lily? Pick a flower, right?” laughed Hector. “Or is it Daisy? Yeah, Daisy....I like that.”
I glared at Hector. “To you it’s Ivy,” I said. “Poison Ivy, get the picture?” And I had to smile, a facetious smile at that, but well worth it.
Hector looked downcast, when Miguel glared at us, and said something in Spanish.
“Let’s go,” said Hector, and to me, “Come on, asshole!”
For a second I stood there. Was he talking to me? And go where?
Hector looked at me nervously and whispered. “Don’t be stupid, Miguel said let’s go, ok?”
I said aloud, “Go where? I ain’t going nowhere.”
I saw Miguel leave Rebecca and quickly walk over to where I was, “Maricone!” he cursed, and open-handed slapped me in the face. Holy shit? Again I saw stars explode like a gush of sprinkling water flooding my eyes and I wanted to cry. Miguel stood there cursing and shouting at Hector and looking at me like I was a piece of shit.
“Don’t do that,” Hector said to me, shaking is head. “It’s your own fault; I got nothing to do with it.”
Through my teary eyes I saw Miguel as he was about to take another swing at me but Hector said something to him and he looked at me, spat, then stalked back to Rebecca.
Jesus Christ! I thought. She didn’t even look at me once, the bitch! Just stood there; hungry and open-mouthed, salivating like she was going to get fed…or fucked and pretty damned quick! The whore!
I gently massaged the side of my face; I could feel his vicious fingers still ripping into my flesh like it was a violation that he was going to fix by ripping and tearing it off then tossing it in the trash. How did that suddenly become the story of my life? I knew I should have kept running when I spotted Rebecca, hours ago, but I didn’t. Now Rebecca wouldn’t even look at me. Was it the ass-fucking I received from Hector, the stupid faggot, or my attempt to take off with her money, the stupid bitch? Or maybe finding out that I had worn female clothes, once upon a time, and liked it? Some how, once again, I was the loser, and right before my face. Strangely, I felt embarrassed. Just as Rebecca wouldn’t look at me, I too turned my eyes away from her and Manuel. I knew I had to get away from them. And fast too....
Miguel had rejoined Rebecca, a car length away, and Hector took my hand.
What the fuck? I thought, did he think we were going to hold hands? Jesus!
I swung his hand off, and said, “Get off of me, you bastard!”
And suddenly I saw Miguel rush over to Hector.
“Mira! Maricone!” he said, but Rebecca was there before he could take a swing at me. I knew then she was doing this out of loathing, the sneering disgust on her face was obvious she wanted to be rid of me, and that I was in the way. That’s how it goes: great love followed greater loathing. It was like they were in a spell and now were waking up. There was no Prince Charming just a worthless disgusting frog, saying, Bedeep! Bedeep!
“Be careful!” she said. “He’ll whip your ass, and you know he can.”
For a moment I thought there was a glimmer of pity, but I saw she took Miguel’s hand and gave it a squeeze, like she was making sure it was real, and hers. I knew then it would be futile to resist. I had lost her, but I guess I never had her. Was it the money that had me side-tracked? Or the fact I had worn girl’s clothes and gone off with hard-up guys? Probably. I had been thinking of ways to get her out of my way. Well, now she was gone and for good. Again I looked at Rebecca. I guess they made a nice couple. Wish them well, I thought. Like hell, I will! The mother fucking assholes!
Hector nervously looked at me, darting his eyes back to Manuel and quietly said, “Let’s go,” as if this was an agreement between us that we had made. I glanced at Manuel, one hand stroking Rebecca’s arm and frowned, then shrugged and said, “Lead the way.”
Hector walked beside me and a few times he tried to take my hand but I angrily brushed it off. I suppose that turned him on because each time I pushed his hand off he mumbled something dirty in Spanish, I suppose, and hungrily licked his lips. In a sort of way, I was getting a kick out of it too, smiling, but making sure Hector didn’t see, because that’s how I used to lead on guys. There had to be some kind of game, baiting, enticing, luring and leading on. And by the time we got to Broadway, a half block away, my cock was hard and eager for a stroking touch. And Hector began to look even better. As we walked, I was reminded of the past, guys walking with me to cars or hotels where we played our parts and parted. I wished again I was dressed up like a girl, I could do that well, and still, at times, I think of myself as a girl…because there is no man there…a real man.
On 45th street we turned and suddenly I knew where we were going, the place where we had gotten the money. Blocks away Hector had turned to Manuel and Rebecca and got his directions, casa muchacha (whatever the fuck that meant?), girl’s house. And we were going back to Wally’s dirty and dingy apartment.
