Thursday, February 17, 2022

Kisser: A Masculine Femininity by Mykola Mick Dementiuk

A Ukrainian born in West Germany, Mykola (Mick) Dementiuk grew up and survived on New York's tough Lower East Side streets, which are now a bare echo of what they once were. He is the author of Holy Communion (Lambda Awards Winner 2010/Bisexual Fiction), The Facialist )Lambda Awards Winner 2012 Gay Fiction) Vienna Dolorosa, Times Queer, and 100 Whores. His other writings in e-book are Dee Dee Day, Variety, The Spice of Life, Murder in Times Square, Times Square…in Brooklyn? Queers of Central Park, A Sucker for the Circus, Times Square Cutie and Stallers, More Tales of Times Square Cuties, and On the Prowl.

see his Web page Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

or his other Lower East Side novella Baby Doll  Mykola Dementiuk: Baby Doll



 Kisser: A Masculine Femininity by Mykola Dementiuk 


Chapter 1 

He leaned over and kissed me. Really just a peck on the cheek but I was surprised, kind of in shock, looking to my left and right along the path, but I already knew there wasn’t anyone looking at us. I was red-faced. He shrugged. 

“So what if I kissed you, you’re a nice young man, you deserve to be kissed.” 

I stared at him. I was very frightened and nervous. There was only one question to ask, “Are you queer?” 

He faintly smiled. 

“Oh, what’s the big deal if I am or not, I can ask you the same thing, “Are you queer?” 

I bit my lips, staring at him and shaking my head. Of course, I wasn’t a queer, but I certainly suspected he was. 

Each day I’d seen him in New York’s East River Park, walking along the river’s edge and just staring out at the boats or ships that were going in and out. He’d nod at me, vaguely smile and, I suppose expect me to stop, but I would simply nod back, return the faint smile and just walk on. A few times I turned about to see him looking after me, but I’d blush and quickly disappear along the path. 

This had been going on for almost two weeks. The only times he wasn’t there was on drizzly days when hardly anyone else appeared in the park. My eyes and senses were peeled for him, but the empty desolate pathways remained as empty as always. For two days I expected to see him, but the loneliness of the park had become a constant reminder of my isolation and in the drizzle the aloneness grew stronger. I was starting to feel abandoned, which I had never felt before. 

The next day it was sunny for a change. I went to the park, picking up a newspaper that I found discarded, and took a seat away from the river on a tree-lined path. I read the two headlines, wars and skirmishes around the world and economic problems and worries back home. I sometimes wondered why we have news reports if it’s the same story over and over. I set the paper down and looked both ways, not a soul in sight. I sighed. 

I started thinking about the man. In a way his momentary appearance along the paths was a sort of welcome, but now in the past few days his disappearance had become a certain constant dis-welcome that he was no longer there. But that happens along the park lanes. Many a time you get used to someone being there and in a few weeks they’re gone and faded forever. I suppose finding jobs or moving away would do that, but in the past three or four months I had been coming almost daily to the East River Park I had certainly grown to see that life comes with unexpected changes. Everyday something new and now he was no longer there. 

I frowned and let go of my hard and stiff penis; someone was coming. I had been sitting there just thinking and rubbing myself. I was certain the walker would soon pass, and I could continue what I was doing, namely soft jerking-off. I looked up at the approaching figure. Holy shit, it’s him! 

He beamed as he recognized me, hurrying to my bench. 

“Oh sweetness, it’s you,” he said, falling down beside me. “How have you been, darling?”

I nervously looked at him. 

“You probably have me mixed up with someone else. I don’t know you.” 

He leered at me, nodding his head. 

“Yes, I know, I don’t know you either, but I hope to be better acquainted with you very soon.” He winked at me as I felt him moving much closer. “Has it been raining here in the past few days?” 

With his wide eyes, he beamed at me. It was as if he was reading more than what was there before him, seeing into my soul and understanding what was visible to him, or so I thought. 

I shrugged. 

“It wasn’t that bad, just a slight drizzle. Still you had to keep walking—the dampness was constant. All the benches were wet.” 

He shook his head. 

“I’ve never come here on rainy days, the isolation is too lonesome, don’t you think, honey? But I love sunny days like today, isn’t it lovely here?” and he smiled, seemed to flutter his eyelashes, tapping his hand against my kneecap. It remained there. 

Again, I shrugged. 

“I like the emptiness; it means that the park is mine.” 

“Oh sure, but you must have people you love in your life, that’s what makes life worth it, wouldn’t you agree, honey?” 

Once more a squeeze and this time an inch higher on my legs. I looked at him. 

“I don’t mind being alone, it helps you think, you know.” 

“Hmm, yes it does, what do you think about? Care to share your thoughts with me?” 

Another squeeze, more firmly and longer lasting as my face glowed with embarrassment. 

“You know, just thoughts…oh, you don’t want to hear that,” I turned, shifting my leg so my stiff erection wouldn’t show as clearly, as I thought it was doing. 

He hesitated, his eyes very bright and glassy, looking at my hardness. He squeezed my upper leg again. 

“You must love being touched. Isn’t it a great feeling, another’s hands touching and feeling? It’s utter bliss!” 

That was when he kissed me, his hand going towards my crotch. I was afraid someone might see. 

“No, I’m not like that,” I squealed, pushing his hand away and looking around. Again, he groped my crotch. Needless to say, it was very hard. “I’m not a queer. I mean it.” Again, I resisted his hand. 

“Aren’t you, honey?” He shrugged and let go of me. 

I stared at him. I never admitted it to myself—the vague thoughts in my head of boys and men. Oh, what the hell. I was a mess. But if the thoughts did come up, what difference would it make? I was only nineteen years old and going nowhere; my life was a total waste. 

I leaned back, the stiffness evident now. 

“Sometimes I know what I am, but it’s impossible to be like you: a fruit.” 

He snorted. 

“Is that what you think of me, that I’m just a useless, horny fruit?” 

“No, no,” I protested, “nothing like that. But what else can I call you, but a fruit, a fag, a sissy, they're all the same, no?” 

 I reddened and looked at him. 

“You have many things to learn about men.” He smiled, shook his head and again moved closer to me. “But first let’s be friends, okay?” 

I studied him. He held out his hand. 

“Sure, we can be friends.” I offered him my own. 

He took it, but his middle finger was held inwards, probing and prodding into my palm. “You like my hand on you, honey?…” 

He let go and once again reached for my crotch. 

I didn’t say anything, but he kissed me on my lips. I melted, kissing him right back as my hands reached behind his shoulders. 


Chapter 2 

If you had told me that one day, I would be kissing a man in the East River Park I would have said you were crazy, sick and perverted, but that’s exactly what I was doing. I held on to his head as if I had finally found what I’d been seeking all my life, a man sharing himself with me as I was sharing myself with him. 

It’s incredible how you can get lost in the emotions you are feeling, the world suddenly becoming meaningless as you lay in ecstatic bliss of what is happening to you, when really all you can do is lie there and kissing him in return. 

And the odd sensation of tasting another, in this case man to man, which would be not recognized by society as right and proper, rather very much perverted and anathema. I no longer cared if it was the correct thing to do or not, I melded into him, our saliva meshing for a unique sensation that has never been tasted before, that of his with mine, mixing and gelling together. We kissed—sucked up and swallowed each other’s saliva more and more. 

But we broke from our passionate kissing when we heard a siren going by on the highway that skirted the park. 

In the throes of our kissing, I did not realize I had cum in my pants just as he, too, spilled his own seed, our two hands rubbing and groping the other. It was as if we were fucking by not knowing what we were doing and the bliss, the satisfaction was the same as though we were stripped bare and doing it openly. 

At that moment, looking at the starved being I was, I imagined I had lost my virginity to him, when in fact it wasn’t a loss but a sublime discovery. Finding him was the reason I had lived. 

I stared at him dreamily and wondered when we would go to his place for a continuation of what had just occurred. I wanted more and more of his fucking me. I was a virgin and had never been fucked before, but now I would be. 

“Well, that was beautiful, sweetie,” he said, adjusting his clothes and looking up and down the pathway; as usual, there was no one there. He stood up. “But I must go, have a job to go to, you understand, don’t you?” 

I was devastated. What, a job to go to? I want to be taken to your bed and have you do what you want with me, strip me, make love to me, just fuck me, please, please, fuck me? But I didn’t say anything, just wiped my face of his saliva and shrugged. 

“I know,” I quietly said, also standing up. 

“Oh sweetie, we all have to work,” he said, holding me. “We can’t let our passions run away with us or where would we be?” 

I nodded, looking up at him. 

“Nowhere, I suppose?” 

“Exactly, baby, nowhere.” 

We held each other. 

“Let’s meet tomorrow, right here by this bench and I’ll take you to my apartment and we’ll make real love. Okay, sweetie?” 

Again, I melted, certain I was going to cum again. 

“Where do you work, uptown, downtown?” 

“Actually, cross-town, take the 9th Street bus to 6th Avenue and get off, you’ll be right in the heart of Greenwich Village. Walk a block and Studley’s is right there.” He winked at me. “You ever been there?” 

“Where, in the Village?” 

“No, Studley’s, the gay club in the Village.” 

I shook my head. Gay club in the Village? I wondered. He means faggots, doesn’t he? Sissies, queers, yes he does, sweetie, that’s exactly what he means! 

Washington Square maybe the heart of the Village but further west in a few twisted streets was its own heart, gay Greenwich Village. You could see it as gay men and women, lesbians, paraded through its streets, sauntering and not giving any indication of which gender they actually were. They could be either, men appearing as women and women taking on the rough exterior of men. If you tried picking up a nice girl there, you’d only end up with a floozy man masquerading as being a woman. Gender didn’t really matter here, in the end, you got what you were after anyway, sex. 

“Aren’t those places banned? You know, as perverted and illegal?” 

“Ha, what’s illegal, would you ban me? Just look at you, a kissing fairy just as I am but are you going to make us obey some stupid laws?” 

I looked at him wide-eyed, how dare he call me a fairy!? 

“You can have many laws in the books," he continued, "but they mean nothing. Just imagine how many countless laws we broke just by kissing and feeling each other up, and I might add, also cumming, honey. Now isn’t that against the law?” 

He pointed at my crotch and the splotch of wetness standing out in my pants. 

I immediately looked about to see if anyone saw me, before dropping back down on the bench and covering my crotch with my hands. But he stood before me with a similar wetness at his own crotch and wasn’t ashamed. 

“Come to the Village, you’ll see many guys disappearing with their crotches wet.” He giggled and looked at his wristwatch. “Oh my, really have to go. Remember, honey, tomorrow at the same bench.” And he winked. 

“But what time?” 

“Oh, around one-ish or so, have to get my night’s beauty sleep. By the way, sweetie, what’s your name? I’m Ralphie.” 

I blushed. 

“Richard,” I quietly answered. 

“Richard, a lovely name. Hey, that’s Dick, isn’t it?” his eyes beamed brightly. “A very lovely name, yes indeed, Dick or Dickie, that’s what I’ll call you from now on. Dickie.” 

He leaned down and tried to kiss my mouth, but I turned and his lips brushed the side of my cheek. 

“Well, okay,” he shrugged, “Have it your way, but we’ll do better tomorrow. Toodooloo.” 

He disappeared down the paths taking him out of the park. I sat there and patiently waited as my stiff hard crotch very slowly dried. In the bushes, I saw a face of a man appear. I leaped up, holding my hand over my crotch and left the park. 


Chapter 3 

By 4 P.M. I was home, lying to my mother. I told her I had once again crawled through various work sites and offices, coming up with just-filled-out applications and go-nowhere job interviews. I had tried it some months ago, to find a job, but quickly became disillusioned. Things were very rough that year and unemployment was very high but being unemployed is counted as someone who actually once had a job to begin with and not someone like me, out of high school a year or two, and still aimlessly drifting along. Hopes for me were indeed rather slim. 

I went to my room and lay on the bed, looking out at the tenement buildings around us. It wasn’t an attractive sight, but I stared anyway. Mom’s bedroom faced the front, giving her a better view of people and traffic, while mine had no cars or trucks, but once in a while someone did traipse by some window or other, giving me a secret view of them as they undressed. I looked forward to this almost every day. It was a woman, probably in her 30’s, most likely a schoolteacher. I’d seen her hurrying down the street carrying books as she bustled along. I don’t know why she felt no one would be looking into her window, because she left an open line of sight into her room with not a sheet or a curtain hiding her from view. That was what I was doing, looking and watching. 

Almost at 4:30 P.M. she would appear, tired and looking exhausted, set her books down and undo her hair, which she had kept tied in a bun at the back of her head. Looking at her, my penis started growing, but then I remembered Ralphie from the park. I frowned, my cock lurching as if in frustration. The woman left the room, as I knew she would, then returned and started to undress. I stroked my limp cock and thought about kissing Ralphie. I closed my eyes. Boy had I grown hard! He certainly knew how to kiss me, that’s for sure, can’t wait to see and kiss him again. A few rubbing strokes and I clenched my teeth and jaw, erupting in another ejaculation. I could feel it spitting out on my belly and gut. 

I opened my eyes. The woman had removed her blouse and stood in her bra as she began to fiddle with her skirt, slowly undoing a side zipper and sliding it down. 

I frowned, standing up and not caring if she saw me or not. I went to the window and stared at her from across the yard, dropping the Venetian blind, unconcerned if it made a loud racket in coming down. I saw her looking in surprise at me. The Venetian blind crashed down. 

I went to the bathroom, rubbed myself, thinking about Ralphie… Why hadn’t I kissed him earlier? How many weeks did I spend pretending I didn’t care when actually I did? 

