Always Looking by Mykola Dementiuk

 

Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

Always Looking by Mykola Dementiuk 

Chapter 1 

I started going out early with girls and guys, not for sex because at that age, who the hell knew what sex was? The kids I knew were just good friends, stickball buddies—a few dances with girls, which I was naturally embarrassed doing. Mostly, though, it was to have a carefree and happy time, which both girls and guys were doing, or so I thought. That is, until I started being aware of Luba. 

The name Luba meant “loved one” or “love” in Ukrainian, and love just flowed from her, as she seemed to give it out freely to pretty much every big guy in her class. Or at least that was what I imagined. I don’t know if she was a big tease, but I was certain she was an easy lay. Every time I saw her, she was surrounded by big boys walking down the street and holding hands with them; I could just imagine where their walk was taking them. Luba was a large, smiling, happy girl—not that she was fat, oh no, but more like taller, firmer, and sturdier than the other girls in her class. She was in the eighth grade, while I was in the seventh, and she already looked more robust because she certainly was bustier and sexier than any other older woman she could compete with. I imagined that she already was a woman. But why was I was embarrassed and red-faced? As she walked down the hall or down the street, her shoes clicking, she would have me in a constant state of arousal and confusion. She already had me entranced by her existence, though she still didn’t even know I was alive. 

I had been lining up with my classmates for that day’s last trek down the stairs before we were let out of school, when her class marched ahead of us. I watched her trooping with another boy, her classmate right beside her, who was also tall, but it was clear he was up to something because both of them were smirking and grinning, lost in their own little world. My eyes widened, for I suddenly knew what they were doing. I blinked, was it true what I had just seen? She had her hand on the lump in his pants, and he was feeling her big bosom. They went down the stairs and only jerked their hands away as they made the final turn, and their teacher saw what had been going on. She had been feeling him up! His lump was in her hand! Oh God, I wanted to jerk off right there, but instead, I blushed and turned away from seeing any more. But why? Was it my lust and desire for her, or was it for him? 

I instantly reddened but was hard, too, and impatient to run after them. My class seemed to be taking it slowly, though, as if not wanting to leave the security of the nuns, our teachers, who escorted us down the stairs. Out on the street, the other class had already dispersed. I scowled, desperately looking about the street but finally rushing home to where I’d repeat the fantasy of what I had just seen, Luba’s hand on big boy Raymond’s dick beside her, while his hand was mauling her tits. Jerking off for the third or fourth time that night, I couldn’t tell their faces apart because they were blending hopelessly together. 

Chapter 2 

It was in the 1960s when the days were getting warmer, spring was in the air, and school would soon be out for the hot summer before us. Daily, however, we still gathered with the girl students in their blue jumpers and blouses and the boys with their white shirts and school ties. We kept up an appearance of stern rigidity, which the nuns demanded but which few could maintain as the day progressed. The warmth of the late spring days in New York City was almost unbearable as we sat in our classes, drilling for the final exams of the year. 

Luba and her big tits in another classroom, with hard Raymond there beside her, were a constant distraction, and I imagined them sitting and sweating. At the end of the day, I’d watch them coming down the stairs groping each other, with me looking on and jerking off. That was what I thought of her, her body being given out to whomever, while I firmly tugged away at my dick. I think my penis grew even harder as I saw the possibility of getting still closer to her. But in my child’s world view, a year’s age-difference was already out of reach, and she wasn’t in another class but seemingly in another country or planet or at least very far from me. Damn. I scowled, knowing we’d be apart for the summer: Luba, Raymond and me, who so desperately wanted a feel, a clasp, a stroke, but got what he was entitled to—a big fat nothing. As usual, I hurried home to jerk-off. 

Chapter 3 

The doldrums of summer were upon me, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, just lazing around and sweating it out, doing whatever came up. A few times I did sneak onto a subway at the busy 14th Street station, the token clerk just shaking his head and muttering, “Hey!” as I ran through the turnstile and disappeared in a crowd in the busy subway station. I liked riding the subway from my area of the city, near 14th Street in Manhattan, and spending about an hour as it made its way into the elevated Brooklyn tracks, which eventually took me to Coney Island. What a thrill it was as we neared the end of our ride. The aroma and chaotic snapping of popcorn and franks sizzling over a grill in some food carnival emporium filled the air; my mouth instantly watered. 

I like that walk from the subway to the boardwalk, the air saturated with the smell of food and of the ocean as it constantly beat against the sandy beach. As usual, the beach was crowded, though not as much as weekends. I looked in a few booths promising lush prizes. 

“Hey, kid, it’s only a nickel, c’mon, c’mon!” 

I shook my head and walked on. Arcade after arcade, prizes after prizes, on and on it went. I stepped away from the booths and walked across the boardwalk, standing above the beach and looking at the nearby ocean water. The smell of the sea breeze was luscious. I could breathe that aroma for days; it signified a crisp freshness and newness unlike the usual city smells that I was used to: stagnant, oppressive, and stifling on the Lower East Side streets. 

I walked on. The crowds on the boardwalk grew thinner and thinner with less and less people along the beach, an occasional blanket laid out here and there. On one such blanket in the sand, I could make out a couple in bathing suits entwined with each other—the boy lying half atop the girl beneath him. She was nicely chubby, too, a real handful, just as Luba was. I looked around me and saw hardly any people about. I took an empty seat on the boardwalk, looking down at them, rubbing my hard cock. I had a clear view as they lay together, lost in their passions. It was like the 42nd Street movie theaters I’d sneak into now and then, but this was the real thing. I lost myself in the teenaged boy as he sprawled atop her, grinding his hard dick against her, his hand trying to caress her cunt as she resisted beneath him. I gripped my stiff cock and gave myself a nice squeeze. 