Why the fuck didn’t I do something before? Back on 41st street, when Manuel had slapped me, I thought of turning him to the cops. And on Broadway, we had passed cops standing in groups of two’s, three’s, like they were waiting for some action, just like the rest of Times Square denizens and visitors, with one thing on their minds, sex. But I was thinking of Hector, a potential lover who had trailed after me for so many years, and now might get it. And now there weren’t any cops, just people walking by on 9th Avenue and 45th Street.
I stopped before Wally’s building.
“This is it,” I said, gesturing to Hector. “Have fun,” and about ready to take off, when Rebecca rushed up and screamed, “Where you going? No way am I going in there alone!”
Manuel was right beside her, looking angry but not saying anything.
“You want me to tell him, that you’re not going in?” she said, “Cause I will and then you’ll get your ass kicked, like you deserve!”
I glanced at Manuel, saying something to Rebecca in Spanish but she didn’t answer him looking at me all the while. I said, “Shit, alright, let’s go in...
I stormed into the building...Holy shit! Was that Wally? It was like someone had taken a foul smelling shit, which was exactly that. God! Disgusting! I guess one of West Side hooker customers or transvestite users had to go real bad, so he laid a load away right here. Fucking asshole! I gagged and realized I didn’t have a key to get in, that was Rebecca’s department, the bitch! But by then, she had walked in to the building and was gagging too. Hector and Manuel were also spitting and coughing.
“Maricone!” spat out Manuel, and I wondered how he knew it was a faggot who took his load off. The fucking asshole!
“Its right here,” said Rebecca, holding out the key and looking at me.
Through my teary eyes I frowned, somehow saddened and disgusted at Rebecca, then grabbed the key from her hand.
“You bitch!” I hissed. “Fucking whore!”
But there was no response from her as I turned the key and opened the door....But she didn’t go in, when Manuel said something and she pushed me in. “Go in,” she scowled.
Suddenly, I smirked, and glanced at her, “You go in,” and pointed at the money bag she was holding. “It’s your money.”
When Manuel again grabbed the front of my shirt and spat out a spew of Spanish words that, I assumed, had to do with the smell of shit in the hallway or the shit that was going on between Rebecca and me. He pushed me in and was right behind me, followed by Rebecca and Hector, who shut the door behind us.
“Asshole!” I mumbled, and gave Manuel a look that said Come on, mother fucker! But he didn’t even glance at me just said something to Rebecca who answered him in some gibberish. I guess it would always sound like asshole gibberish, and you can keep it. Besides words like Miera or Maricone or Cerveza my Spanish fluency was nil and non-existent. Even back in high school I learned nothing, partly because I rarely attended and even more rarely studied; I was headed for dropping out, which I did, as soon as I was old enough to do so. That was heaven! I started hanging out in Times Square and very quickly lost my virginity, to a guy, and that was the start of my losing and giving it away. I no longer looked at it as a loss but as a discovery. Like Columbus discovering America, each guy I had sex with was something new and different. It didn’t matter whether they were skinny or fat, good looking or ugly, as long as I was dressed up and they were willing and ready to play the game I would give them what they wanted. But sadly, that would be it, afterwards I didn’t want to have anything to so with them. I’d take my money and leave for ever. Bye honey, sweet dreams, I’d say. Oh, sure, I’d see them again in Grant’s Bar or some porno movie house, but all they’d get was a smile and toodleoo forever again.
I glanced at Hector; not bad looking, if you like the stupid Spanish clothes he always wore, bright colors and tints, not to mention the chains and bracelets, and the fact I had never had sex with him made him look very interesting. I smiled. No need, because Hector was always smiling, like whatever there was, we were in it together. I shrugged and figured, What the hell? and Why not? It had been a long time for me anyway.
When suddenly, Manuel coughed and spat and said something in his Spanish. Rebecca blushed and turned red and said, “It’s Wally, not me,” as if by explanation. “It’s his fault.”
I knew the stupid slut was talking about her dead old boy friend but she was looking at me and that got me mad.
“My fault?” I screamed. “You stupid whore! My fault? Like shit, it’s my fault!”
Manuel got between us and kept us apart. “Que pasa?” he said, looking at Rebecca.
Ah ha! Another Spanish lingo phrase I knew Que pasa? What’s happening? or What’s up? We used to say that in Grant’s Bar all the time, I didn’t know it was a real form of communication, just making small talk.
She began to say something in Spanish, but I turned away looking at Hector.