 

Chapter 4 

When I first met Ralphie, he had been working at various Greenwich Village gay bars, but at that time, Studley’s was the tops. This was in the middle 70’s, when ‘Gay Rights’ was still an unheard of fantasy. To be gay in Greenwich Village was the norm. I had been to Washington Square Park many times, looking at the weird people who thronged the area, the Beatniks, the hippies, the outcasts who all fit in there, but I seldom strayed off of the well-known paths and twisted streets to find what was really there, gay Greenwich Village. I was headed for it now. 

The streets greeted me openly, yet I still felt odd, my wide trousers caused many to turn back and give a questioning look as they strode past. I knew right away I wasn’t dressed for the Village streets, where a male who hustled was clad in slim tight pants and a T-shirt, and not in inappropriately wide dress pants such as I was wearing. In fact, I thought of myself in a wide skirt or dress as I swished and walked along. 

Along Christopher Street I suddenly reddened and covered my face; there was Studley’s Bar, a multicolored gay banner over the window, a certain sign that it was gay-owned or gay-operated. An elderly man in a business suit came out of Studley’s Bar, looking very slim and elegant. He lit a cigarette and walked on, as I did, too, sauntering after him, as he paused and looked at a few store windows, causally taking his time. I was nervous but approached him. 

“Is this the way,” I asked, “to get to the subway, streets are very twisted down here.” 

He puffed his cigarette. 

“Yes, it is, young man,” he said, looking me up and down, and getting out of the way of a woman walking past. “Twisted indeed.” He looked at me as if wondering, then said, “On the next block make a right and the subways right there. You can’t miss it.” 

I nodded and said, “Thanks,” and turned to walk on. 

“You’re not from around here?” 

“Brooklyn.” I lied, stepped aside as another man walked past us. “Took the subway here, but I forgot where it was.” 

“Oh, tough Brooklyn, is that where they still wear Zoot suits?” He smirked, glancing down at my pants. “I was there one time and I think it was one time too many.” 

I looked at him as we both moved aside. The busy street seemed to be filled with people. 

“Zoot suits, what is that?” 

“Suits like you’re wearing,” and he pointed at my very wide pants, almost sneering at them. “Those came about in the Jazz Age in the 1930’s. Don’t see much of that anymore. Zoot suits were very fashionable at one time, big with the African-American crowd. I suppose being from Brooklyn, it’s understandable that you’d still be wearing it.” 

Oddly, I felt as if he was sneering at me. I only wore it because Dad had it in his closet when he died. Mom kept all his clothes as if they were mementos. I saw the suit one day and thought it looked very neat and cool. I never knew there’d be such a history with it. 

“It isn’t so bad,” I said, “you get used to it, after a while.” 

“Yes, I suppose you boys from Brooklyn have your way of dressing, as we have ours.” 

We stood on the street before a building as people walked up and down past us. 

“What way do you have?” I asked.

 He smiled and licked his lips. 

“It’s hard to explain, honey, but why wear anything? Get undressed, that’s my motto. But I don’t want to take your time, you have a subway to catch. Don’t want to delay you.” 

 I shrugged. 

“There’s always another one coming by. What’s a little time?” 

We looked at each other, both of us licking our lips. 

“By the way, young man, I live right here,” he said and nodded quietly, glancing at a building on our left. “You’re welcome to come up and we can resume our little conversation, undisturbed.” Again he moved aside for a walker, male or female, it was hard to tell. 

I looked at him. 

What was I doing? Am I crazy, a sick pervert, going to a stranger’s apartment? 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Not at all, honey, not at all.” His smile was wide and he led me into the building, away from the people walking on the street. “By the way, young man, what is your name?”

I smiled. 

“Dick,” I answered, “but my close friends call me Dickey.” 

“Ooh, I like that. You can call me Hard, or Mr. Hardy, which ever you prefer.” 

We smiled at each other, him winking at me. “Okay Hard, or Mr. Hardy,” I said, winking back at him. “You know, I saw many bars and clubs on this street,” I said, as we climbed the stairs. “People start partying early, that’s for sure.” 

On the first floor he turned and smiled at me. 

“Some drink all the time, others don’t. I like to imbibe, it sets your spirits free for a little street action.” He winked as we continued up another flight of stairs. 

“That sure was a busy street,’ I said, “with lots of people. I wonder where they are going?” 

“Oh, I know, busy, busy, busy, but Christopher Street is always like that. Young men looking for older men, while older men are desperately seeking out sweet younger ones.” He shrugged. “You pay your money, honey, and you always have your choice.” And again he winked as we stood outside a doorway on the third floor and was about to turn the lock. 

“Have you been looking long, honey?" he said. "I like to please young men if they know how to please me. Do you know how?” 

I’d known what he was talking about ever since I’d seen him step out of Studley’s Bar, but the nearness of having my longings and desires fulfilled, of actually seeing what one man does to another, panicked me and I felt very frightened. I shook my head. 

“No,” I said. “Sorry, no…” and I stepped back, pounded down three flights of stairs, and darted out into the busy street. 


Chapter 5 

I hurried west on Christopher, turned uptown on Hudson Street, and made my way to 14th Street, all the while passing other walkers and skirting around them as I hurried away along the street. 

Am I a pervert or what, entering some building and climbing the stairs? I shook my head. Obviously, I am and expecting to be kissed just as Ralphie had kissed me. Boy, I’m nothing but a sick pervert. But, if I was a queer then what led me to Christopher Street and pretending, I wasn’t, just casually walking along? Casual, my ass, I was after some queer just as he was after me. Damn, what a pathetic loser! Queer loser is right! 

After about a half hour of sauntering down along 14th Street, I turned and started walking downtown along Avenue A. It was early evening when I passed the men’s room in Tompkins Square Park; I winced from the memory… 

A man stood next to me at the urinals as I was about to pee and just inserted his hand down the front of my jeans, gripping my hard penis, and proceeding to jerk me off. I knew that two other men were in the restroom, but he did it as if it was the most natural thing to do, regardless that there were other men watching what he was doing to me. Or where they there for that reason and didn’t he care?

Almost instantly I felt it, a gripping of my balls and crotch, an incredible tingling that exploded in a splatter of semen gushing out into the urinal. 

I opened my eyes, the man still held on to my penis, faintly smiling, as the other two men also beamed at me. I panicked, gripped my sticky wet cock, shoved it into my pants, and fled from that restroom. 

I shook my head, looked away from the park and walked on, making it to home on Christie Street. My eyes widened. Christie Street and Christopher Streets, names of two blocks where queers and fruits could be found. 

I frowned, shaking my head. 

Fruits my ass; I’m not a freaking fruit! But you are a queer, aren’t you? 

I shrugged, opened my front door and saw my mom sitting by the television, watching a romance story, as she usually did. Any other dramas or crime stories Mom wouldn’t watch, but two love birds and she’d watch it endlessly. Mom had a thing for television romances, I didn’t. 

I shut the door, mom looked up at me and waved an arm; I knew that the romance drama had reached a vital point, of whether the hero kissed the heroine or not. 

A load of crap, I knew, but smiled at mom’s waving shadow and went to my room. 

First thing was to get rid of that ridiculous Zoot suit and put on my usual jeans. I looked in my closet. Very cool, I had a pair of white jeans that fit me nicely but which I seldom wore as the whiteness was so fickle in catching every shred of dirt. I wore them a few times and came back feeling filthy, which I probably was. White jeans with a white denim jacket and I felt myself growing hard. Damn, I was stiff! With a light blue t-shirt and I’d be perfect for tomorrow. Even more kissing…? 

I frowned. I was as excited as some girl out on her first date, excited and hot, slowly discovering what a date really means and usually finding her virginal blood shed and spilled much too quickly. I shook my head. Stupid high school sex talk… 

Aw, hell, I’m not a girl, the hell with their virginity. All I want to do is to spill some spunk on Ralphie as he will probably spill his on me. Spunk, that eternal virginal smelling seed that only men can spill with a lush aroma all around them…I love it! 

I tottered, lost in my thoughts as I heard mom moving through the house. I straightened my jeans and went to the kitchen to see what she made. There was a covered bowl with my favorite food, fried chicken. I grabbed a leg and began munching on it. 

“Wait a minute,” said Mom, “I have mashed potatoes with peas just warming up.” 

Through my chewing, I said, “Bring them on,” and finished one chicken leg and started on a wing, ignoring Mom’s admonition. But Mom was like me, a careless eater, as she was a careless feeder. We learned to take our food on the run and had to look out for ourselves. I liked that mode of behavior, it proved we were independent. 

Mom set out some mashed potatoes with peas and said I can have a chicken breast, but from what I had eaten, the peas and mashed potatoes, I was already becoming full, though I continued nibbling on the remains of the chicken wing. It was a great meal. I was content. 

“Think I’ll go to bed, I’m tired,” I said, rinsing my hands and face. 

Mom shrugged and cleared the plates, going back to her romantic television. Must be another gooey program, I grinned, wiped myself, undressed, getting into my bed. Under the sheets, safe in my room, I instantly gripped my penis, thinking and imagining it was Ralphie holding me. 

Wonder what would he do tomorrow, when we met by the river? Obviously and naturally, we’d exchange kisses and hold each other’s hands, but then what? It would be so nice to walk to his apartment, to cuddle up to him as he held me. 

I jerked off, letting the semen spill into a tissue and rolled over, quickly falling asleep. 


Chapter 6 

I awoke feeling very sore and tired. I had jerked off too many times in the darkness, waking up to do so around 11 P.M., 2 A.M. and 4 A.M., finally sleeping until after 8 A.M. when I was awakened by the noises of the garbage collectors. 

I got out of bed, rubbed my stiff, hard crotch and staggered to the bathroom. 

Mom was out, it being a Saturday she had to work as a nurse’s assistant, taking care of the elderly in a few sites around the neighborhood—either those who lived with family or were kept in various homes in the area. Mom’s been doing that for a few years and would only say when she got home, “Hey, it’s a job, I’m lucky to have it.” I didn’t say a thing.

I was able to relieve myself; a gush of quickly expelling urine cascaded out of my penis, dribbling into the bowl and easing itself quietly to lie there. I flushed the wastewater and left the room. 

It was still too early to go after Ralphie in the East River Park, way too early. I sat awhile admiring the white jeans and white jacket I’d be wearing; the light blue t-shirt added a hint of playing cheerfulness about me. I gripped my cock and slowly began to masturbate. No, I said to myself, we’ll do it together, him doing me and me doing him. 

I walked through the house and turned-on Mom’s television. It was Mom’s, who else’s? I flicked through a few kiddie shows, quickly bored by the dumb, asinine programming and clicked it off. I rubbed myself a few times but went into the bathroom and ran the hot water. 

That would be perfect, take a nice warm bath and get ready to go out to the river and meet Ralphie. My darling Ralphie, I thought and winced. 

Looking about at the last moment, I opened Mom’s lavender bubbly shampoo and poured into the bathwater. It immediately blew up into varied shining bubbles and puffed out of the water. I looked at mom’s other fragrances and picked up small slim bottle of Chantilly Lace I’d seen Mom pour into her bathwater before she bathed; I shrugged and did the same. A sweet odor of feminine elegance rose up. I stepped into the bubbly perfumed water, resting a while then sank into fragrant water over my head. It was beautiful; the sweet water about me, its aroma saturating me with a fine scent that now took over and possessed my entire body. Its fragrant elegance was absolutely perfect! Oh, if only I could only wear feminine perfume every single day. 

I let the bubbly water lavish me as I lay with my stiff dick pointed upwards, then ran the water out of the tub, playing with bubbles that remained. 

I got out and dried off, breathing in the perfume. It was everywhere, its sweet nectar reaching deep into my senses and spirit. I knew that I had used too much, but I didn’t care. I left the bathroom, still smelling myself. 

Perhaps if I rinsed myself a second time... I thought but knew I had used too much. The bright crisp Chantilly Lace seemed to have settled into me. I shrugged and began to get dressed, feeling very giddy as I was doing it, too. 

Masculine femininity, I thought, what a desirable mood to be in. Simply exquisite… 

I smiled to myself in the mirror, played around with some of mom’s makeup and dared to lather a streak of eye shadow about my eyes, smiling to myself as I did so. The hint of shadow made my eyes appear much bolder, vivid and emphasized. 

Perfect, I thought, and proceeded to get dressed. I frowned, too bad Mom never wore real woman’s undies, hers were strictly utilitarian, designed for rudimentary wearing and not for fickle playing as if you were a girl. That’s what I was, wasn’t I, a girl? Well, a temporary girl...

I smiled and slid on my blue T-shirt; it fit perfectly, a scant feeling of tightness, but I’m sure I would get used to it. My white pants crawled up snugly, squeezing my hard rigid cock that stood out aligned on my left as if certain that a determined feeler would be groping and feeling me very soon. I slipped on my white jacket and looked at myself in the mirror. 

Ooh boy, did I want to jerk off and cum! 

I squeezed my crotch and went out to the street, walking firmly, certain that my buttocks were rounded out as I flitted to the East River Park to meet Ralphie, my dreamboat. 

I blushed, giggled to myself and walked into the park. 


Chapter 7 

One o’clock came and went, and still no Ralphie. Since it was a Saturday more and more people crowded around the playgrounds, the sporting fields or just walking along the river’s edge. I sat there eagerly, nervously, chewing my lips and looking about for him.

I asked a woman jogging by, “Do you know what time it is?” She answered, “Fifteen after two,” and continued jogging along, but still no Ralphie. 

I winced from the feelings of abandonment. All he was after was a kiss, which he received so easily. A kiss and a grope, that’s all he was after. I supposed there are men who admit to doing just that, a kiss, a feel and they disappear. I was the loser on my end; he was the winner on his side. Look at us now, one up one down, and the show must go on… 

I frowned, almost in tears, when I felt a breeze, a waft, a kind of wind blowing on me from the path. I looked up. It was Ralphie! Instantly, I ejaculated. Shutting my eyes from the tightening of my body, almost a fury, yet a serene bliss came over me. I opened my eyes and saw my saving angel standing before me. I was no longer alone, worried and lost; he had come for me. Before, as I waited and waited and looking about, I had occasionally gripped my hard cock, which pushed out so boldly in my white jeans. A stroke, a clasp, and I let go. I ached to be touched, caressed, held, but in the end, as I always did, I held onto myself. In this way I had masturbated myself without knowing it to unconscious fulfillment and utter bliss. The ejaculation was beautiful! 