Ooh that felt good… 

Over and over I squeezed and stroked, rubbing my hard crotch to where I was grabbing my lump and steadily jerking off as I watched them. He had forcefully moved his hand between her legs and inserted it down her bikini bottom. His wet kisses and his hand actions had stripped her of any control. She had given in to his finger-fucking. I was certain I was going to see an actual fucking right on the beach. Suddenly I spasmed, exploding in a wild mix of ejaculation and gripping contentment, clamping my eyes shut and breathing very hard; it was momentary bliss. I opened my eyes and saw the boy fingering the girl had collapsed and was gasping at her side. He seemed satisfied, but was she? She sat upright, her arms wrapped around herself, and she was looking across the empty beach right at me. 

My God, am I seeing right! It’s Luba! 

I bolted from my bench and fled along the empty boardwalk. 

Chapter 4 

But it really made no difference anymore because Luba would be starting high school, which was out of my world. I was still in the eighth grade and suffering the humiliations which the lay and religious teachers forced on me. Sister Emilia always found a way to shame me, whether it was in asking me a question or because of the way I looked at her; in the end, I would be taken away and forced to undergo her private humiliations. Like sitting in a classroom of little kindergarten children, who stared at the big boy forced into the seat of little kids. But steely eyed Mrs. Buzy was the worst, making me stand outside of the Teacher’s Lounge for an hour or two, where no one was allowed to speak to me or I talk back to them. She made it clear to various other students whom she controlled that if I dared talk to them, they would hurry to her office and report my intransigence toward her rules. What was the point of my being there, in an enforced education? I shake my head now; I learned very little in all the years I was there. 

But daily as I walked down the street, I saw other uniformed kids making their way to classes. Then I saw on 2nd Avenue the one I surreptitiously was waiting for: Luba in her colorful clothes. God, did my penis jump at the sight of her! The memory of just seeing her sprawled out in Coney Island had my dick towering over me. She wasn’t in the drab military apparel of Catholic students but the merry fashionable apparel of seductive young women. Surprisingly, she turned red at my approach, but smoking her cigarette, she grinned and passed me. I had also reddened but scurried to the church basement restroom, where I completed my first religious order of the day: a good jerking-off session, hallelujah! 

But though many months had passed, Luba’s presence on the beach forced her to intrude on my sexual fantasies no matter what I was thinking of. A beautiful woman I had just passed by on the street immediately turned into Luba. The way her breasts puffed out, her smirk, her devil-may-care attitude, were all Luba. She was always there. I constantly thought of her, and when the spring turned into summer, we’d be stopping and chatting for a little bit then hurry off to our different destinations. Eventually we reached the point where she’d peck my cheek, blush, and hurry off. I’d blush, too, but boldly leave the lipstick she had left on my face so that some nun would angrily make me wipe it off. But I didn’t mind at all. I already was in love.  

 Chapter 5 

 By that summer I had graduated from grade school— Good riddance to that hell-hole!—and faced the new world with great intentions and resolve, which meant I wasn’t going anywhere except to high school. 

Haaren High School, a boy’s school, was on 59th Street and 10th Avenue, a distance away from our enclave on the Lower East Side, but which I couldn’t wait to get into. English, Spanish, Science, the classes were made for young men studying and preparing for life, but I quickly found the routine boring and unattractive. In grade school the class was made up of boys and girls, but Haaren was an all-male school. Luba attended a similar exclusive high school for young women: Washington Irving HS, midtown NY. I guessed that the ruling authorities kept the sexes separated just for that reason—the fear of sex, which they must have assumed would be happening in their presence, with male and female students sexually deranged and out of control, fucking like crazy. 

Boy, the adults had a lot to learn… 

But in the mornings I used to meet Luba outside of the 2nd Avenue Deli on 10th Street, where we’d kiss and hold hands as I’d walk her to Washington Irving, not too far, on Irving Place. It felt nice to be doing just that; each day she had a different outfit made just for a chunky tall beautiful young girl. Tight blouses showing off the curvature of her round breasts and above the knee skirts of many colors, patterns of every fashion that I couldn’t wait and scurry off to the 14th Street subway station to jerk-off in the men’s restroom. I don’t know if my favorite event of the day was getting kissed with a little feeling up from Luba or giving myself happy masturbations in the bathroom that morning. I think one led to the other; just a natural progression, I suppose. 

The restroom was hardly ever used, though the station was busy in the morning, allowing me to jerk-off in peace, not even seeing anyone approaching as I beat myself silly, over and over again. I didn’t even recognize the sound of footsteps near me, listening to the clatter of a subway train pulling in or out of the station, that I continued masturbating only partly opening my eyes, holding onto the fantasized image of Luba shedding her clothes, her blouse coming off but her bra remaining on, the bra cups pulled down, revealing her luscious nipples. That was my favorite image of her. 

I instantly sat bolt upright. A boy my age, (God, was he nice-looking!) stood in the doorway of my restroom cubicle, his own penis pulled out, and slowly masturbated, all the while licking his lips but staring right at me. He was red-faced as I probably was, too, that I wanted to run, flee, disappear from that bathroom, but I was rooted to the spot, spreading and widening my own legs even more. (Oh no, we were two sissies!) He took a step into my cubicle, slightly bent down, and nudged my hand off my penis, encircling his own fingers around the stiff muscle. I didn’t care what was happening. I shut my eyes and imagined Luba, her lips meeting mine, our two tongues probing and sucking each other. It was beautiful! I came, my ejaculation shooting and spilling out across my chest… 

Then I realized what was happening: the boy was kissing me and spilling his spunk on me as I had just ejaculated over him. I pulled my head back, drawing my mouth from his drooling lips. 

My God, I had just kissed another boy! How could that have happened? But I was thinking of Luba, were her imagined kisses just like his? 