“Stupid asshole bitch!” I mumbled. I hated her, even though I had wanted to fuck her before; must have been temporarily crazy or hard up too much. But Rebecca was talking too rapidly and Manuel was looking at her and me, as if trying to decide which one it would be. When he waved his arm, said something that I assumed was a curse, but I looked away and opened the bedroom in Wally’s apartment.
The stench was horrible! Putrid, vile, disgusting; we all gagged and Manual had the sense to slam the door shut but not before spitting and cursing and saying, “Maricone!” over and over, as if faggots were once again to blame for the smell.
I glanced at Rebecca. Through my teary eyes I could see she was also gagging and squirming her face, but she remained quiet and let Manuel bad mouth whoever he hated, when suddenly she raised her blouse and pulled her tits out. I guess all three of us, Manuel, Hector and I stood there open-mouthed, looking at her exposed bosom. With no pretense of what she was saying --in English-- she said, “Can we go to the other room. I need it, real bad.”
I looked at Hector --the frown on his face was one of disgust and disappointment, like he had expected something better but had gotten this. Manuel was no different. I suppose it was the smell, but he didn’t look to eager with Rebecca’s showing off. Her exposed tits were just a nuisance that he had to suffer through. I wanted to laugh. I had never sat through a sexually dormant farce like this was becoming. This was like the strip clubs where the girls were good lookers but little doers. You could jerk off all you wanted and have nothing to show for it, just a memory of a girl who showed her body off. Big deal! Show off and look, because that’s all you’d get. I laughed, and saw that Rebecca was turning red. This was too good to be true. Her tits sort of lost their perkiness and bounce, like they were tired and spent. When she said, “I need a fucking.” She looked at me. “But by not this creep.”
I almost laughed again when I saw the blonde wig she had worn before looking so forlorn and dismal. How long had it been since I wore one? Maybe two years. I felt a tinge of my erection rising when I heard her say quietly, “There’s more money in here. Mucho dinero.”
I was surprised. What money? I wondered. Had she been holding out on me, the fucking bitch? But Manuel had also woken up and again was very alert. Strangely, the smell had been forgotten…
“Que,” he said, and Rebecca said something in Spanish to which he smiled and put his arm around her and gave her thankful squeeze of her right breast. And once again the breasts looked alive and perky, like they had found their reason for living, in an admiring John, that’s all. The stupid bitch!
I watched them leave the kitchen and knew they were going to fuck. The whore! I hated her and all her stupid dressing up and preening herself to look pretty, stupid ugly slut! I held the wig and realized it smelled nice. Once again I felt my erection rising. Holy shit! All of a sudden I realized her clothes were scattered round the kitchen: a blouse lay cast aside next to a skirt that had joined a discarded bra and panty. I smiled; after all, she lived here. Evilly I looked at Hector.
“I’m sure they’ll fit,” I said, and smiled. “They’re just about my size.”
And he bit his lower lip and kept glancing at the shut bedroom door. I smiled and said, “He’s sleeping; won’t be any problems.” And went back to looking at Rebecca’s clothes and dreaming of what I had been. But shifty eyed Hector was still making me nervous; he had always been a problem for the girls and the guys who hung out at Grant’s. The word was that he was a thief, not the striking kind, but the sleeping kind. See a drunk and there was Hector, patiently waiting for him to pass out. On weekdays he’d easily get loaded with stolen goods in most of the movie houses on 42nd Street and real fast too. He’d have his pick of sleeping drunks to choose from, while on peopled weekends he couldn’t do shit. But I never chose Hector, that is, until now…What the hell? I thought. It had been a few years anyway...
I picked up a few more of Rebecca’s clothes --a new bra and panties that she had stained with some fluid, but now was dried and didn’t look so bad.
I smiled at Hector and gave him a wink, and undid my shirt.
“Whatcha doing?” he said quietly, and kept looking at me, opening his mouth and swallowing the saliva that had been forming. I grinned and was very pleased. I took my shoes and socks off, than undid my pants, sliding them off my legs. It was obvious I had hard-on, but Hector sat down, disbelieving what he saw. “You’re clean!” he said, disbelieving. “Real clean! Like a girl…”
I grinned at Hector; for years I had kept the image of me as a young girl and liked it, shaving my body even though I no longer wore the clothes. Being hairless I felt more feminine, like I had a secret, which I did, and now I was going to show myself off.