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” said Ralphie as he dropped to the bench and put his arm about my shoulders. “I overslept, forgive me.” 

I shrugged, feeling the sensation of my scum easing on my thigh. 

“That’s alright, I was just sitting here, biding my time.” 

I set my leg down and saw the big splotch that had formed at the thigh. 

“Oh no!” I said, turning red and looking about. I removed my white denim coat and draped it over my lap. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie, you can tell me, we’re friends, aren’t we?” 

And he winked at me. If a couple hadn’t sauntered by our bench at that moment, he would have kissed me, and I would have kissed him right back. The couple walked on. 

“I spilled it all over me,” I muttered, and blushed. “Now I’m all wet.” 

 He narrowed his eyes. 

“Spilled what, sweetie, I don’t understand?” 

I looked at him. 

“My scum, it shot out as soon I saw you,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have to be a queer pervert.” 

“No, baby, c’mere,” and he tightened his hold on me and kissed the side of my cheek, tugging at my jacket of my lap. “You were just excited and happy, as I was, too.” He looked at me and licked his lips. “Now let daddy see, he’ll lick it away, c’mon…” 

I sighed, staring at him, glancing up and down the path; no one was coming. I lifted my jacket. Where my scum had poured out on my crotch, a damp spot stood out visibly. Ralphie looked and muttered, “Lovely, very lovely,” his hand going for my crotch as my stiffness increased and grew. “Oh, let’s go to my apartment, honey, I want you! I want to suck you so much, let’s go. And I’m sure you want to suck me too.” He gave me a kiss and I kissed him back. 

Standing up, I spotted a face looking at us. 

“Oh Jesus, that man’s been looking at us,” I said and pointed a finger at him. It was the same face I had seen a few days ago, a nervous face staring at us. 

Ralphie looked and chuckled. 

“That old pussy? He’s too old to do anything just look and look. You have never seen him before?” he asked. “He’s an obvious old fairy. Pay him no mind.” I stared back at the man. “He’s harmless; he’s old and tired. Unless you like to show off to old men who can’t even jerk off?” Ralphie shrugged and winked at me. “It takes all kinds to make the world go round, doesn’t it?” 

I nodded and felt his arm on my shoulder. I looked back at the old man and wondered, So he was looking at me all the time, did he see how hard I was? 

“Hmm, what’s that smell, it’s been around you since I first got here?” 

I looked at him, very embarrassed. 

“Chantilly Lace,” I whispered. “Put it on just for you, had it in my bath.” 

“You did? Sweetie, you’re amazing!” 

 We walked a little faster and I loosely carried my jacket before my damp crotch. I couldn’t wait to get into his bed. 


Chapter 8 

Ralphie lived on 10th Street between Avenue A and Avenue B, overlooking Tompkins Square Park. I liked it right away. The tall ceiling windows added an air of elegance. They overlooked the park, which I wasn’t used to seeing from my small tenement. 

Ralphie was tired. He kept yawning and repeating that he had “too much to drink last night.” 

I shrugged, “It happens…” as if I knew what that felt like. 

Adult drunkenness, that still was beyond me, even though I was nineteen and knew that people my age drank. I was still a few years from the legal age of twenty-one. Young men of eighteen were dying in Vietnam, but that meant nothing, as long as they couldn’t get drunk. Jesus! 

Ralphie poured himself some tomato juice, added pepper, and drank the entire glass. 

 “Ah, better,” he said. “Take a seat and remove those stained pants, you’ll look better when you do.” 

He winked as I started to slip my shoes and socks off, unbuckling and then pulling my pants down. 

I felt no oddness or strangeness, I was just removing my pants. The scum stain very evident on my lap. I stood in my underwear before him. 

“Drape them on a chair before the window, the sunlight will dry them.” He yawned again. “That’s right, leave them there. Now come here, baby, get those clothes off so I can have a look at you.” 

I did as I was told, pulling off my shirt and lowering my underwear, revealing my stiff and hearty erection. 

He also undressed and I gaped at him. I’d never seen a man fully naked before. I’d thought of it many times, but never had the good fortune to actually see a man fully nude. The sight was scary, seeing his half-stiff erection on his chubby body, but I boldly marched to him. We lay down on his bed together. 

We kissed and again I drifted into nothingness, I felt his tongue and saliva down my cheek as I sucked him back, my lips all around his face. But then I heard it, a faint chaotic breathing followed by a snore…

He had fallen asleep. I frowned, looking at him, not knowing what to do. My penis was hard and uselessly stiff, whereas his had receded into a faint bulking nothingness that just lay there on his torso.

My arm dropped away from him, but I lay there with the other arm trapped beneath him. I tried to inch my arm away, but he snored again and rolled on his side. 

Great, my arm was freed. I lay still, listening to his now faint breathing. Should I fall asleep too and do what lovers always do, sleep together? But sleeping together doesn’t prove you’re in love with each other, it’s what you do together when you’re awake, that will show you the closeness that two people share. Is Ralphie close to me or am I close to Ralphie? We kissed, shared ourselves with the other, now there he was, sleeping beside me. That must be love, no? I didn’t really know; I had never been through it before. 

I looked at his bulky torso. Doesn’t look very appetizing now, does it? Where did I get the idea that this could be really sex? Manly sex, feminine manliness, masculine femininity, it was all a shambles in my brain. I had no idea what I needed or wanted. 

I carefully got out of bed and began to dress. No point in my remaining while he took his beauty sleep, was there? 

I grinned and quietly slipped on my pants. The splotch had dried somewhat, the wide droplet shape remaining, but not looking so intense and only if you probed would you still you find traces of a spill. I dressed, leaving my socks and shoes off, and stepped into the kitchen where the front door was. 

I looked back at the room where he slept, then quietly opened the refrigerator. Cold cuts and bottles of wine stared up at me. My mouth immediately watered. I picked up a few pieces of meat and ate them. Delicious! Hope he doesn’t mind that I had eaten some. Oh, so what! I chewed on some more cold cuts and then went to the door, looking at the locks. One was a spring lock and I opened the door and let it go. The lock snapped shut behind me. I went downstairs. 


Chapter 9 

On the street, I walked through Tompkins Square Park, taking my time in getting anywhere. It was a Saturday and everyone was just lazing along, drifting through their day. 

Maybe I should go home and have something more to eat—I remembered my mom’s fried chicken, my mouth again watering—but she wouldn’t be back from work till very late, about 10 P.M. or so. I shrugged and headed to the East River Park. 

A little wind had picked up, causing waves in the river, but the promenade was high enough. One could feel safe and look down on the water. 

I walked, taking my time. On about Houston Street I looked along some paths where Ralphie had sat and kissed me. I dreamily fell to the bench, imagining he was sitting and groping me again, that I was dropping down atop him as he lavished me with his caresses. I opened my eyes…

In the distance stood a figure, looking right at me. Strange, he looked familiar. Wait a minute, that was the old man who stared at me and Ralphie kissing; it was him! He had seen us, but kept himself well hidden, that is until now. I shook my head and chuckled. What a old gay homo pervert, that’s for sure. 

The man stood quietly as if he was thinking of something. I can imagine what, I thought, smirking to myself and spreading my legs, my penis once again firm and very rigid. I gave myself a good solid squeeze, turning around to see if anyone else was looking, but really drawing his attention to me. I didn’t let go of my crotch, but slowly moved my hand along the sides of my penis. And as if being emboldened, the man began walking in my direction. Oh no, he’s coming closer, only a few steps away. Oh yes… 

“Naughty, naughty,” the man said as he approached. “Such a young and naughty boy, tsk, tsk,” he said. He reddened and blushed but sat down beside me. 

There was something feminine about the man, the way he lisped and carried himself, taking little steps as if he was wearing high heels. 

I did nothing, just looked at him, slowly squeezing and tweaking my stiff penis. He leaned over my lap, his face just few inches above my crotch. He licked his lips as he slowly swayed his head. 

“I’ll do anything to kiss you, Missy. Please just let me kiss you. You don’t mind if I call you that, missy?” he gushed. “Such a sweet young missy.” 

That was some surprise; I had never been called a miss but a missy? I didn’t mind it at all. 

 I slowly shook my head. 

“I don’t mind at all; I feel like such a missy anyway.” I blushed. “But a kiss?” I muttered, “You only want a kiss?” 

He avidly nodded. 

“Oh yes, Missy, you don’t have to do anything but lay there as I kiss you,” and he reddened too, “a kiss is all I want, a sweet kiss.” 

His mouth was slightly ajar as if waiting for me to do just that. He blushed. “But if you want you can kiss me back, but I won’t make you.” 

I let go of my stiff dick. 

“Just a kiss," I pondered, "don’t you want to do anything else to me?” 

He thought a few moments, shyly looking at me. “Come to my house, Missy, and cuddle with me. I’ll hold you, you hold me. That’s all I want. You don’t even have to take your clothes off for that, just hold me and let me kiss you and I’ll do the same to you. It will be beautiful!” 

He sat staring at me, and my cock became even harder than it was before. And I noticed a slight fear, a pain swept through him as a thought appeared that I would reject him. But I wouldn't...

“Hmm, very lovely,” he breathed out, taking a whiff of the air about him. “Is that you?” 

 I blushed, realizing what he was scenting. I nodded my head. 

“Chantilly Lace, just a few drops into my bath water. Maybe I put on too much?” I said, looking at him. 

“No, no, it’s ideal. I thought I smelled it when I approached but I wasn’t really sure.” He also blushed. “You’re an ideal young missy, so sweet, too.” 

I smirked and shook my head. "You keep calling me in fag homo terms as if I am one..."

"Aren't you?"  

He looked at me and suddenly I felt very scared and frightened. Because how did this old geezer know what I was? What triggered the knowledge? Was it recognition? Did he see me in him? Strangely, I felt calm and at peace. My constant street wanderings led to this, an old man wanting to hold and kiss me. How would I respond and what was I going to do?

“Sounds very lovely,” I softly said, “Can’t wait till our two lips meet as one, absolutely very lovely.”  

“You mean that? Oh Missy, you mean it!" he took and squeezed my hand." You’re not just saying that you really, really mean it! Do you?” 

I nodded, humored by his childish way of speaking. 

“Sure, kissing might be very nice. Make believe that I'm a girl," I giggled. "Sounds so lovely indeed.” 

He leaped up. “Oh Missy, Missy, I’m so happy!” 

I also stood up. 

“Is your place near here?” 

“Not far at all, not far at all.” 

We walked in a hurry as if someone was pursuing us and quickly made it to his apartment on 5th Street and Avenue B in no time. We breathed out as the front door shut behind us. He took my hand...

 

Chapter 10 

Mr. James was an elderly man, retired from his position as a schoolteacher. He spent his days walking the streets or sitting on park benches and looking at people, one of his favorite sites being the East River Park. He was pleasant and good-natured, but he had been alone so much that he had vague, undirected feelings of resentment. But he steeled himself and continued his endless days of meaningless walks and peering at people. 

His most favorite was seeing young lovers together in a fit of abandon, feeling each other up, mercilessly, heedlessly, wantonly, until they reached their aims and goals—mutual orgasms—and then scuttled from the crazed park bench afraid that they might have been seen. 

Mr. James always imagined he was looking at sweet young men, kissing, hugging and feeling each other up. The young women in their pretty clothes he imagined to be young and perfect transvestites. 

And seeing me and Ralphie kissing was his ideal goal. We possessed him and he sought us everywhere he went in hopes he could spy on us again. 

 And when the lovers and kissers left, he stepped from the shadows, still limp, and watched them fade back into the Lower East Side streets. 

He went back home, a bit sad but very content, until the next time when he’d spy on someone and reach his meaningless satisfaction, imagining they were men. That was his quest and goal. 

We reached Mr. James’s house, a first floor apartment with bars on the eternally unopened windows protecting him from thieves and other malcontents. The rest of the rooms were filled with books and albums which were very dear to him. 

“These are my students,” he said, after showing me his tiny rooms and other knick-knacks about the house, “I hold them very dearly.” 

“They must love you, too?” I sighed, sipping from some tea he had given me. I was getting impatient. When is the kissing and making out supposed to start? 

I sat on the couch next to him and eased myself closer, gazing at a picture of a sweet young man. 

“Philip here kissed very well, he knew how to let it go and just enjoy…” 

He turned the page, looking at another student he thought was a bit lackadaisical. 

“Now Matthew…” and he shook his head, “I had some difficulties with Matthew…but he came around.” 

I’d had enough. 

“Show me,” I said, “please show me,” my arms were open to him but he looked at me nervously. 

“Hmm, a very impatient young man, aren’t you?” 

I got mad. 

“If you’re going to kiss me then kiss me or else I’m out of here.”

I folded my arms over my chest in frustration. Almost instantly he set the album down and leaned to my side, kissing and holding me. I melted, my arms going around him. His taste was like a taste I’d had before, but now I knew that each is slightly different, slightly more appetizing and appealing. Ralphie’s kisses were nothing compared to his, moist and tender and very eager to please. I knew I was melting, but unlike the forgetfulness with Ralphie, I felt also at peace, with full acceptance and serenity that I wouldn’t care what he did to me. 

“Hmm, nice,” he said. “Divinely nice, yes, indeed,” and again his lips went to mine, and we kissed, holding ourselves mouth to mouth, body to body, being to being. 

A few hours later, after some soup, much kissing and cuddling, giggling, whispering, and sharing sweet words I sadly said, “I have to go, it’s almost 9 P.M. and I have to get home.” 

“Oh, yes, yes. My, how the time does fly when you’re enjoying yourself, doesn’t it?” 