I jumped up, pulled up my pants, and ran out of the restroom. A feeble “Wait!” from the boy echoed in my ears as I ran. 

God, what a faggot I turned out to be! 

Chapter 6 

Months passed into years and faded behind me. High school had become an ugly memory, but still I kept prowling the streets, always looking, always alert, and always ready. Luba’s closeness soon faded into jobs and other interests, but I still saw her every now and then. We’d make out in the East River Park, getting a hand-job or a finger-fuck, and go back to our little lives before we’d meet again. I’d have a job for a little while or not have a job at all. I’d be living at home or not even be there at all; everything meant the same to me. All I did on a constant basis was just walk, which I did every day. My favorite place, amongst many, was Central Park, that lush and immense parkland of strollers, walkers and chronic masturbators, of which I now was one. 

Central Park in the mornings is a desolate area peopled by only a few walkers making their way to work; it is not a time for idle strolling unless you have other things in mind, which I certainly did… 

It was around 70th Street or so, as I passed a few people walking their dogs near the baseball fields, when I saw him: a seated man, his legs stretched before him, clutching his crotch, outlining the bulky penis within. I turned red but strolled nearer yet somewhat slower than before, looking at what the man was doing, rubbing himself. Our eyes met, and he winked at me, still holding onto his crotch. What could I do? I winked back at him, slightly rubbing my own crotch. I approached his bench and looked at him again. I blushed. 

“You have another cigarette?” I quietly asked, looking down at his shirt pocket and the pack sticking out but really looking down at his bulky crotch. 

He nodded. “I do,” he answered, “but what do I get in return?” And all the while he kept rubbing the large bulge in his pants as my mouth hung open. 

At another time and place I would have told him, “Fuck you, asshole!” and stalked out of there, but instead I fell to his bench and leered at him. 

“This…” I answered, looking around but grabbing his crotch. “Can I have one, please?” 

From where did I get the audacity to do that? What bold nerves did I have or was I just a plain horny hard-up faggot? 

It was a big meaty muscle I felt, certain that he was as erect as could be, but under my hand, it only grew bigger and larger. I was very impressed by the size of his stiffening prick. He slowly reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of Viceroy cigarettes, drawing one out. 

“You want it in your mouth, don’t you, baby?” He straightened his leg. “You want to kiss and suck it…?” 

If he hadn’t said what he did at that moment, I might have gone and lost myself in the emotions I was feeling and followed them to the natural course of events as they were leading me to do something to him. But his words “You want it in your mouth…” jarred me to wakeful remembrance, and the reality of what I was doing couldn’t be denied. I was feeling a hard-up man, like the man in the subway restroom many years ago. I ejaculated, contorting on the bench, lost in the feelings of peace and satisfaction. I sat bolt upright, letting go of his covered penis. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered as I ran deeper into the park. 

Oh no, why was it happening again?  

Chapter 7 

Down the paths I fled, gagging and belching, sweat pouring over me. It was certain I was a dirty faggot—no question about that. Again I spat out and belched again. Oh Christ, what is wrong with me? But I did ask him for a cigarette. That was all. I was reaching for a cigarette, I imagined, and the dirty faggot tricked me. You have to watch it in the park; the faggots are everywhere. 

I collapsed onto a bench and looked out on the still waters of the Central Park Lake. It was early morning, and the rowboats where still docked at the boathouse. A few people walked along in the distance. Nearby a fancily made-up woman who was smoking a cigarette, her hair high on her head, her bosom puffed out, clad in white trousers and high-heels, walked a little dog that seemed it didn’t want to go anywhere. 

“Fifi, what is wrong with you?” she squealed at the puppy, “Mommy doesn’t have all day, you know.” 

I instantly bent down to the little dog. 

“Hey, puppy,” I said waving my fingers at him. 

“Woof, woof!” it squeaked, darting away and getting tangled in the woman’s legs. 

She spun around, shaking the dog and chain, tossing her half-smoked cigarette away. 

“Fifi, stop that!” 

“Woof, woof!” 

She got a hold of the dog, and I sat smiling, looking at the woman also bending down to her puppy. 

“How old is the little puppy?” I asked, still twirling my fingers at the dog. 

The woman looked at me and reached for another cigarette. 

“Next week she will be one year,” she said, stooping down and picking up Fifi in her arms. She hugged the little puppy, which responded by trying to lick her face. “Eww!” The woman shrieked and quickly bent down, setting the dog back on the ground. “Bad dog, Fifi. Bad, bad dog!” She shook her head and lit the cigarette. 

I bit my lips. 

“You have another one?” 

She looked at me but held out the open pack to me. Salem; there were four or five remaining. I took one, as she held out the matches to me. 

“You live around here?” she asked. 

I shook my head, blowing out the smoke. 

“No, ma’am, I live downtown.” The menthol smoke was a bit repulsive, but I didn’t let on. 

“Hmm, downtown, what’s that? The Lower East Side?” 

I nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am, I was just out walking, you know?” and winked at her. 

She snorted and shook her head. 

“Long walk,” she said, and picked up her little puppy and started back on the walkway. 

“Don’t go,” I feebly muttered, but she walked quickly without turning back to look at me and disappeared from sight on the trail. I sat smoking her menthol cigarette. Salem, I read the name and flung the half-smoked butt into the Lake. 

Chapter 8 

It was early afternoon when I walked near the Central Park Zoo, a carousel spinning round as merry thumping music played. When I was a kid a few times my parents had taken me for a ride on one of the carousel ponies—I think that green one? No, that yellow one? Oh, what the hell, I can’t remember. I chuckled and sat down to watch the kids going round and round. A few people sat on the benches, happily looking after their kids then getting up and going to them as the ride ended. At the far end of the benches sat a man, seemingly reading a paperback, but all the while glancing up at the kids or whoever passed him by. I know that look, I thought, turning very red: a flaming faggot, that was what he was. I sat a while, trying to adjust the hard-on in my pants, then got up and started walking in his direction. 