I pulled my shorts off, revealing a bare but massive erection and I smiled. Hector’s mouth was open and just barely inches from it. I slipped on Rebecca’s panties; a perfect tight-fitting pair which outlined my cock and balls not in a crude way but a perfect soothing caress. I put on her bra and had to pull back the shoulder straps until they held the make-belief-tits snuggly and tightly. Not that it wouldn’t matter that I had no tits, the two little bumps showed that I did; I was a small titted girl, that’s all. Inside I giggled.
Hector sat down. His breathing was very slow, through an open mouth, and he had become very sweated like he had run a long race and now was taking his well earned rest. Fat chance! I giggled again.
I pulled on Rebecca’s red skirt, rolled up at the waist to make it look even shorter, then pulled on her black blouse. Not bad, but I wished the skirt had been tighter.
From under the table I pulled out her shoes,--there must of been three pairs, but sadly, they were all too big, about a half size too big. Shit! I cursed, but crammed a tissue in each shoe and that did he trick. I went on to the makeup she had laying about. A sleight dab of Cover Girl facial cream was all it took to cover up the bruise on my chin and disguise the little dabs of hair sprouting on my chin. A dark makeup pencil around the eyes easily did the trick of making my face look feminine. All that was left was the blonde wig when I heard Manuel screaming in the other room.
“Loco!” he shouted. “Puta! Maricone! Que rajo! Idioto!”
Too fast for fucking, I thought and saw Manuel storming and cursing into the room, followed by a weeping Rebecca. She was trying to explain something but Manuel took a look at me and viciously cursed and shouted, “Maricone!....”
He struck me in the face, a vicious blow that brought stars to my eyes and blood sweeping out of my mouth. Again; that was the second time that night he struck me. God, did that hurt! But then Hector reacted.
“Mother fucker!” I heard from him “Fucking pig!”
I don’t know how it happened but it took very fast and was immediate; he lunged at Manuel, who for a moment was stunned, like something had happened that he didn’t expect.
“Miera! Muchacho!” he said, very confused.
I saw the knife had gone in and out of side of his stomach and he held on to the spot as if afraid to see what was there.
“Por que?” he pleaded in a whisper. “Por que?” Why?
And before I knew what was happening, Manuel retaliated and lunged a knife he had into Hector, who also simply said, “Jesus? A knife?” as if looking for an explanation, but of course there was none.
I looked at Rebecca, who stood dumbstruck, disbelieving what we had seen. But Times Square justice is just that, fast and deadly. I knew we had to get out of there…and fast too.
“It’s a fake,” she simply muttered, as if to herself. “The money’s fake.”
From what I gathered the money that Rebecca had was all a sham, poorly made counterfeits, that she had shown Manual. Though better ones she had back here, Wally had baited and feasted on with Rebecca, who didn’t know what was what. I wanted to laugh! How long had he drawn and redrawn the fakeries and did it again over and over until he got it right then found someone who would test it, unknowingly of course, by going out and buying something. What difference did it make if it was Saks on 5th Avenue or the wig and makeup shops along the way? If she got away with it, good; if she didn’t, well, back to the drawing board, was Wally’s plan.
Again Manuel faintly muttered, “Por que?” and dropped to his knees.
“Let’s go!” I said to Rebecca but she was looking at Manuel, the knife sticking out of his belly, when suddenly, Hector lunged his knife into Rebecca’s back.
Holy shit! For a moment, she twisted back trying to reach the knife stuck in her, but couldn’t, and also went down. Jesus Christ! She lay like Wally in the next room face down, one arm trying to reach behind her.
I wanted to run, to cry, to disappear off the face of the earth but I knew I couldn’t, still I knew it best to keep out of Hector’s way.
I took a look at them. All three down, and bleeding very badly. Manuel was the worst, a large amount of blood came out of him and he was very quiet. Hector too lay very still, faintly muttering, “Billy, Billy.” And Rebecca lay face down, but it was to no avail. Just like them she was losing it, and pretty rapidly, too.
I picked up a counterfeit bill and frowned. Hell, it wasn’t too bad, but you could see the fake paper and the crude ink in the drawing standing out under close examination, just like amateurish kid work. Amazing she didn’t get busted when she went shopping. But life is strange, one look at this sexy fruit cake and you were easily tempted and hoped it could be an equally easy seduction. And knowing her, I’m sure she had given a few blowjobs on her shopping sprees.
I tossed the fake bill aside, sending it to join other fakeries that promised so much but couldn’t deliver.
I grabbed my pants and was about to pull them back on when I heard someone at the door. I froze, scared shitless with sweat begin to form on my brow.
“Man, this place stinks!” I heard outside the door.
“Uh huh.” Another voice agreed and someone began to knock on the door.
“Wally, you in there?” someone called. “The creeps took a shit again!”