I nodded. 

“Sure does, goes by very fast, too. You don’t even know where it went.” 

He looked at me and once again we fell against each other, kissing so passionately I didn’t think we’d ever stop. But he broke from me. 

“Let’s not forget ourselves, we have much time before us, let’s savor this while we can, alright?” 

I shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I looked at him. “How come you don’t want to do anything else, just kissing and cuddling? There’s more to life than just that.” 

He looked sadly at me. 

“I suppose you’re dissatisfied. Haven’t I pleased you?”

I shook my head. 

“Oh no, I’m very pleased and happy, too. I feel like such a sissy, I’ve never felt like this before, but these things seem to lead to something bigger and greater,” I hesitated, “you know, like fucking.” There I said it! “Like filthy fucking, which you don’t care to do, now why is that?” 

He was silent, having fallen to a seat and rubbing his head. I felt stupid for saying what I did. He looked at me. 

“You want to know why? All right, I’ll tell you. I’m old and tired, haven’t had an erection in over twenty years. Can’t get it up even if I masturbate like a lunatic, my penis just lies there, like a dead and worthless tadpole, which it is.” 

He looked at a watch ticking on a table and yawned. 

“I suppose it’s time for you to leave,” he said, going to open the door and holding it ajar. I got up. 

“Can I come back, please?” 

He shrugged. 

“It’s up to you..."  

I nodded. 

The door was opened but he fell into my arms and gushed, "Oh missy, missy..."

We kissed a final time, and I took my jacket and left. The door shut behind me. 


Chapter 11 

At home Mom had just arrived from work and was making something to eat. 

“Not hungry, Mom,” I said, as she looked at me and shrugged. I knew my relationship with Mom was slowly falling apart and I guess she didn’t care anyway. It had to come to an end sooner or later. 

Earlier, Mr. James had made us chicken noodle soup with peanut butter sandwiches and even though I didn’t feel right about eating it with him his setting out the plates and carefully ladling out the soap made me realize how prim and proper he could be. Like an old Jewish mother, I thought, but I smiled, shrugged and very easily eased into his fussiness, as we began to chat, slurping our soap and nibbling on our sandwiches. 

Strange that Mr. James is so alone, I thought, I actually began to feel sorry for him. He wasn’t a bad old man. He just wanted someone willing to kiss him, which, of course, I did, and I liked it, too. How many hours did I spend with him? Quite a few. 

I nodded my head. I’d go back to him, that’s for certain. 

I heard mom turn on her television and go through various channels. It being a Saturday night not that many romances could be found, just moronic slapstick comedies, which she quickly clicked away, going on to another station. 

I took my pants off and looked at my hard dick pushing in my underwear. Good that Mr. James didn’t mind me sitting and lazing with my pants off since I had cum three times in kissing him. Still, even now the shorts were damp from my scum stains. 

I covered myself and thought how my past few days went. Making out with Ralphie, almost going to Hard or Mr. Hardy’s house in the Village, meeting up and kissing old Mr. James…

I was happy. I yawned, clutched my dick and drifted off to sleep. 


Chapter 12 

Next morning, I awoke determined to see Ralphie. Of course, it was a mistake to leave his apartment when he slept, I should not have done so. I should have waited until he at least awoke, no matter how briefly, to tell him I had to go. What the hell, I’d go and apologize, that would set things right with him.

 I showered and glanced at Mom’s perfume bottles. Should I or shouldn’t I? Shalimar read one. Mom hardly ever used it and I wondered why. But it may be because Dad liked it very much. I lifted the bottle sealer and had a whiff. Oh my God, so lovely! I held a finger to it and tipped the bottle, raising it to my ear lobes, one at a time then dipped it to my crotch and rubbed it in. Oh boy, too much. Damn, too much…

I exited the bathroom and went to get dressed. Definitely too much, I knew, but I figured it would fade away once I was outside and walking. I finished getting dressed, same white pants but a light purple T-shirt I hardly ever wore. It looked totally faggotty at first, but now it looked ideal. 

I nibbled on some toast with jam and went outside. 

The Lower East Side streets were still deserted in the early Sunday morning as I walked along to Ralphie’s building, passing a few people on their way to church. It was still too early to call on Ralphie. He’d be sleeping and would be sore as hell if I awakened him. 

I walked to the west side, passing empty streets and avenues until I came to Washington Square Park, where I took a seat and rested. I watched a few people going by, but they seemed to have a destination rather just lazy sitting as I was doing. Washington Square Park is much like the rest of the morning city, sleeping late and having a hard time in getting up. 

Along one of the walkways I saw a man, sauntering slowly and looking about, coming nearer to where I was sitting. I spread my legs, making sure my erection was visible in my white pants. He spotted me and held on to something in his hand as he confidently approached. 

He was a tall, skinny man, dressed in a suit and tie looking like he was dressed for a boardroom meeting rather than a Sunday morning stroll around the park. 

“Howdy, young man,” he said and nodded. “You look like you’re looking. Are you?” 

His eyes shone with an eagerness for something, but I didn’t know what. 

I smirked. 

“Looking, looking for what?” 

He stared at me and stood above me rocking on his legs. 

“Looking for your Savior, sweet Jesus,” he said, and held out a stack of papers. He handed one to me. Accept Jesus now before it’s too late, one read, and I frowned. 

“No thanks,” I said, trying to give him back his paper. 

“Oh, but you must, your mortal soul is in danger. Jesus will save you,” he nodded his head and tried give me another paper. It listed all the bad times coming to the Earth. I wouldn’t take it; he set it on my lap. “Save yourself from homosexuality, it’s your last chance! Flee from the heartless sodomy! You’re not in Greenwich Village, you’re in the pit of hell!” 

I jumped up. 

“Go screw yourself!” I said, and threw the religious paper back at him, walking west out of the park. 

What an asshole! I thought, shaking my head. A total asshole! 

I was on 6th Avenue, making my way up Christopher Street. All the stores and bars along the street were locked and closed, it being a Sunday morning. I looked at Studley’s Bar, then I saw a sign Closed Sundays. 

Damn, I realized, that puts a damper on things, doesn’t it? He’s probably at home sleeping his beauty sleep while I am out on the streets pretending not to be a fool, which I am, in any case. Shit! 

A few more steps and I was right before Hard or Mr. Hardy’s house, whom I ran away from, afraid and frightened. 

Why did I always think I could go back and set things right? There it is again, being a total fool. No way would he take me back, I thought, shaking my head. 

Then I saw him, coming out of his building with a man coming after him. The man was shirtless but had a leather vest on and leather pants that he wore so tightly. A small goatee stood out from his bald head as he trod after Hard or Mr. Hardy. I tried not to be seen, but on the quiet empty street it was inevitable that I’d be spotted. 

“Hey, I know this sissy,” said Hard or Mr. Hardy, “He’s a no-good evil prick!” 

“Oh, he is, is he?” said the leather shirtless man. “Does the little cunt want to take it up his ass? Come to me, you pussy!” He began to unzip, reaching in his pants for his cock. 

But I had turned and raced down the street, leaving the Village and eventually returning to the Lower East Side. 

“What a bunch of sick faggot dudes!” I shook my head and walked on. 

I’d go see Ralphie and apologize for my foolishness. That’s what I’d do, set things right again. 

I walked firmly in my white pants and faggotty T-shirt, knowing I was on the right track. On Avenue A and 10th Street I paused to look at his building, standing on the other side of the street. It was after 11 A.M. and he must be up by now. Still, he didn’t show up until after 2 P.M. like the other day when I waited and waited for him in the park.

I scowled, mumbled Shit! a few times, then said, “Fuck this!” and crossed the street and entered his building, slowly going up the stairs. At his door I paused and listened. Quiet. I tenderly knocked. 

 “Ralphie, it’s Dickie,” I quietly called, and knocked again. 

I heard hurried movement, and someone pounced to the door, flinging it open. 

“You little bastard, you spoiled my party, didn’t you? The food façade looked like a piece of shit after you ate half of it, you prick! Stole a hell of lot of cold cuts, didn’t you, you creep! How dare you? How dare you?” He fumed. I thought I would see plumes of smoke coming out of his nostrils. “You spoiled my party, you spoiled it! Now go to hell!” And he slammed the door in my face. 

Damn, what did I do? Then I remembered the food I had eaten; probably was all part of a planned banquet for someone and I nibbled some cold cuts and spoiled their appearance. Nibbled my ass, I probably ate a whole bunch, I thought, oh, screw them, the assholes! 

I stormed back into the street and Tompkins Square Park, mumbling to myself and sneering at every walker who passed me by. What was I supposed to do about his rotten food? Oh, fuck him, fuck him! 

I sat on a bench and rubbed my face…then I remembered Mr. James and all the bitter and angry sensations melted and drifted away. I felt my erection tingling and stirring. I jumped up and knew where to go, I headed to Mr. James's 5th Street apartment. That's one place where he'd smile at me. And I couldn't wait to kiss him...


Chapter 13 

I gallantly but nervously strode down the street to his building, looking at his gated up and shuttered windows. Fear of theft was very strong here...

I leaned against the doorway. Should I go in and wake him or perhaps he is up already? Oh, what the hell, it is almost 12 P.M. anyway. 

I entered his building and went to the first door. I listened…silence. From somewhere on an upper floor a child ran across the ceiling. Can’t be sleeping with that noise going on, I thought. 

I gently knocked. 

“Mr. James, it’s Richard," I lowered my voice. "Missy, Missy is here to see you…”  

I heard a sound. “Yes, who did you say?” 

I breathed out, relieved. In the lobby the front door opened, and I saw a man stepping into the building, look at me and start up the stairs. 

“Missy,” I scowled, “It’s Missy from last evening, you remember…Missy.” 

I turned to the man, who looked back at me and shook his head, continuing up the stairs. 

The locks clicked, turned, and the door opened. 

A silent Mr. James stood looking at me. He had a feminine robe about his shoulders with eye shadow casting a dark aura to his face. I longed for him. 

“Just dropped by to see how you’re doing?” I bit my lips. He took two whiffs about me. 

“You’re wearing perfume again, aren’t you?” 

I nodded. 

“Probably spilled too much," I shrugged, "people have been looking funny at me.” 

“Hmm, I can tell you why…” he said taking deep breaths. 

We gazed at each other, both of us biting our lips, then he took a step back. 

“Come in, come in…” 

He shut the door and looked at me. I winced and softly said, “I missed you.” I lowered my head. 

“I missed you too, sweetheart," he put his arm on my shoulders. "What perfume is that, the aroma is very familiar?” 

“Shalimar, but I think I poured a little too much. Too many looks from people around me, but I don’t care, I wore it just for you.” 

“Shalimar," he shut his eyes. "Heavenly," he looked at me. "I didn’t think they still made it. But what would I know, I suppose they do.”

He sniffed me again, on each side of my face. 

“Very lovely, indeed.” 

I bit my lip. 

“The rest I put on crotch, between my legs.” 

He fell on the couch. 

“Oh, Missy, what you do to me. I want you. Ever since I met you, I knew that you were the one for me, we’re ideal, we’re a perfect pair.” 

 I smiled. 

“Yes, we are,” I giggled and straddled him. “I never want to leave you.” 

We kissed and I blushed. 

“I’m here to help you get a hard-on again. I know you can do it.” 

“You think so?” 

“Uh huh.” I nodded. “I know so.” He looked at me and then he rolled atop me. 

“Oh, Missy…” I leered at him. 

“My hard stud…” I whispered. 

We kissed, our tongues licking and sucking each other. It was beautiful!


THE END 


Wednesday, February 16, 2022

Kinky/Pubes by Mykola Dementiuk

 




 ABOUT MYKOLA DEMENTIUK A Ukrainian born in West Germany, Mykola (Mick) Dementiuk grew up and survived on New York's tough Lower East Side streets, which are now a bare echo of what they once were. He is the author of Holy Communion (Lambda Awards Winner 2010/Bisexual Fiction), The Facialist (Lambda Awards Winner 2012/Gay Fiction), Vienna Dolorosa, Times Queer, and 100 Whores. His other writings in e-book are Dee Dee Day, Variety, The Spice of Life, Murder in Times Square, Times Square…in Brooklyn?, Queers of Central Park, A Sucker for the Circus, Times Square Cutie and Stallers, More Tales of Times Square Cuties, and On the Prowl. 


Kinky/Pubes 

By Mykola Dementiuk  

Chapter 1 

I first met Todd in the early 1970’s. Those years were all the same to me. Drunk on beer, I wandered the streets and always stopped for another can as I drifted along. 

I had a job delivering packages and envelopes all over the city, which, in a way, kept my drinking in check. I would have loved vodka or rum, but the fact I had to face people on my delivery route kept me relying on beer, and in those days, I sure drank a lot of it. I’d guzzle six or seven pints down my gullet and I always had room for another. 

I had made my last delivery of the workday to the Toy Center on 5th Avenue and 23rd Street. People teemed out of various buildings on their way home. I like those times. I hardly ever went home after work, content to explore. 

I stopped at a deli for a beer, probably the seventh or eight I had that day, and took a seat in Madison Square Park on 23rd Street. The park ran up 5th Avenue to 27th Street, extending to Madison Avenue on the east side. A small park but still wide enough to get lost and vanish in, which I felt was happening each time I was there, drunk on beer or the harder stuff. 

I sat there, complacently sipping my beer and looking at the people slowly walking by. The majority seemed tired from the workday. Others appeared nervous and paranoid as they noticed someone watching them. They hurried past as I shook my head and had another drink. The few people who slowly sauntered by were the usual gay guys who cruised the park, puffed on their cigarettes, and concluded that I wasn’t a likely target to take home for a blowjob/hand-job. I’d snort, chuckle to myself, and continue with my drinking and daydreaming. 

Early evening arrived quickly, the path lights already on and making the walkways brighter as a few evening people went by on their way to who knows where. 