Oh no, what am I doing? It had been a few hours since I last tried it, and here I am again, trying to entice a man. I’m nothing but a filthy faggot, but this had been going on for years— in the parks, in the restrooms, doing it, but then fleeing as if nothing happened. I wanted to shake my head, but I just stared at him as I drew nearer. 

He was an older man than the other was, and it seemed that he would read a few sentences, all the while looking up as if he was awaiting someone. I neared him, turning to my left to take a seat on his bench. The man sat up, uncrossing his legs and turning to his side. I sat down. He nodded, and I nodded back. It didn’t seem as if he had been smoking; I made no mention of it. 

 “Nice day,” he said. 

I nodded. 

“Sure is, too nice to be indoors.” 

This time he nodded. 

“You from around here?” he asked. 

I knew what to say. I wasn’t going to admit anything, not like with the woman and her stupid dog. 

“Near here, but not very far way, either.” 

 He looked at me.  

“Nice,” he said, nodding his head. “I like to meet boys from this area. What street do you live on?” 

I instantly thought about Haaren HS on 59th Street and knew there were some brownstones on the next block. 

 “60th and 10th,” I lied, “You?” 

He winked and nodded. 

“Also near here, 75th and Madison.” 

I smirked. 

“We’re practically neighbors.” 

He giggled. 

“Right you are, neighbors…” 

He sat holding his book, thinking and looking at me. 

“What you reading?” I asked, gesturing to his book, “Anything interesting?” 

He looked at the cover and shrugged, holding out the book to me. 

“It’s okay, but not as good as the old movie, you ever see it?” 

I got up, took a few steps closer, and joined him on the bench, taking the book from him. The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. “Kidnapping, pornography, seduction,” read the back cover. 

 “Yeah, that’s a movie, too,” I said, handing back his book. “But I’ve never seen it,” I winked. “But I sure do like that bit about pornography, you know what I mean?” 

He looked at me and then glanced at his book. 

“You know, next week The Big Sleep will be playing up at the Paris Cinema, that movie house on 59th Street that shows old films. You ever been there?” 

 I shook my head. 

“No, never have.” 

“Oh, but you should see it. It’s a classic with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. You should go,” he looked at me as if thinking of something. “Here, read the book,” he said, handing over the Chandler novel. “Perhaps if we live so close to each other we can meet and go to the Paris Theater together. It’s on 59th Street off 5th Avenue. You ever been there?”

Again I shook my head and watched him closely.  

“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “Next week you say?” He nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.” 

He brightened. 

“Oh, goodie, it will be like our first date.” He clutched my hand, giving it a nice gentle squeeze. “I’m so happy. By the way, what’s your name? I’m Phillip.” 

 I snorted, frowning and shaking my head. “Danny,” I told him, narrowing my eyes. “But it’s not our date. I’m not a queer. Did you think I was a queer?” 

 He let go of me. “You aren’t? I was sure you were one, but you certainly look like one.” 

I was angry. 

“You’re crazy and sick,” I said, waving my arm at him and standing up. “Forget I gave you my name. You’re a perv, goodbye.” 

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” he pleaded, reaching out for me. “I didn’t know it was like your first time, forgive me. Forget I ever mentioned queers. Very sorry, let’s start all over, okay?” 

I stood a moment, looking at him, and dropped to the bench again. 

“You have a cigarette?” I angrily asked. 

He shook his head. 

“Oh, no, those things are dreadful,” he said, and winked. “I’d rather be sucking something else, if you know what I mean?” 

I smirked and shook my head. “Yeah, I do, you’re queer.” 

He nodded. “Yes but you and I are like two peas in a pod. Apart, we’re nothing, but together, we grow into a blooming garden. All we need is a little tenderness and love. Don’t you think so, sweetie?”  And he blinked at me and again tried reaching for my hand. 

In the near distance the carousel started up again, but this time not many people were on it, just a few frightened little kids with their caregivers standing close by them and waving them on. I did nothing as his hand moved over mine and settled on my crotch, giving me a firm squeeze. By then I had already melted from his closeness, responding more to what was going to occur in the movie house as we watched the old film he was planning to see. I did not care that he gripped my dick and balls, ready for anything, when I felt it: that sudden and quick gyrating spasm in the pit of my belly and was soon rushing frantically upwards. I ejaculated, clamping my eyes shut, my body shaking and shivering with pleasure. I looked about me; he was staring right at me with his hand on my covered but quickly dwindling penis. 

How could this be happening, I wondered, and right out in the open? I pushed his hand off and jumped up. 

“Gotta go,” I said, holding out his book. 

“Go where?” he asked, not taking the book. “Read it. We have a date next week at the Paris, Wednesday at noon time. Now don’t forget,” he called after me. 

But I had hurried away on the trail, half-running, halfwalking, and tapping his book on my leg, fleeing from the park. 

Chapter 9 

It was almost 3 P.M. when I snuck into the subway going downtown and rode home. My mind reeled. Meet some faggot in a darkened movie theater, the Paris? I shook my head. Like hell I would! 

It felt uncomfortable to stand on the crowded subway, my penis still hard and stiff. I sure hoped the dampness didn’t show too much—had to meet Luba that evening. Luba. That was why I was so hard, I dreamily thought; she could give me fantastic hand-jobs, that was for sure. 

At home I changed my damp pants and soggy underwear, looking at myself in the mirror. I removed my shirt and T-shirt, standing totally nude, my penis stiff before me. Wouldn’t it be nice to stand naked before Luba? Oh no, she was always wearing something: a skirt, tight pants with a garter belt, or her nylons covering her legs. Never any nudity with her. When could I see her nude? Well, not when she had a boyfriend, maybe even a fiancé? But how the hell would I know? Did she ever tell me anything? 