I remained very still, looking at Hector who had his eyes open but kept looking very far away. I grimaced, but there’d be no words from him, when the same voice said, “Let’s get out of here. Wally’s too old for this; let’s get a cop.”
They moved down the hall, still talking, and I heard the front door open and slam shut behind them. Without a word I put on Rebecca’s wig, gathered up my discarded clothes and crammed them into her purse. Shit! I cursed, she had gathered up a few hundred of the counterfeit money she had set aside. But there was no time for anything and without looking at any of them, I looked down on myself, stashed a few 100 in her purse then opened the front door --Shit! It wasn’t locked-- and quietly shut it behind me. I went outside.
The street was packed with the theater and restaurant crowd making its way to various dinners, dates and assignations. Two old guys stood at the curb as if they were waiting someone and I immediately knew they had been to Wally’s. So these were the guys trying to flag down a cop car. Shit, the old geezers! But one old guy, I had to smirk, I recognized from the Pix, where I used to go for blowjob sex. But I never went out with him because he was so disgusting appearing with his limp cock out as if I would pounce on it. No thanks, asshole! It wasn’t even hard! He looked at me very curiously as if trying to remember something about me and I smiled to myself and disappeared down the street. Hope you don’t wait for the cops too long, asshole! I thought, and continued down the street.
But there is one thing I noticed when I’m dressed as a girl, I keep turning behind me so I could see in every direction, something I don’t do as a guy. I wonder if girls do it for real or if it’s my fantasy that I have. Who knew? I certainly didn’t.
And it was easy making my way past the crowds, even though I wasn’t sure of what I looked like. I suppose a stupid gay transvestite looking as ludicrous as she could. Had no idea of my image but I was very relaxed as if the clothes were surely mine. You wouldn’t question a girl in them, so why are you looking at me? It was just as it had been two years ago and I liked it.
On 8th Avenue I paused and debated whether I should reach for a cigarette. I knew there was a pack in Rebecca’s purse but I sure as hell didn’t want her fake money to fall out. Not on a crowded street scene like this was. Too bad about Rebecca, why did she talk so much to herself when I first saw her? Did she know I was a faggot, a skirt wearing one at that, whom she had blown? But she certainly didn’t deserve to get stabbed. Hector, I didn’t give a shit about; given the chance I would’ve taken a knife to him myself…well, maybe. And Manuel...Shit! The fucking asshole was looking for trouble the moment he saw me! He got what he deserved!
On 43rd Street and 8th Avenue I saw the entrance to the Carter Hotel, an old Times Square standby which rented rooms by the hour or the night, whatever was your preference. But I had to take a piss, and real bad too, and the ladies room was right up the stairs. So I turned off on 8th, and saw him again, a rain coated guy that had been following me since I left Wally’s. I smiled to myself. When I saw him at first, I was preoccupied with Rebecca and didn’t pay him any mind, but I began to notice him more and more, with that fear and uncertainty, that dread and almost terror-like panic everyone goes through when you’re trying to approach a sexual partner, especially when the sex is so unclear. Again I smiled, so turning around paid off, I guess; Mister Raincoat looked like a good match for me.
I smiled and pounced into the Carter going up the short 7 or 8 step stairway they had. He also tore into the hotel behind me but slightly froze when he saw me standing at the top of the short stairway. I smiled, closed my purse, where I had found the pack of cigarettes.
“Got a match, mister?” I asked, though I didn’t say Raincoat. Was it my masculine voice or the bruised chin that made him pull back slightly? But hell, guys like to be protective, and it looked like I sure needed it, no matter what sex I was.
“Of course, Cutie,” he answered, from down the stairs, squinting at my bruise.
But he looked relieved, as if all his uncertainty was soothed and eased and ran up the stairs to join me, reaching into his shirt pocket for matches.
“Shit!” I said, crossing one leg over the other. “Gotta go to the.... little girl’s room. Real bad, too.”
“Oh,” he said, and I added, “I guess it’s down the hall.”
I turned and was about to go to the toilet when he asked, “What’s your name?”
Without a thought I said, “Rebecca,” and grimaced, Jesus Christ! I didn’t want to say that! “But my friends call me Becky.” I smiled
He beamed, “That’s nice,” and he grinned, showing off his bad ugly teeth. “Becky, I like that.”
I frowned, but said, “Be right out...big boy,” and smiled; I wished my eyes had been made-up so I could flutter them. Oh well, maybe Rebecca had some rouge in her purse. She’d better!
I leered at him then disappeared down the hall to the little girl’s room.