I sighed and stretched, then finished my warming beer. In the corner of my eye, I saw a man sit on the end of my bench. 

“Whew,” I said. “Good beer.” I chucked the can into the trash can on the side and wiped my mouth. 

The man chuckled. “You like beer, eh?” He rubbed his handlebar moustache. 

I shrugged and nodded. “Beer is beer. I’m always good for one more.” I belched. “Oops, sorry…” 

The man moved nearer to me. “Sorry for what? You like beer, nothing wrong in that. I have some at beer at home, ready for the drinking when I get there,” he said, again stroking his mustache. 

Those were the years when handlebars were very popular with men. I tried to grow one, but rather than looking like a pensive John Lennon, my screwy, misaligned face always took on a mimic of Joseph Stalin, murderer of countless Russians. 

“I love a beer after a day’s work,” he continued. “Are you coming from work?” 

By then he had moved nearer to me, our two pant sides gently touching and pressing against the other. I nodded. 

“Work is work.” I shrugged, already thinking I should get another drink. 

I looked at him. He scratched his arm, but since it was pressed against mine, he actually touched my own. I did not move away. I knew what was going on. 

I yawned. 

"Sorry," I said, “But all I want to do is get in bed, relax, cuddle up with someone, and spend the night, you know?” 

A dreamy expression crossed his face. 

“Hmm, I’d love to get into bed with someone, too.” He gave his crotch a squeeze. 

I instantly felt my own hard penis rising in my pants. It had been growing hard and stiff ever since he had sat down. His movement closer only intensified my arousal. I stretched my legs, certain that he saw the stiffness prodding at my pants. 

“You live somewhere near here?” I asked. 

 He brightened. 

“Around the block, on 22nd…” 

 “Wow, close...” 

We looked at each other. Only a moment remained before we were in each other’s arms. 

“And you have some beer up there?” 

“Why yes,” he smiled and gripped my knee, rubbing and squeezing my leg up and down. “I have some bottles in the fridge just for you.” 

I smiled back. “You wanna share? Love to have a cool beer,” I said, then added, “with you.” I blushed. We stood up.

“Sweet,” he whispered, still clutching my arm. “So very sweet.” 

We walked quickly to his place 22nd Street. I envisioned our penises leading the way as we hurried after them. 

 * * * * 

“One beer coming right up.” He beamed and opened the front door, then led me into his apartment. 

It was one of the older factory buildings with cement bricks for walls. It had been remodeled and converted into fancy living space, but his second-floor apartment was just a large room looking out on the street below. Next to the refrigerator was a small table with a few chairs, a sink, and a dishwasher. A cabinet took up the rest of the kitchen space. 

He stuck his head in the refrigerator as I looked at the rest of the room. A small fireplace was against one wall, good for winter months, and a couch was braced against the other wall. Where does he sleep?  

“Here you are, sweetie.” He winked and held two bottles of a dark beer, a foreign brand I had never heard of. 

“Thanks,” I said, looking at the curious label before taking a taste. The bitter brew repelled me. “Oh Christ, what is this?” I gulped, slightly gagging. 

“Sorry, honey, it’s a Polish brand. It’s very powerful, too. I can only take about half a glass before it knocks me out.” 

I looked at him. 

“So you figure you’ll give it to me and see if I get knocked out as well, huh?” 

He shook his head. 

“No, dearie, nothing like that. I saw you were a man who liked his beer. That’s why I invited you over. If it’s too strong, maybe you would like something else. I have diet cola, if you prefer.” 

He again went to the refrigerator and reached for a can of soda.  

“No, no,” I protested. “The beer is fine.” I raised it again to my lips and took a small swallow. Still bitter but a little smoother and more mellow than it was before. I shrugged. 

“Not bad, if you drink it slowly. Taste will come, unlike American beer, which really has no taste. You have to drink it fast, you know.” 

I again looked at the label. “Piwo, curious brand.” 

“Means beer in Polish.”

I went to the couch and sat down as he joined me. 

“Glad you see things differently. Shows you have class, sweetie.” He winked at me again. 

I pretended to frown. 

“Why do you call me sweetie or honey all the time,” I asked. I took another swallow of the Polish beer. “Are you a queer?” 

He grinned. 

“You want me to be? That can be arranged, sweetie.” 

I winked back at him and took another swallow. He sat on the couch next to me, his arm resting on the backrest behind me. I knew that, in one slight movement, I would be in his arms and I didn’t care. The beer was nice. And I was very hard, as was I'm sure he was too.

“Hey, you got any more?” I finished off the beer. “That wasn’t bad.” 

He looked at me, wrinkling his brow. 

“That’s amazing,” he said, getting up and going to the fridge. “I’ve never seen anyone drink a Piwo that fast than ask for another one. You’re amazing, sweetie, simply amazing.” 

“Is it expensive?” I studied the label. “A few bucks at least, I suppose?” 

He shook his head. 

“Try twelve fifty for a six pack."

“Wow, holy shit! Twelve fifty, Christ! That’s way too much.” 

He handed me a fresh bottle then slipped off his shoes and roosted on the couch, with his legs to his side, much like a sitting schoolgirl. 

“Damn, too scared to drink it now,” I said, setting the bottle down. 

“It’s only money, honey. Money comes and money goes. So drink up, honey. Enjoy life.” 

I shrugged, picked up the bottle again, and took a swallow of the once-bitter beer, now pleasing to my taste. I took my shoes off and curled on the couch almost next to him with my crossed legs in a Native Indian style. 

I felt his hand tenderly rubbing my back. 

“I told you it’s a very good beer. I knew you’d like it.” 

I nodded and had another swallow before putting the bottle back down. 

“Where do you sleep?” I asked, yawning and gazing about the small apartment for another room. 

“Aw, someone’s getting sleepy, I can tell.” He stood up. “You’re sitting on a futon. It converts into a bed, like this…” He bent slightly, lifted and pushed the back rest down, with a flustered me still sitting on it. “Voila, a bed for my beer-drinking sweetie.” 

We looked at each other and he leaned to kiss me, dipping his lips to mine. I melted into his arms. 

As I lay there in my drunken stupor, I felt him fumbling with my pants. He opened the zipper and reached in for my cock, exposing it and almost instantly swallowing it. 

I’ve always been fascinated by cock sucking, mine or another’s. The few times I stared at some audience member at a Times Square movie house having his cock manipulated and swallowed, I longed to do it, too. You do to another what the other does to you. It isn’t cock sucking, it’s mutual sharing of an organ. That’s all, which you really want to take into your mouth, that's all.

Ahh, but if it only were that simple, though, I’d be sucking everywhere I went to, but I have avoided it for quite some time. 

I belched and it threatened to turn wet and explosive. 

“I gotta throw up!” I cried, pushing at him and struggling to rise. “Where’s the bathroom?” 

I fumbled and tried to pull up my underwear. My penis plopped out of his mouth and he pointed at a door by the kitchen. I raced to it, holding to my pants and belching more loudly before I finally dropped to my knees. 

A blindness tore out of me as I puked my guts out. 

I hit the handle and flushed so the puke wouldn’t stay. Every drop of beer I ever had, the cheap beer I used to buy and now the expensive Polish poison inside me, was coming out. 

I gagged and vomited again. Oh God, someone help me, please… 

I calmed down, exhausted and drained. Slowly I stood up and staggered out of the bathroom. I saw him lying on the bed, totally nude and slowly stroking his penis. 

“Feel better, honey?” he asked. “Come to bed, you’ll feel better without your clothes on. C’mon, take them off and get into bed.” He tapped the mattress beside him. “C’mon, your sweetie’s waiting…” He puckered his lips as if awaiting a kiss. 

I turned and fumbled at the door. I had to get out of that apartment. I barreled down a flight of stairs and stumbled outside. I felt his glaring after me from the window up above. 


Chapter 2 

The next day being a Saturday, I slept like the dead. My mother tried to waken me a few times, but I cursed and rolled over. 

Around three o’clock, I crawled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Must have been a thousand ounces of beer I drank yesterday and roughly fourteen, fifteen ounces of that Polish piwo poison that the homo creep tried to drown me with. I thought about the homo, how he was sucking and lapping at my dick, and I felt myself getting hard at his memory. Too bad I had to vomit last night, would have had a very nice cock sucking. I'm sure. 

I cursed, flushed, and started to return to bed again. My mother stood in the kitchen doorway. 

“Why were you so drunk last night? You could barely stand up. Disgusting.” 

I looked at her. My head was pounding, my body aching, and all I wanted was to get in bed and sleep as much as I could. 

“Oh, Mom, leave me the fuck alone!” I went to my room, wishing I had a door to slam. 

“The way you talk to your mother,” I heard her say. “It’s a sin to say such things.” 

I covered myself, rolled over, and tried to return to sleep. 

I was twenty-three years old and still living at home, with no hopes or prospects for a future. I had been friendless as a child in school, and I was friendless in my young manhood. No one entered my meaningless life, and so, too, at least, there was no one crawling out of it. I was a young man all alone and that’s the way I liked it. In the end, I just didn’t give a fuck. 

About a sleepless hour later, I got up out of bed, put some clothes, and went to the living room. As usual, Mom was reading her Bible. That always puzzled me, seeing her going through the same pages that I knew she had already read before. I could never understand that. 

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “Was too drunk last night, sorry.” 

She looked at me sadly, with some anger and shook her head. 

“You always do that, get too drunk. You’re growing up to be just like your father…” She put a bookmark in her Bible and put it away in her clothes cabinet. 

Dad and Mom had gotten divorced a few years ago, due to his constant womanizing, which Mom put up with until one day she found out Dad was making it with a young high school girl. Everyone assumed the girl was an adult. With makeup and her hair teased up high, she certainly knew how to play the part. Then Mom found out and put a stop to it. Mom had no regrets as she bustled to the police station and told them where Dad and his Lolita love-child could be found. They burst the door open and caught them right in bed together. Everyone was disgusted, or so they said. Dad got two years for child abuse and rape, while the teenage lover received a slew of therapy with her shameful family quickly moving out of the neighborhood. Such is life, Mom concluded sadly. 

I plopped on the cushioned chair and picked up the newspaper. The usual fires, carnage, embezzlement, apartment burglaries, with the typical beauty queen showing off her crown. 

“You want something to eat? I made meatloaf.” 

 I shook my head. 

“If I eat anything now, I’ll throw up. Maybe later.” 

She shrugged. 

“Have it your way,” she said and left the room. 

Damn, I drank too much last night, way too much. But it was that Polish beer he gave me that did it. That was the clincher. I’ll make sure I’ll never drink that poison again, that’s for sure. He can keep those bottles in the fridge. Not for me, baby. 

I stood up and went to my room. Thinking about last night, as drunk as I was, my erection started pulsing in my pants. The drunker I was, the hornier I became. How many days did I spend crawling up and down the stairs in Times Square movie houses, all for a hand-job/blowjob, my cock never softening but always rigid and erect? 

Damn, I had to get to a Times Square movie house again... 

I put on a fresh shirt and my other dark pants so that my stiffness wouldn’t be so visible. 

“Going out, Mom, be back later.” I grinned, dreaming about Times Square and slamming the door after me. 

* * * * 

Six o’clock but the evening was steadily approaching. Yet was I really going up to Times Square

I passed the subway stop on 1st Avenue and Houston Street and strolled over to St. Marks Place. I liked that street. Tenements and stores, barber shops, a beauty parlor, a few newsstands, and a bank on the corner of 2nd Avenue showed that it was a viable area, thriving with people. I paused to look in the St. Marks Bookshop window and gazed at various titles. Immediately, the comic book character of Mr. Natural caught my eye, him in his long robe and beard with his hands behind him, just wobbling along and followed by another seeker of knowledge. 

“What’s it mean, Mr. Natural?” asked the seeker, looking very lost. To which Mr. Natural naturally replied, “Don’t mean shit!” 

That little drawing in a comic book always tore me up. I chuckled whenever I read it. It was great! 

I smiled and continued walking, turning on 4th Avenue and making my way uptown. As I passed Union Square Park, I frowned. I was headed right up Broadway in the direction of the man’s house from last night. 

Damn, what if he sees me? 

I thought about walking west one block over to 5th Avenue, but I steeled myself and continued up Broadway. 

On 22nd Street I stopped on the corner and looked down his street. I was incredibly hard and stiff. I gripped my rigid cock and gave it a squeeze. 

I bit my lip and neared his house, pausing in the doorway, very nervous, then continued alonf the street. 

Why was I such an asshole, drunk as a fish and expecting to get sexually satisfied? Hah, fat chance on that, buddy! 

I looked up at his window. A closed shade covered the glass on the second floor, but I saw a light burning behind it. 

So he was in, I thought, but with who? 

I frowned, thinking he was giving a blowjob or getting one in return. 

I leaned back against a car and lowered my head. 

Shit, I’m a fuck-up, no doubt about that. A nice man with a nice apartment and here I am, standing outside of it, booted out for being such a drunken asshole jerk. 

I shook my head again, refusing to look at the few people who passed by me. I stood there a moment and studied his window. 

What the hell? I pushed myself away from the car and headed towards the door. Two steps down and I was at the building doorway. Now what? 

A wall of about ten buzzers looked back at me. I looked at the bottom ones, which I assumed were the first floor above me. I didn’t know his name. M. Shapiro read one name. T. Griffiths read another. He couldn’t be an M. Shapiro, too Jewish, and I knew of very few who could be cocksuckers, in any case. Probably T. Griffiths, the other choice. I nodded. Timmy or Tommy, yes, that sounded like it would be him. 

I pressed the buzzer. 

Footsteps immediately sounded on the floor right above me. 

“Yes?” a voice asked through the speaker. 

What am I doing? Was that him or not? 

Frightened, I answered, “I was here last night. I think I left my wallet…” 

Now what the hell was I lying for? What was that going to get me? 