I collapsed on the bed and gripped my penis. I had already cum three or four times, it really didn’t matter, and shut my eyes, again fantasizing about Luba. I shook my head. The fantasy was better then the real thing, the bitch, I thought. 

I got off the bed and walked across the apartment, looking out the front window. Kids were playing outside, running and shouting—their normal playtime. A few adults stood about, smoking, reading papers and chattering. I almost turned away when I saw a man flitting down the street. It was the only way to describe his stance. He flitted; he didn’t walk, and all the while turning back to see if anyone was coming after him. He sped down the street. Three or four strokes and I exploded in a blast of ejaculation, shooting my scum onto mom’s curtains as I stood at the window naked and jerking off. 

It was beautiful! 

I opened my eyes and quickly fled from the window, lest anyone be looking at me. I got dressed, fresh jeans and a Tshirt, and went outside, thinking I’d go after that man, but I knew I had already missed him.  

Chapter 10 

The East River Park, where I’d normally meet Luba in the evenings, was still almost deserted as it usually was. A long immense parkland, stretching from 14th Street along the river’s edge to downtown Montgomery Street, almost a mile and a half, was always practically deserted except for a few walkers or dog strollers who always seemed to hurry by. For some reason Luba told me about her secret place, and we’d be meeting there on most evenings, when she could appear. By then I had been following her mindless instructions about people and how they gossip too much, spreading lies about things they know nothing about.

“You got to watch that bitch Connie. She’ll spread filthy lies…” Or Helen or Elizabeth, or whoever she was complaining about at that moment. On most days she would arrive at the East River Park with further news about the girls who had it in for her, relating rumors and tales as she beat my dick off while going on with her gossip. 

“You take Irene, I can tell you things…” But by then, I was no longer listening to what she was saying. As usual it did not take very long to reach early ejaculation, but since I had cum three or four, maybe even five, times, it sure took a little extra before I came for the possible sixth or seventh time. 

“Are you alright?” I heard, Luba’s voice jarring me to wakefulness. “You never hear me anymore?” 

“Huh, what?” I answered, shaking my head and coming to. 

She let go off my somewhat hard penis; it was a pain to keep it hard when it didn’t want to. 

“I’ve been jerking you off for almost fifteen minutes, and that’s all you think of me—a way of getting it somewhat hard? Keep dreaming, asshole!” She jumped up. “I’m going home. I have better things to do.” And with that, she took her purse and marched to the overpass on 10th Street, which would take her out of the park. 

 “No, Luba!” I called after her, watching her disappear from the park. 

I was too embarrassed to rush after her, but she was right. I had cum way too many times. I sat there, my somewhat hard penis before me, when I saw a man near a tree standing and looking right at me. 

Oh shit, he sees me, I thought. He made a move from the river railing and reached for his own exposed penis. I instantly grew harder, gripping my stiff dick and slowly masturbating. Six or seven strokes and I was gripped by an explosive ejaculation that tore and ripped right through me, the cum shooting out on my belly. The man continued to beat his dick and watch me. 

Luba’s sick, I thought, but what if she returns? I shook my head; she wouldn’t. I stood up and hurried out of the park. 21 

Chapter 11 

At home I had Mom’s macaroni and cheese and listened to her complaints about her workday. 

“Stella did that…Lisa said this…” I chuckled, as she reminded me of Luba. On and on it went, and I realized that women didn’t have anything better to do than complain and ridicule each other. Mom was doing the same. 

I finished eating, set the dishes in the sink, and went to my room. 

Almost instantly I noticed The Big Sleep, which the man in the park had given me that afternoon. 

What the hell is The Big Sleep? I thought, taking the book and sprawling down on the bed. 

I opened it. “It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid- October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills.” And as I read, I seemed to be losing myself in the world of private eye Philip Marlowe in the 1930’s, the treachery and deception becoming one with the characters in the novel. 

It was pretty late when I set the book down. Mom had called a few times, “Go to sleep! You never read like that! What’s wrong with you?” I had shown her the book earlier, but she didn’t understand what could possibly be there for me; I hardly understood myself. But I rolled over and set the Tensor light to shine right on the book and kept reading. Sometimes around twelve A.M. or so, I drifted off to sleep but was startled awake at a few minutes after one, the Tensor light beaming into my face, I clicked it off, rolled over, and slept. 

When I awoke, it was a Saturday. I slept fairly late, it being almost eleven A.M. before I stirred. I stretched, yawned a few times, and staggered to the bathroom. I instantly had a hard-on—or perhaps I had one all along? I strained and finally peed. Ah, that felt good! Weird, but during my days, like yesterday with all my cumming, I hardly ever had to pee. Only I usually do it at the end of the day. Luba had once said, “At least you’re not a faggot. They spend all their time in the bathrooms.” What the fuck was that supposed to mean, anyway, and how the hell would she know? 

I shook my penis, still yawning, and went to the living room. Mom was setting her purse in order. 

“Good, you’re finally up. What’s that book you had? I’ve never seen you reading before.” 

I yawned and turned away from her, my face burning. 

“Oh, Mom, I read. I had to read all those dumb books for school. Once in a while I read my own thing, that’s all.” 

She inserted her keys and a tiny perfume bottle in the purse and snapped it shut. 

“Well, if you say so. Listen, I’ll be out most of the day. You can make some eggs for breakfast, and there’s a sandwich in the fridge.” She stood in the doorway. “Enjoy your book. See ya.” I nodded, and she shut the door after her. 

I looked at the shut door and went to the front window. I could make out Mom walking up the street, turning onto the avenue, and disappearing. 

I sighed, looked down at a few strollers, and went back to my room. I’d tossed the book I’d been reading to the floor. In a way I was disappointed by it; no real sex—just a hint of it as if more was to come. I picked up the book and again flipped through a few pages. Why couldn’t any one write a real sexy book, showing off tits and dicks, each one opening and ready for the other being inserted and eager for more? I shook my head, tossed the book on the bed, and went looking for the food Mom said was waiting for me. 

Had some scrambled eggs. I used three instead of two— Mom would scowl, I know that, but hell, I was hungry—with some buttered toast and thought about my day. Since it was the weekend, I couldn’t see Luba. She’d be busy with her own mom. At least, that was what she told me. I shook my head. What a bitch liar she was! Probably had another weekend boyfriend on the side—Raymond, or whatever his current name might be, whom she kept secret and saw him only on the weekends, the whoring cunt. I frowned and again shook my head, placing my dirty plate in the sink. Hell, but I was with her only for the 23 masturbations that she gave me. That was about it, and they were nice jerking-off sessions. There was nothing like sitting in a desolate park, listening to the nearby traffic speeding along on the FDR Drive, and getting your dick stroked off by Luba again and again and again. Whomp, whomp, whomp…Ah, bliss! 

 I got up and staggered to the couch, holding and rubbing my penis, pulling down my drawers, removing my T-shirt, and lying naked on the sofa. I loved that feeling of nakedness; it felt so natural and undisturbed, authentic, really. I bet you that man in Central Park wouldn’t mind being naked with me. What was his name, anyway? Did I get a name or had I forgotten? Make sure you get a name on Wednesday and set things right. 

I scowled. What makes you think he’ll be there, at the Paris movie house, at noon time? But will I be there, too? Aw, c’mon, stop kidding yourself. It’s a big city, and he was only a one-time faggot. Easy come, easy go. Just like the one before him. 

I shook my head and thought about the man I had been feeling earlier. The sensation of his stiff covered dick in my hand was sweet; it gave me a nice feeling. I should do that more often, find someone whom I liked it and feel him up… 

Sometimes, while making out with and feeling Luba, I always imagined there’d be a stiff dick under her panties. That was why I hardly ever got to her cunt. I always imagined and pretended that there would be something bigger and firmer when my fingers did reach her hot pussy. But imagine my frustration at the feeling of openness and nothing else there—a void, really. Luckily, my fingers excited her so much that she seemed to spasm from the sensation, always pushing my hands off, lest someone saw. Like who? I wanted to know, but there was never anyone there looking at us while she jumped up, saying, “Have to get home, bye.” 

I angrily beat my dick, and I was very stiff from the memories of Luba jerking me off and of the various men in the park. 

Men, what did Luba have to do with men? Really nothing. They weren’t after her; they were after me! I ejaculated, the sperm shooting on my chin and chest, almost reaching my mouth. I licked whatever I could, getting a few droplets from my body, amazed by the fresh, sweet aroma, smearing it on my fingers and licking it all over. Was that what a man’s cum tasted like—fresh and alive, and it was certainly refreshing and vibrant. Hell, I wish I were in Central Park right now. 

I leaped out of bed, rubbed in the remaining cum on my thighs, and got dressed. It was almost noon time, time to get out of the house and hit the streets again. The hell with Luba and whatever boyfriend she had! I ran down the stairs and greeted the day outside. Ah, it felt marvelous!

Chapter 12 

But where would I go: East River Park, Central Park, or to Madison Square Park? That’s a nice quiet park, I’ll go there. 

Madison Square Park was on 23rd Street and 5th Avenue, stretching up to 27th Street and across to Madison Avenue a block away. It was a nice little peaceful park with walkways and benches you could sit on everywhere you turned—a great place to relax and watch the world go by. 

A walk past bookstores, greeting card shops, a Laundromat and few bars, and the massive building of the Metropolitan Life Company, all shuttered and closed up for a Saturday. Amazing, I had a hard-on already. Rarely had I passed any people on the streets as I walked uptown. Oh sure, there were many on 14th Street, but it being a Saturday, the quiet streets uptown had no reason to attract them. But in the peaceful park a few people were indeed sitting around, which is why I was here: the availability of people, especially male people, sitting, waiting and looking at me! 

I rubbed and straightened my erection in my jeans, glancing about me. The men were mostly elderly, sitting and talking with each other or just staring into space. None of them interested me, so I got up, rubbed my erection, and wandered through the park. Near 26th Street I again sat down on a group of benches which wove around the park. I saw a man walking slowly, smoking and looking about him, as I had been doing. He was a middle-aged gentleman, much as the ones I had been with in Central Park yesterday, walking aimlessly as if he had all the time in the world, and this being a Saturday, I suppose he did, too. I uncrossed my legs and spread them out before me, certain that my hard-on was evident. The man sauntered slowly, looking right at me. I bit my lips and stared back at him. 

“You have another cigarette?” I asked as he drew nearer to my bench. The man looked at me, starting to reach in his shirt pocket, flipping open a box of Salem cigarettes. Why do faggots besides women smoke only menthol cigarettes? Probably because they’re so feminine. I smirked. Just as yesterday’s Fifi dog woman did. 

“Certainly, my young man, here you are.” 

I took a cigarette from his pack and awaited for a light. 

“Hey, thanks.” 

He flipped a book of matches and struck a match, curiously looking at me. I bent down to take his light. 

“Anytime,” he said, winking. “Anytime…” 

I breathed the cool smoke out and looked at him, quickly blinking. 

He licked his lips. “I love your eyes when they do they blink like that. They look so…so…so romantic. Is that the word?” 

I blushed and uncontrollably blinked my eyes even faster. 

“I must have a twitch or else the hot weather has something to do with it. I don’t really know.” I took a deep puff on the cigarette and slightly shook my legs, certain that my erection was more easily seen. The man cleared his throat, taking another puff and flinging the smoked butt away. 