I shook my head, disgusted with myself. The silence stretched on for ten, fifteen, maybe twenty seconds. Then a gravelly voice answered, “I’ll come down.” 

I exhaled. Footsteps sounded on the floor up above, a door opened, and someone pounded on the stairs to the bottom. He appeared, expression stern but thoughtful. He held the front door open. 

“What’s this about your wallet?” he said. “You did not leave it here, I can assure you of that.” 

In a way, I felt relieved and grateful he was talking to me. 

“I didn’t lose my wallet,” I murmured. “I have it. I just said it to see you again.” I looked up at him. “I’ll leave if you want.” I turned away. 

He cleared his throat. “You have anything to drink today?” His brow crinkled above his eyes. 

I sighed and looked back at him. “Don’t think I’ll drink again. That Polish piss-water was murder. God, gross!” 

He smiled but shook his head. He breathed out.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “You had me worried when you left, honey. I know what things can be like on the city streets.” 

We looked at each other, me biting my lip and him not sure what he was looking at. 

“You want to come up, sweetie?” 

“If I can…” 

He nodded and I followed him up the stairs. 


Chapter 3 

Though my body ached, his kisses were a balm to everything that came before: the loneliness, the constant separation from my peers. The moist kisses soothed me as we undressed, our lips never parting. Totally nude, we studied each other. He was devoid of hair down below, much like an infant or a young child. I felt jealous. 

“Wow, no hair. How’d you get to be like that?” 

I assumed it to be some kind of biological quirk or genetic leaning, but he shrugged. 

“Shave it every few days, sweetie.” He winked. “It’s a marvelous feeling. You should try it sometime.” 

I narrowed my eyes. “You mean that?” 

He nodded. 

“You’ll feel reborn, all hairless and fresh, ready and eager to start life anew. How about it, little angel?” 

I stared at him and realized he was serious. The playfulness of his eyes was serene. I liked him very much. 

We got up off the bed and tip-toed to the bathroom, our hard cocks swinging and swaying before us. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to have sex first?” I stuttered. “We’ll be better relaxed, no?” 

“Don’t be foolish. The tension will keep you on your toes, stiff and alert and ready for anything that you want to give. And sharing has a lot to do with manly sex, baby. I want you to suck your hardness, as I will share mine with you, please, pretty please?” 

“Yes, I will, I promise. You can do what you want with me, I don’t care.” 

He frowned. 

“But you must care. Who wants a careless fellow? I certainly don’t. That’s not a way of being a sissy. Now is it?” 

I scowled. “I’m not a sissy.” 

He shrugged. 

“If you want to be a good so-so cocksucker, you can get your fill of cocks in sleazy Times Square movie theaters. If you want to be a great cocksucker like I am, selective and a choosy blower of cocks, then you’ve come to the right place, honey. That’s me, for sure. Call me what you want, but in the end, I’ll always be a selective sissy. I picked you, didn’t I?” 

I marveled at the truth of his simplicity. Yes, I thought, I’m in love with a sissy.

I blushed, but by then the hot bubbly water filled the tub. He held my hand as I stepped in and sat down. The warm water felt heavenly, easing the cares from my mind and body. He lowered himself atop me, as we lay in the scant bubbly water very close together, him practically atop me, kissing and licking each other’s faces. 

So what if he’s a sissy? Maybe I’m one, too.. 

A few moments later, I sensed that awesome sudden crinkling of semen barreling though my body and exploding out of my cock. My eyes clamped shut and my teeth clenched tightly as I gasped, “Oh, Jesus!” The spasm disrupted the water, some of it splashing over the edge and onto the floor. I opened my eyes and saw him watching me, our faces so very close together. I blushed and tried to look away. 

“Did you cum, sweet baby?” 

“Uh huh,” I answered, very embarrassed. 

He smiled. 

“I did, too," he softly said, "as soon as I stepped into the tub, the warm water lapped and took my cares away. Just imagine, a scum bath, you shared my scum seed with you. I knew I had nothing to hold me back. We became as one.”

My eyes marveled at this... 

We kissed and just lay in the cooling water, the soap bubbles popping and abating around us. He let the water run and gurgle itself out. 

Pft, we giggled as it snorted and ran out, the remaining bubbles still popping. 

He eased himself off me and stepped out of the tub, flinging a towel on his shoulders and holding his arm out to me. 

It was beautiful to feel myself toweled all over by him, being dried and wiped clean. I looked at his penis, still erect as mine was, and clutched and stroked it. 

What a divine manly organ! Indeed, it not only was divine but also utterly sublime, beyond anything I had dreamed of or felt or experienced before. 

I had never cock so much before, through all my lonely Times Square nights, but now I wanted him, his cock deep in my mouth as my cock would be between his lips as well. 

“Snip, snip,” he said, bringing me to as I saw him holding a pair of scissors. “Shaving time.” 

I blinked. “Oh yeah, a shave. I’m ready.”  

He held my hand as we returned to the couch and I lay down, resting on my arms and looking up at him. His penis was lovely. I licked my lips. 

“I want to suck your cock, please. I’ve never done it before.” 

“In time, sweetie. First let’s get that horrible hairy stuff off.” 

He shook a can of shaving cream and smoothed it out on my crotch. Almost instantly I was stiff again and aching for release. 

“Oh, God, that feels funny but delicious.” 

“I know,” he said. He began shaving me. “When I do it on myself, I cum many times. I can’t help it. Shaving the pubes is so heavenly.” 

“Pubes, huh? I never heard it called that.” 

“What else can you call pubic hairs except for pubes?” 

“I know but still it’s kind of sexy and kinky, you know?” 

He grinned at me. “Kinky pubes, eh? I like that.” 

He blew me a kiss. I blew it right back at him as he continued to shave the hair off my body. 

“That reminds me, what’s your name? I never found out.” 

“Todd,” he said with a wink, “but to you, I’m Kinky. And you’ll be my Pubes. Best names we’re ever going to have, agreed?” 

I smiled. A fresh new being with a new name to boot. What could be better than that? 

“Kinky,” I murmured. 

“Yes, my darling Pubes?” 

I giggled. “I like my name, and yours, too, Kinky.” I blushed. 

“Pubes, I like you very much, too,” he answered. 

I marveled at my stiffness as he stroked and shaved my lower body. I must say that I have never experienced sex before I went to bed with Kinky. Sure, there were the usual run-of-the-mill handjobs/blow-jobs in sleazy Times Square movie houses, but never like this, an organ to an organ, penis to penis, cock to cock. 

He lay down beside me and instantly our lips met, our tongues lashing against each other, our hairless organs tapping and kissing each other. 

And the taste, oh, the taste! Divinity would be awed by its wonder! Everything I ever wanted from another human being flooded my soul and body with that exquisite sensation. I wanted more and more. His lips over mine, lowering to my jaw and throat as I did the same to him, kissing, sucking, moving lower and lower to that sublime incredible organ, the penis. 

I opened my eyes, my mouth ajar, and I stared at the thick flesh before me. I shut my eyes and drew it and sucked into my mouth. 

Sixty-nine, a beautiful sensation of doing to another what was being done to you. I felt a heady sensation as it moved deeper and deeper down my throat, rubbing against the sides and withdrawing, then lunging again. 

Kinky humped my mouth as I was humping his. Back and forth, up and down, over and over. I felt that sudden explosion tear through me and erupt at the same time felt him cumming in me. 

We both rocked and shivered with pleasure and satisfaction, as semen rolled down our throats or escaped out the sides of our mouths. I was mesmerized by its stickiness, rubbing my fingers in and wanting more, much more cum on me. 

Kinky crawled up on the bed and collapsed, exhausted, next to me. 

“Whew, incredible, Pubes, simply incredible!” 

I turned red and cuddled to his chest. 

“You like?” I whispered. “I have never sucked a man before and swallowed it, too.” I looked up at him, his eyes gazing down at me. 

“Beautiful, simply beautiful. Baby, you’re the best cocksucker I ever had.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Sweetie, promise you’ll never leave me." He blinked his eyes. "I’ve grown to love you very much.” 

sensation of pleasure and peace went through me, tearing my entire being apart, with the past, the present, all becoming one. I now was a complete man, and all from sucking and swallowing another man, who had done the same thing to me. 

The union was complete, the two had become one... Round and round it goes, a beautiful mystical union. I breathed out, Ahh...

He went to a cabinet and brought two slim packages out. 

“You ever try having this on?” 

He handed me the package. 

Pantyhose? I blushed, shaking my head. 

 “What for? I’m not a girl.” 

He opened one package and slid out the sheer hose. “You don’t have to be a girl. This is so heavenly, like being touched by a heavenly angel.” 

He put it on his feet, one at a time, and pulled it up his legs. I watched, mesmerized, my penis stiff. 

“Try it baby, one size fits all.” 

He winked and eased the hose higher and higher up his legs. 

I fiddled with the package and tore it open. Feeling the shimmery material sent shivers all up and down my body. It was lovely! I steeled myself, very afraid, and slowly slid it on. 

He came to me with his own pantyhose cinching his body, as mine now cinched me. We lay there, admiring our stiffness in the clinging hose. We rolled against each other, our penises bulging and trapped within the pantyhose, our semen gloriously going nowhere but smearing in the sweet delicate fabric. 


Chapter 4 

It was late. I had drifted off to sleep when I heard a doorbell. I rolled over, laying there awhile and heard two voices conversing. 

I jolted up. 

Kinky had a towel wrapped around him, and another mustachioed man stood in the doorway. 

“Oh, she’s up,” said Kinky, turning and letting the other man into the apartment. 

The stranger’s cowboy boots thudded across the floor, his tight jeans and T-shirt showing off a muscular frame designed to attract attention. 

I pulled the blanket to my chin and looked at him. 

Suntanned skin stretched over his cheeks and jawbones in a pleasant manner. 

“How ‘ya doin’, kid?” He smirked and winked at me and stood near the bed. 

It seemed as if he was going to drop next to me at any moment. I held the blanket to me making sure he wouldn’t see how erect I was or that I wore pantyhose. Kinky still had his on, and I could see them on his feet. 

“This is Henry,” he said by way of introduction and went to an upper closet. “He just came to see if I had any pot.” 

He reached to an upper shelf and brought out a slim, tiny envelope, barely an inch or two wide. 

“I only have a nickel bag,” he said to Henry, “and that’s it.” 

 Henry’s eyes widened. 

“Very cool, that’s enough.” 

He took the marijuana Kinky held out to him and went to the door. 

“Thought you’d be at Manley’s tonight. You usually are. What’s up with that?” 

Kinky looked back at me. I gazed at them. 

“Oh, I get it.” Henry grinned at Kinky and glanced at me. “Bring her along some night, share with your sisters. Toodoloo, chow!” 

Then he was gone. I heard the sound of his loud cowboy boots stalking down the stairs, a door flung open, and silence. 

Kinky shut the door and rejoined me on the bed. 

 “A cowboy,” I said, impressed. “Looks real, too.” 

Kinky snorted.

“He’s a banker from the Bronx. Never been west of the Hudson River. That’s just a getup he wears on the weekends.” He chuckled. “Probably cry for his mommy if he fell off a horse.” 

I smiled. 

“Can’t say that he didn’t look real," I said, "because he did. Like Robert Redford in that Butch Cassidy movie.” 

“Sundance Kid, yeah, that was a pretty good one. Paul Newman was excellent in that, too, don’t you think? And Redford was sublime, yum yum…” 

“I never saw it,” I grumbled. “Just the stills outside of movie houses where the film was playing.” 

“Aw, poor baby,” Kinky said, putting his arms around me. “We have much learning to catch up on, don’t we?” 

He kissed the top of my head and turned out the light. 

I lay there in his arms, my erection aching for release, but with Kinky holding me, I felt safe and in peace.

“You ever have him,” I whispered, “you know, sexually?” 

Kinky didn’t reply right away, but in the darkness, I knew he was looking at me. 

“One time I did, but his hairiness repelled me, not only on his crotch but everywhere: arms, legs, torso. Gross, ugh!” He shivered. 

“I hate it, too.” I squirmed, nestling closer to Kinky. “Glad you showed me a better way to live, being hairless.” 

We kissed and drifted off to la la land. 

 * * * * 

We woke up around 10 A.M. Kinky jumped out of bed. 

“Damn, have to get to my sister’s house today. Her little kid is having a surprise birthday party. It’s a secret. Have to be there early, though.” 

He pulled off his pantyhose and opened another package. 

“Have to get some more of these," he said, waving the package. "The old ones are too used up and sticky, you know?” 

He ripped it open and pulled out new nylons. 

“These are perfect,” he said while slipping the hose onto his body. “Smooth as silk and they hold everything in check.” 

I sat up and moved to the foot of the bed, the pantyhose clutching tightly as his cock formed to the side of his crotch. I marveled at it and tenderly placed my fingers atop it, slowly running them up and down. I felt his cock stiffening. He shook his head and moved away. 

“Better not,” he smirked. “Will only get into trouble.” He continued to dress. “But you can keep yours on. They’re like new on you anyway, just a little scum,” he giggled. 

I had inserted my hand into the hose, clutching my hard dick, when my thumbnail snagged the material. It was a run. 

“You must be very careful. That women’s material can go in a snap!" And he snapped his fingers, "And you have a run, just like that.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen many women at work rip their hose and they bring out the nail polish bottles.” 

I narrowed my eyes. 

“Nail polish, for what?” 

“It's like a paste, it seems to hold the pantyhose together, a rip and the nail polish does the trick, just like that.” 

He again snapped his fingers. 

“Amazing, what secret’s women have..." he shook his head. "Baby, take your hand out and pull the hose even tighter up.” 

I stood up and tugged the hose, drawing it up higher and higher. The taut material squeezed and tightened me even more as my erection was comfortably held in position, solid and stiff but movable, too. I stretched as far as it would go, the wide band going about my torso almost chest high. If I had breasts, they would have fit neatly right into the end of the pantyhose. Too bad I didn’t. I stood before him, head bowed, embarrassed. 