“You’re certainly a perceptive young man. You know what you’re after and go right out and get it. Isn’t that right?” 

I nodded, keeping the cigarette in my mouth. 

“That’s the only way to act. There ain’t no other way.” I shrugged. The man had raised a leg up and rested it on the bench just inches from my face, slowly rocking it. I suddenly felt uncomfortable and nibbled my lips even more, as if I wasn’t sure what was happening. 

“You should use some ChapStick,” he said, pointing at my mouth. “This warm humid weather is very bad for a dry mouth, you know?” 

I looked at him and shrugged, taking another puff. 

“Humid weather causes dry mouth?” I asked. “You mean like today is? I guess it does. It sure got very hot fast, don’t you think so?” 

“Sure, I was just thinking that today is ripe for air conditioning.” 

“I suppose, though I can think of other things to do.” I was looking right at him, and he stared back at me. By then I saw the 27 lump of hard dick in his pants grow with every word I uttered; I knew I had him. I nodded, taking a final puff on the cigarette and flicking it away, the curlicues of smoke reaching up to his face. 

“Gonna be a hot summer, that’s for sure.” 

We looked at each other. He set his leg down. 

“How would you like to come up and give me a hand?” 

He winked as I curiously looked at him. “A hand, doing what?” 

“Well, with my air conditioner of course, what did you think I was talking about?” He winked again, we looked at each other. “Two men are better than just one, you know?” And again he winked. “Anyway, we’ll have some fun doing it.” 

I continued to look at him. 

“Well, it’s too hot to go far. Is it anywhere near here?” 

He nodded. 

“Oh, yes, 30th Street, right of Park. It being a Saturday, the streets are very still and quiet. I’ll make it worth your while. Of course I’ll pay you,” he said. “Hey, listen, I didn’t get your name. I’m Yankel.” He held out his hand. 

I frowned. 

“What kind of name is that?” 

“Yiddish.” 

“You mean Jewish?” 

“No difference. What is yours?” 

 Did I have any Jews amongst the men I went out with? I have no idea. 

“Danny,” I said, offering my hand. 

“Ah, Daniela, a very pretty name, yes, indeed.” He smiled and set down his leg. 

I stood up, following him and thinking that I had never been called by my name’s female version, Daniela. I smirked. I liked it very much.  

Chapter 13 

For about the last two years or so, sort of on the side, I’d been meeting men in parks or in Times Square and going off with them—into darkened alleys, forgotten hallways, behind a bus or a truck, even a burnt out police car. Not that I was doing faggot things—actually I never did much, just let them give me a hand-job, blow-job, or sometimes mutual masturbations, like having a man jerk me off while I held his dick as he rocked before me. A few dollars in payment and I’d be gone. It was that until I’d be kissing and feeling up Luba, also on the side. I suppose I would have been naturally attracted to men, but as it was Luba who really showed me by her actions that sex was even sneakier than I thought: more treacherous, more subversive, more than just a man and a woman. It was sex of all kinds, sex not only with the opposite gender, but sex with anybody, though of course Luba would not admit it. 

So in his 30th Street apartment, a dingy third story walk-up in a five or six story building, he instantly put his arms around me before he even closed the door. I squirmed away, pushing his arms off. 

“Where’s the AC you wanted me to help you with?” 

He bit his lips, blushing. 

“Have to get one, it’s on order.” 

I scowled, shaking my head. 

“So you mean you don’t have one? Is that what you got me up here for, to tell me it’s on order?” 

This time he shook his head in his own defense. 

“No, no, you don’t understand. It should come this week, but you’re an exceptionally nice young man. I knew it right away, the kind I would love to meet and spend some time with. Do you feel the same about me?” 

I shrugged. 

“I suppose, but still, you didn’t have to lie to get me up here.” 

“No, I suppose I didn’t, but would you have come up otherwise?” 

I turned to look out his window; a car passed on the street below us. I turned back. 

“Perhaps…” I started, and saw that he had opened up his zipper and pulled out his stiff, hard penis, slowly exposing his cock-head. I turned red but cleared my throat and whispered, “Maybe I would. Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” 

He had walked across the room, his penis out before him; I felt the hard stiffness of my own cock pulsing in my pants. He reached out and gripped me. I put my arms about him and fell into his hold, his lips moving onto mine. Somehow he had maneuvered his hands about my pants, and all I felt was of them dropping down my legs. I stepped out of them and removed the rest of my clothes as I fell next to him, still kissing and sucking his face, but except for his hard penis, he was still dressed. I love that feeling of abandon and losing myself so that I didn’t know what I was doing, letting him take over. Then there came a loud knock on the door. 

“Yankel, you in there?” Another knock, frantic, desperate. 

“Oy gevalt.” Oh goodness, groaned Yankel in bed with me. 

 Almost instantly I felt my stiffness soften, shrinking less and less. 

“It’s my brother,” he said, getting up in bed. “Have to see what he wants.” He shook his head and went to answer the door. “Yes, yes, coming…” His shrinking penis still hanging out. I grabbed a sheet and threw it over me. 

There was a brief conversation at the door, something about missing the Saturday’s service. The brother curiously looked at Yankel’s exposure and at me on the bed, when I heard Yankel say, “Damn, I’ll be ready in a bit. I’ll meet you downstairs,” and shut the door on his brother’s face. 

“It’s my poor mother,” he said, coming to the bed and zippering up his pants, “she’s at death’s door, might pass away at any moment. I have to be there.” 

I got up. 

“I understand,” I said, also getting dressed. 

“I’d let you stay here but the way things are with her…” 

I shook my head. 

“No, it’s okay, I can always come back at another time.”

He sadly looked at me. 

“You’re very sweet; I don’t want to lose you. Please, please come back in a few days when it’s over.” He kissed me, and for a moment I was lost until he pulled away. 