“I feel like a slave girl,” I confessed, revealing a secret I thought would always be kept hidden. “Ready to be bartered, traded, or sold as the owner wanted to do." I bowed my head. "Do what you will, master…” 

“You’re not a slave girl,” he shook his head and took me in his arms. “You mean the world to me, baby.” He kissed me. “Before we met, I was lost, always looking but never finding. Then you left all wasted and drunk, and I thought my life was over. I’d never find anyone. So I went through my usual day as I always do, until I looked and Voila, there you were! It was like a miracle pulling you back to me, into my arms and my cock.” He kissed me again. “I never want to let go of you. Please say you’ll stay…” 

 I nodded. 

“I have nowhere else to go. I’m alone as you are.” 

“We’re alone together,” he whispered, dropping on the bed. 

 We lay like that a few moments then he pushed himself up and put on his wristwatch. 

“But life steps in and makes its demands.” 

I chuckled. 

“Oh yeah, the birthday party. Go ahead, have your fun. I’ll be here.” 

He put on some white shoes and a dress jacket. 

“There’s ham and cheese in the fridge if you get hungry. I promise when I get back around 6 P.M., I’ll take you out for dinner. How about it?” 

I smiled. 

“Sounds great! Think I'll have to go and see my mom. She’ll be worried.” 

“Near here?” he asked, sounding concerned. 

“Christie Street, downtown, a ways from here,” I answered. 

“Yes, it is. Okay, just slam the door when you leave, make sure it’s closed. You know you can’t get back in until I return. Is that all right? I’ll have a key made for you when you get back.” 

I shrugged. 

“Sure, I’ll be fine.” 

“Pubes, I know you will.” He gazed at me. “But remember, not too much jerking off, save some for me.” 

I turned red. 

“Agreed, I’ll save it all for you. Anyway, jerking off is no fun when I have you can do it for me.” 

We kissed and hugged a final time and the door closed after him. 

I looked around the small room, expecting to find tons and tons of money. A few dimes, a nickel, and about ten or fifteen pennies sat on a small coffee table. I left them there and shook my head, still impressed by the pantyhose on my body. I dressed, glanced about the apartment, and shut the door after me. 


Chapter 5 

Mom was flustered, as she usually is when I stay out, imagining all sorts of crimes and bad deeds that I might have had the misfortune of getting myself into. 

“I was out, all over the city,” I lied. “You know…” 

I went to my room and laid down on the bed, taking my shoes and socks off while thinking about Kinky and what he did to me. I felt good, proud of myself, with him in my thoughts. What a decent lovable man, that’s for sure. 

“My God, what this?!” 

I jumped up. 

“What?” 

“Women’s stockings, you’re wearing women’s stockings. Oh God, what have you become? A sissy, my God, a sissy! Oh, my Jesus, no!” 

She went crying through the house, beseeching God and all the saints over what I had become. I cursed my careless stupidity. How could I take my shoes and socks off without seeing or knowing what I was wearing? Pantyhose? I raised my T-shirt. The hose still clung to my chest. I pulled it up even tighter and shook the shirt back down atop it. I went to the kitchen. Mom sat at the table, weeping and sighing, not looking at me. 

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” she sobbed. 

“You didn’t do anything, Mom. It’s just the way I was born. I can do nothing about it.” 

She looked at me through her wet and worried eyes. 

“But why, why? Don’t you see that I love you? Oh, why?” 

“I see it, Mom. I know you love me, but at my age, I desperately long for other things.” 

“You mean perverted things, like other men that can’t wait to take you right to hell. Oh, Jesus! Do you do other things with them as well? Is your bra and panties, with garter belt and nylons, hidden in a closet somewhere? Or did you forget to put them on? Oh, sweet Jesus, what have I raised, a pervert?” 

She started weeping and wailing again, grabbing her Bible and losing herself therein. 

I went to my room, winced when I replaced the socks and shoes on my feet. I wiggled and pulled the droopy pantyhose tighter on my chest, then took a few pairs of shirts and shoved them into a gym bag I had laying around. 

Mom was still in the kitchen, shaking and reading her Holy Scripture. I pulled out about one hundred and fifty dollars, most of my bi-weekly messenger's pay, and set it down on the table before her. I still had a few dollars in my pocket. 

“Won’t be needing this,” I told her, our gazes meeting. “I forgot to give it to you yesterday, sorry.” 

“Oh, my son, you know that’s not important. What’s important is your happiness and I know you’re very unhappy. Or else you wouldn’t be doing this to me…” 

“I’m not unhappy. I’m very happy. Now I know what I have to do, share myself with another.” 

“With who, a homo?” 

“Mom…” 

“Isn’t that right? You’re going to your homo lover, admit it. I bet you he’s older than you are.” 

“So what if he is? He shows me more decency and tenderness then anyone has ever shown me before. I love him, Mom, really, really love him!” 

“No,” she cried, covering her ears with both of her hands. “Stop it, please, stop it! You can’t love a man. It’s unnatural and evil, too. It’s Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. God will cast you straight to hell, mark my words. Oh, my son, why are you doing this to me?” 

I contemplated her, then turned and walked out, leaving her weeping and praying. 

Drained and exhausted, I walked up Christie Street to 1st Avenue. The truth has a funny way of getting to you, but strangely I felt relieved. A few times I looked behind me, but Mom wasn’t coming after me, as she had done a few times in my high school years. Anyway, how could I have gone through high school when I was always getting ripped off and smacked around by the bad boys? 

So, I was a sissy, the schoolboys called me that, so fucking what? 

And I hated those school years. If I’d known I was a sissy back then, perhaps things would have been different. 

But that was ages ago, well, a few years… 

I shook my head and crossed to 1st Avenue. 

It was a Sunday, but shoppers were everywhere in all the food stands and grocery stores that lined the avenue. I realized it was still too early to be back at Kinky’s locked apartment. 

What was I going to do there, stand and wait for his return? That could take many hours. 

Then I remembered Manley’s Bar where Henry, the half-baked cowboy from yesterday, had often been with Kinky. That was on the West Side of town. 

I stopped on the corner of St. Marks Place and had a pizza with root beer while looking through a telephone book. It took a little time to find the correct spelling, but I finally did: Manley’s Bar on 10th Avenue. Good thing I was a messenger in the city, addresses were a cinch to me. I finished my soda and went back outside. 

Walking across St. Marks Place was always a delight. I had been down the street countless times. Stores and shops lined it, the atmosphere unlike anywhere else. Record stores stood next to a few book emporiums right by left-over hippy head shops, with the usual assortment of barber shops and beauty parlors. I liked the street, very lively and robust. 

I continued on 4th Avenue, walking to 14th Street, where I turned left. The busy shopping street teemed with congested shoppers going in and out of stores, all lugging a bag or two after them. With kids in tow after them, a scene of chaos was always ready to erupt. 

I eventually made it to 10th Avenue. A few prostitutes tried to hustle me, but I just walked past them. In my younger years, well, just a few years ago, I did have the misfortune of paying a prostitute ten dollars for sex, but in the room, I strangely went very limp as the woman tried to jerk me off. 

“Man, you’re a wimp. Can’t you even get it hard?” she’d sneered.

I never felt as low as I did that moment, slinking away and trying to erase her memory. I suppose I wasn’t born to be a ladies’ man, but then I grinned. 

On the corner of 19th Street and 10th Avenue stood Manley’s Bar, a tired, worn-looking bar with a few drinkers sitting on stools and slowly sipping their drinks. The name Manley’s was right. I may be a wimp, but I was still a man. 

I crossed the street and stopped before the bar. Should I go in or not? And what for? 

A man with a cowboy hat tilted back on his head sat at the corner of the bar. He took a sip out his glass and spoke to the bartender. I turned very red, embarrassed and flustered, when I realized it was Tex/Henry. I called Henry Tex because he looked like a real cowboy. 

Holy shit, what if he sees me? 

I started to walk past, but Tex looked right at me. There was a curious expression on his face, as if he was trying to remember something. Then it seemed to hit him. And he hurried to the front door. 

I had moved up the street, taking a few more steps when the bar door was flung open behind me and Tex came bursting out. 

“Hey, kid,” he called. “Remember me?” 

I glanced back at him, nervous. 

 “Oh, yeah, you’re Kinky’s friend, came by last night.” 

“I don’t about Kinky, but Todd sure can get kinky at times,” he teased. “Come on inside. I’ll buy you a beer.” 

I winced. 

“I really can’t…” 

“Oh, c’mon, just a beer.” 

 I bit my lip thinking... 

“Okay, maybe some wine instead?” 

 He put his arm around my shoulders. “You got it, friend,” he said, leading me into Manley’s Bar

At the bar, Tex ordered me a glass of wine. 

“Beaujolais or Bordeaux?” asked the bartender. “We also have Sauterne.” 

I had never heard of the last two, but Beaujolais was familiar to me, a sweet-tasting wine that Mom had in a bottle and which lasted her some weeks. I said the name and the bartender knocked on the bar and went to pour me a glass of Beaujolais. 

“So what’s a nice kid like you doing sleeping in Toddie’s bed?” Tex asked. 

I shrugged.

“He’s a very dear friend.” 

The bartender brought my drink and again tapped on the bar. “On the house, partner,” he said and walked away to another customer. 

“Wow, I’m impressed. I never saw Willie give a first drink away just like that. Kid, you got something in you, that’s for sure.” 

I blushed and smiled down at my drink, taking a sip of the pleasant wine. It was nice and good, very mellow, with a curious but pleasing taste, not too strong, not too bitter. I sipped some more. Now I knew why Mom liked it so much. I took another drink realized I missed what Tex was saying. 

“I’m sorry, what…?” 

A flustered-looking Tex studied me, and bitterly said, “Do you want to go to bed with me?” 

I almost gulped the remaining glassful. “But you’re friends,” I said, twirling the glass in my hands. 

“Who else better to go to bed with, an enemy?”

I raised the glass and sucked down a few meager droplets.

“Willie,” Tex shouted, “Another glass of wine for my lovely young friend.” 

“No, please, I think I’ve had enough.” 

“Oh, what’s the big deal? It’s just mellow wine.” 

He winked at Willie who nodded back at him. Willie went to pour me another glass. When he returned he looked at us, nodded at Tex and went to wipe some glasses. I raised the drink to my lips. The Beaujolais sure was nice going down my throat. 


Chapter 6 

I don’t know how it happened buy I rarely lose myself when I’m drinking. At least I don't think so. 

I got plastered and talked about Kinky to the point where I was guzzling who knows how many glasses of wine until I came to with Tex’s dick pulsing in and out of my mouth. He was kneeling on a bed and clutching my head as he continually shoved his penis down my throat. 

What made me aware of what was happening was his cowboy hat roosting on his head and the boots on his feet that I suddenly thought how funny it appeared. How had he gotten his pants over the boots? I never learned as the hairy cock beat at me, in, out, back and forth. 

“Suck it, baby,” he panted, “Suck that fucking dick, yeah!” 

He yelped and shot out his semen at me, most of it into my throat as the rest dribbled out of the sides of my mouth. 

I gazed forlornly up at him. 

But how had he used me and how did I allow it to happen? I had no idea how I had gotten here. 

He ground his dick in my mouth and pulled it out, collapsing on the bed beside me. I wiped his semen off with a blanket. 

“You’re a good cocksucker. Yes, you are, sweetie,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “You suck mighty fine cock.”

I gagged. 

“Where’s the bathroom, think I’m gonna puke.” I gagged and belched again, jumping out of bed. 

“There,” he said, pointing to a doorway, “where you’ve gone before. A man who drinks as much as you and still can’t remember where he is, well, shit…”

I heard no more, but slammed the door behind me and crouching down before the toilet bowl. I vomited, then collapsed against the bowl, but still remembered to pull the flush the valve over and over. The valve didn’t work very well, but the water finally drained the puke out very slowly. I relaxed, just gagging a few dry heaves into the bowl. 

When I fumbled out, Tex had his pants on—how he got them over the boots, I would never learn—and was snapping the collar of his Western shirt. I also picked up my shirt and was about to put it on. 

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” he asked, glancing and pointing at the silky pantyhose on a side table. 

I instantly blushed and picked up the hose, pulling it up my legs. 

“Oh,” I said, not even remembering how I got them off. “Please don’t say anything to Kinky. It would kill him.” 

His smile told me he had every intention of revealing our little secret. 

“I know. He seems to wear the hose a lot, just as you do, doesn’t he? Well, not for me, sister.” 

I changed the subject. 

“It would destroy our relationship, and we’ve only been together for two days. Please, don’t say anything. I beg you,” I implored, my eyes filling with tears. 

“Oh, what the hell, I can keep our little secret, kid. It’s no big thing. Anyway, if you want to keep quiet about it, I’ll keep mum.” 

He stared at the entrapped penis as I pulled the hose much tighter and higher then put my pants on. 

“Where are we anyway, what street?” I asked. 

He shrugged. “Just a whorehouse on 20th Street off 8th Avenue, lots of whores outside, male and female, take your pick. The hotel guy wanted to see some ID. He didn’t believe you were over twenty-one. Good thing you had some proof showing you were actually twenty-two.” He rubbed his wet mouth. “You look young, good buddy, but a very good cock sucker, that’s for sure.” 

I was dressed and rubbed my face. He opened the door. “Do you know what time it is?” 

He looked at his wristwatch. “Fifteen after eight.” 

“What, after eight? Oh, my God! How the hell could that be?” 

“You were drinking pretty fast, one right after the other. I let you. You looked like you were enjoying it, talking about your Toddie and the good things he did to you.” He gave me that facetious wink. “But it was great to hear what you did to him. I wanted you to prove and show me you were such a good cock sucker. I’d say you did, baby. Won first prize.” 

I frowned. 

What would be the point of going back to Kinky? He was going to boot me out as soon as he learned of my treachery. 

“God, shit,” I moaned, dropping back on the bed. “You must promise you’ll never ever say what you did to me. Please, please…” 

He shut the door and sat down beside me. 

"Hmm, you remember anything?"

“Just a little, not much..." 

He waved his hand before his face.

"I won’t say anything. I already said that. My lips are sealed.” 

For some strange reason, I distrusted Tex. 

He pulled me to my feet and we left the room, with him trying to hold my hand. I kept resisting, pulling my hand away but he kept gripping it over and over. 

 * * * * 

We parted at the 23rd Street subway station with him taking the 8th Avenue A line to the Bronx. 

“See ‘ya next week, kid, if you’re still around with Toddy.” 

He winked the usual hateful wink and disappeared down the stairs. 

I bitterly hated him and wished I would never ever see him again. 

It was dark. Sunday evening had fallen with a few people making their way through the streets. I slowly walked across to Broadway and turned right at the Flatiron Building, that weird, seemingly tilted building on 23rd Street. Kinky lived just a block away. 

I steeled myself and looked up to the first-floor apartment. A light was on. I bit my lip and looked at the door, it was ajar, someone had left the door not fully shut, probably a hurried tenant. 

Should go in? And being blamed for being some kind of thief? 

I looked at his name, T. Griffiths, and pressed the ringer. 

Footsteps pounded above me and raced to answer. 

“Yes, yes?” 

I winced. “It’s Pubes,” I hesitantly answered. “Are you back?” 

The buzzer rang for a long time, I was on the stairs before it finally ceased. 

I heard his front door springing open up above and a relieved-looking Kinky stepped out and stood peering down at me. 

“God, I thought I had lost you,” he gushed.

He put his arms around me, hugging and kissing. 

I felt bad. He let go of me as we entered the apartment. 

“Have you been drinking?” he asked, frowing. “I can smell it all over you.” 

He locked the door behind me. 

“Just wine, had a few glasses.” 

“I thought you said you were not going to do that anymore.” 

“But you have beer right in the fridge, what’s that about? Someone’s going to drink it. It was just wine. Anyway,” I said, trying to change the subject, “how was your sister’s birthday party?” 

Even as he answered, I knew that his thoughts were trying to figure out what I had been doing all day while awaiting him to return. 

“Party was very lovely. My niece was surprised but ecstatic. She was so happy, as was everyone there.” 

I studied him, biting my lower lip. I had to tell him the truth. “Kinky, I saw Tex this afternoon,” I admitted. “You know, the cowboy friend that came for some pot last night. He got me drunk again.” 

I could see his teeth clenching as an angry mood descended over him. 

“Was in Manley’s Bar, the bar that Tex had mentioned…” 

“His name is Henry,” he said. “What were you doing there?” 

“Drinking some wine.” 

“Is that all? Did you do anything else?” 

I cringed. 

“I don’t know, I must have blacked out. Somehow I found myself in a hotel on 20th Street and the next thing I remember was opening my eyes and staring at his cock. You’re right, he’s hairy. Gross!” I squirmed and wiped my mouth. I continued. “I really dislike him. He took advantage of me, got me drunk on French wine.” 

Throughout my little confessional, Kinky just stared at me. I thought he was trying to understand, with little anger showing itself. When I finished talking, I was on my knees before him, expecting to be forgiven. Instead, he stood up and went to the door. 

“Leave,” he said, opening the door. “Take your meaningless stuff and get out of here!” 

Incredible how his voice sounded so stern. I winced with pain that went through my soul and mind, tearing me apart. 

“Please, I beg you. It meant nothing. He got me drunk and plastered then took advantage of me. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t even know what was going on. I had blacked out.” 

“Leave,” he simply said. “Leave or I will call the police. Just fucking leave!” 

I lowered my head and picked up the paper bag with my belongings. I stood at the door and sadly looked at him. 

“Out!” he shouted and viciously slammed the door at me.

Tears ran down my eyes. 


Chapter 7 

I stood there maybe ten, fifteen minutes, thinking desolate thoughts and silently weeping. 

Where was I supposed to go and what was I going to do? Most of all, I had to get back at Tex for screwing me so much. That is, if he did screw me. I was still unclear about that. 

I heard the door opening. Kinky stood before me. 

“You still here?” he held the door open. 

I wiped my tears from off my face and returned to the apartment, the door swinging shut behind me. 

“I didn’t see you from my window so I knew you were still here. But why, I wondered? What do you think you’re going to get from me?” 

 We looked at each other. 

“I want nothing, just the way it was for these past few days. I’m a drunk and Tex quickly found that out and used that against me. In a way, it was rape. You know, get the girl drunk and do what you want with her. Well, the same thing happened to me. Simple. No difference. Rape!” 

He walked across the room, stared out the window, and turned back. 

“What’s in the bag?” 

“Another pair of jeans," I sniffled, "and a few shirts, nothing much.” 

“That’s all? I expected records, books, a movie magazine. You sure travel light, don’t you?” 

I faintly smiled. 

“The lighter the better, you know,” I sadly shrugged.

We were quiet, watching each other. 

“You have anywhere else to go? Where were you staying before yesterday?” 

“With my mom, but sometimes I’d spend the night in a Times Square movie house.” 

“You get many blowjobs there?” 

I winced and nodded. 

“At times, but I never really liked it.” 

“Why not? I thought a blowjob is a blowjob. What makes you so choosy?” 

“I liked doing it with you. For the first time, I wasn’t repelled or turned off. Sucking you was very real. When I did it, I knew I could suck you forever.” 

He studied me and undid his zipper. 

“Suck my cock, you little pussy. Let’s see how much you really love me.” 

I bristled but got on my knees and crawled over to him, reaching in his pantyhose and bringing his hard dick out. I opened my mouth and dipped my head to his cock. I felt the bitterness and hatred swelling over me. I sucked. Maybe he would love me again... 

In and out, up and down, over and over. I lost myself in the sensation of fear. I was afraid of him. The peace and acceptance I felt before had crudely vanished and was replaced with fearful emptiness. It was just as my nights in Times Square had been: a hand, a mouth, bitter vomiting followed by flight. Void, no emotion, no nothing. I swallowed, deeper and deeper, felt my Adam’s apple quivering but still held on, never wanting to let it out of my mouth. 

“Let go!” he squealed, viciously pushing at my head. The penis plopped out of my mouth, throbbed once, and shot out his semen on me. A beautiful aroma fell on my eyes and nose, dripping into my mouth. He shot again, not as powerful this time but still thick and creamy. He rubbed his penis back and forth on my face, smearing his cum that had exploded on me. 

Once satisfied with his orgasm, he put the penis back in his pants and looked at me. 

“Well?” he said, standing above me. 

I was terrified. 

I suppose you expect to get paid, like all the other prostitutes do. Well, how much?” 

He brought a wallet out, flicked it open. 

“A ten or twenty?” He reached in the billfold. “For you, I have what you’re really worth…” 

He pulled out a single dollar bill and held it out to me. 

“But do you really deserve this?” he stood thinking.

He flicked the dollar with his fingers. 

“What you should get is fifty cents or maybe a quarter; perhaps a dime? That’s all you’re really worth anyway, a few pennies, nothing but worthless garbage.” 

He stared at me, still holding out the dollar, his mouth twisted in anger. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take your whore’s money and get the fuck out, out!” 

I looked at him, again tears welling up my eyes. 

“But where can I go? I have nowhere. Please don’t throw me out…” 

“Go to your mommy. She will take you back or else you go to Times Square and give blowjobs there. That’s all you’re worth anyway. Now get out!” 

I felt empty and worthless. It was as good as being erased now. A total meaningless nothing, I no longer was even there, if I had ever been there before. 

I stood up and picked up my clothes bag. 

He waited at the open door, still holding out the dollar. I shuffled past him. 

“Don’t forget your earnings, you worthless pussy!” 

He threw the dollar bill after me and slammed the door shut. The bill twirled to the ground. I looked at it, sadly picked it up, and staggered outside. I didn’t look up to see if he was at the window or not. 

At the corner, I crossed the street and faded from his view. 

I walked past Madison Square Park on 23rd Street, not caring if any queer guys might be winking at me. 

I walked up Broadway. The Sunday stores and buildings were all locked and shuttered, hardly any other people passing on the quiet street. 

On 34th Street, I turned back and gazed down Broadway, imaging I could see to 23rd Street, but no such luck. The high buildings and the inclined street faded from my view. 

I crossed 34th Street and continued up Broadway. In the distance, I could already make out the bright lights of 42nd Street. 

Kinky was right, that’s the only place where I belonged: filthy 42nd Street. 

I turned on the corner and walked down the street of movie theaters. Times Square Theater, Victory Theater, Selwyn Theater, the Apollo, the Eltingen, on and on it went. I did not even look back to see the Pix and Bryant movie house theaters showing off their rated-X features close to 6th Avenue but continued down the street. 

I decided on the New Amsterdam Theater near Seventh Avenue, showing off three scary monster films. I paid my dollar twenty-five admission—using my money and not Kinky’s flung dollar at me—and entered the large olden movie house. 

On the movie screen a woman wearing a robe was running until the robe got snagged on some bushes, ripping it off. She continued to run in skimpy panties and a jiggling bra

Typical...

I instantly found a seat and gazed at the dumb film. 

My mind was back where it was all evening, on to Kinky and how he threw me out of his house. 

I began to sniffle and weep, shutting my eyes. 

I heard a sound like someone was entering my row of seats. I opened my eyes and looked at man approaching. 

Typical, I thought. Well, it is 42nd Street...

I narrowed my eyes.

Oh, my God, it was Kinky. He had come after me! How the hell was that possible? 

He took a seat right next to mine, putting his arm around my shoulders. 

I did not move, feeling renewed and reborn at his caress. 

“You came back…” My eyes flooded with happy tears. “You came back…” 

He faintly smiled at me. 

“Hush, baby,” he whispered and leaned down to kiss me. 

I never felt as accepted as I was at that moment. Peace had come over me.

He looked at me, his arms at my shoulders. 

“I was sure you were going to go in the rated-X features, but you came here. Why?” 

His face showed a warmth he didn’t have about him before. 

“I wasn’t interested in sex. I was thinking only you, only you…” 

He squeezed my shoulder. 

“I had to follow you, my baby. I saw you when you looked behind you at 34th Street. I ducked into a doorway. You did not see me. You moved along Broadway until you came here.” 

He hugged me, again looking around. 

“I had to follow...” 

We kissed. 

“Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home, darling.” 

I almost leaped out of my seat as he grinned and also stood up. 

We went happily down the stairs and left the sleazy New Amsterdam Theater holding hands. 


Chapter 8 

We both went to work the next day, him in his suit and tie, and me in my blue jeans and T-shirt, with my pantyhose still clutching me so tightly. 

He said he was going to get in touch with Henry, or Tex, and find out what really happened. 

It wasn’t really clear over what had occurred anyway, just that Henry had his cock in my mouth when I came to. Did he drug me or was that from too much wine?

My cheery, happy day went by pretty quickly, delivering packageps, smiling at receptionists, until I returned back to the Kinky's apartment. He had given me a key and it felt good but also weird about entering the place without him. 

I nibbled on some potato chips and went to undress, remaing bare in my pantyhose. My erection grew almost instantly as I watched myself, but I left it untouched. 

Let Kinky do it, I thought, he likes doing it to me. I like it, too.

I giggled, lost in comforting thoughts, when I heard two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs. 

It wasn’t Kinky, I was sure of that. 

Then the footsteps stopped at our door and the lock turned. 

I jerked, covering my pantyhose-encased crotch and bare chest with my arms and hands. 

Kinky and Henry stood in the doorway, looking at me. Their ties were unfurled, their jackets off, end of the workday. 

Kinky shut the door behind him. 

“Henry wants to tell you something,” said Kinky, looking at Henry/Tex. “He came down from the Bronx. Henry…” 

Henry nervously cleared his throat. 

“Sorry, kid. I was only playing. Sex play, you know.” 

“Get to the point,” Kinky scowled. 

“It was poppers, kid. Amyl nitrate, it makes you sexually alive, hard-up and horny, too. Drug of choice among the party crowd, but that doesn’t mean anything. The wine you were drinking made it more powerful than I expected. Man, were you stoned and sexually hot! Had to take advantage of you.” 

Kinky glared at him. 

I felt my blood boiling. 

“Go on,” said Kinky. 

“Yes, yes,” said Henry, again clearing his throat. “With the wine you had and the poppers, you were lost to the world. Functioning but certainly not aware of what you were doing.” 

He lowered his gaze. 

“I fucked you in the ass, twice, and that was the second blow-job I was receiving when you came to with my cock in your mouth. Sorry, kid, really sorry.” 

It was quiet, all of us staring at each other. I went to Kinky, he put his arms around me, and we stood there, glaring at Henry. 

“Do you mind?” Kinky opened the door. 

Henry swallowed and, without looking at us, shuffled out. 

Kinky slammed the door after him. 

 * * * * 

A few days later, I went to see Mom. There was a bit of tension, but there were no arguments. 

A gay parade, one of the first of its kind, had marched up 5th Avenue on a bright Sunday, passing the Flatiron Building on 23rd Street. Kinky and I saw parts of it from our window. 

Me and Kinky went and joined in the march. 

I told Mom about it. 

“We’re coming alive, Mom. Once it starts, there’s no turning back.” 

“As easy as all that?” she asked, biting her lip. Then she changed the subject. “You get enough eat? Does he take care of you?” 

“I’m off the booze, Mom. No beer or wine for me. My drinking days are over, that’s for sure.” 

Mom stared at me, red-faced. 

“Maybe you can bring him along one day. I’d love to meet him.” 

I instantly brightened, falling to my knees before her. 

“Oh, Mom, I will, I will.” 

I kissed my mother, over and over again. I was happy. She smiled.

 

THE END