“I’ll be back,” I said as we went down the stairs and again saw his suspicious brother smoking and waiting for him. They went off together with the brother turning to look at me. 

Chapter 14 

 As I walked to 34th Street I felt myself getting hard and stiff again, the memory of nakedness arousing me to a possible quick jack-off. I was desperate to get in a bathroom. But on 34th Street people were everywhere, walking into busy shops and coming out with bags holding their purchases. There were no restrooms that I could find or knew about. Not until 42nd Street did I see park trees looming over the street; I hurried on. 

Through the window of a coffee shop, I saw that it was already one o’clock when I turned into Bryant Park at the back of the New York Public Library and entered the restroom they had at one end. A slew of men hovered about the front door, and even more men lingered about the urinals near the front. My God, what have I come upon and where was I? I thought I was in heaven!

I shamefacedly staggered past the men, entered a cubicle, and shut the door. I gripped my stiff penis and gave it a few pulls. With just a stroke or two, I was erupting, the spasm tearing mightily through me. I clamped my eyes shut as my rigid arm gripped my shooting penis. Oh God, it was sweet and heavenly! Bliss came over me, forcing me into a feeling of divine love. I tiredly opened my eyes. And I saw a man’s head, looking at me from the other cubicle, obviously standing up on the toilet seat beneath him. I turned red; he licked his lips and winked at me. 

“Let me in,” he whispered, “please…” 

I instantly zippered up and fled from the restroom, embarrassed but also hurrying out of there. Let him in where, into my cubicle? Was he nuts? Everyone would see! I scurried into the street and away from the park, making my way down 42nd Street. 

Movie theaters were everywhere, standing next to each other and advertising current show times or coming attractions. Most of the displays were of some half-dressed women in bed. I paused at almost every display, comparing, assessing, figuring out what the movie could be about. In any case, I would love to see them all! 

I think it was my second or third time up and down 42nd Street when I saw a man trailing me—a slender man with a smile upon his lips and eyes that seemed to leer at me, when I blushed and turned away. 

“Man, those are some knockers!” I muttered as if to myself, shaking my head. 

“Yes,” I heard him whisper, “I’d love to get my hands on that.” 

I looked up. The man who had been following me now stood beside me, licking his lips, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He stared right at me. 

“Hey, you have another one?” I asked, gesturing to the cigarette. 

“Why certainly,” he said, removing the cigarette from his mouth and instantly putting it back in as he held out a pack of Newport cigarettes. Still menthol. 

I smiled, taking a cigarette from his pack and holding it to my mouth, sucking up the flame; I blew the smoke out. 

“You come across any movie that you’d like to see?” he said, also smoking and looking up at the display; it was of a half man-monster chasing after a barely dressed woman. 

I shook my head. “I can’t stand monster films. They’re so much bull. Give me a real story about men and women.” I looked at him. “Or maybe just men with men, like the old war movie, you know what I mean?” 

He brightened, beaming right at me. 

“Yes I do,” he nodded at me and deeply breathed in his cigarette, blowing out the heady smoke from his lips. “Men and men,” he said. “But you have to go up to the Adonis for those, not on 42nd Street.”

“What do you mean, Adonis? What’s that?” He studied my face. 

 “The Adonis? Why, it’s a men’s theater, showing the finest gay films. Have you ever been there?” 

My penis instantly tensed. 

“No, never been.” I shook my head. “I didn’t even know there was such a place. Where is it, nearby?” 

He grinned, leering at me.  

“Right on 8th Avenue and 50th Street. I was just going there myself to see some film. I go every week. Would love to have you join me. It would be so pleasant having you beside me, don’t you think?” 

I grimaced. “But I have no money for a movie. I was just looking…” 

He shook his head and threw his cigarette into the gutter. 

“Oh, but it would be my treat.” He said, winking. “Think nothing of it. A nice sweet young man—you’re worth more than all of 42nd Street rolled together.” 

I smiled and sighed, walking up 8th Avenue to the Adonis with an erection in my pants. 

“By the way, what is your name?” 

“Danny,” I answered. 

He smiled and said, “I’m Clarkie Kent.” 

I grinned. 

“You mean like Clark Kent?” I snorted. 

“Exactly. That’s my name, Clarkie Kent. I’m your man of steel.” He moved closer. I felt my erection strain in my pants. Our hands brushed against each other. I was extremely giddy.  

Chapter 15 

We walked and chatted about the sudden heat that had fallen on the city. 

“Incredible,” Clarkie said, shaking his head. “Will be an unbearable summer, that’s for sure.” 

I shrugged. 

“You think so?” I said, looking at the Adonis marque from across the street on 50th . 

We crossed the avenue, Clarkie bumping me a few times as he avoided other pedestrians. We reached the Adonis and stood at the box office. A male teller curiously regarded me but took the money from him, and we entered the darkened Adonis auditorium. A film was playing. I instantly blushed; two men were sucking each other off. We strode down a few aisles and entered a row of vacant seats near the front. 

“I like to come all the way down here,” Clarkie whispered, “especially when I’m with someone.” He put his arm around my shoulders and drew me to him. I let my mouth fall open, expecting a kiss, but all he wanted was just to hold me close to him, like two lovers cuddling. I shrugged and watched the sexy movie— sex if you like it that way. And I did, I had never seen a men’s movie before, didn’t even know they existed, but here it was: two naked men kissing, sucking, and feeling each other up as if they were openly sexual partners, which I was sure they were. Suddenly, I felt his hand pawing my crotch. 

I straightened my leg, giving full access to my crotch and immediately felt my zipper sliding down. His hand moved in my pants, and he pulled my small but firm penis out. I did the same to him, my hand reaching and pulling out his big large muscle as he had just done to me. We jerked, over and over, lost in the pleasures of masturbation. I was first to shoot, the tightness around me sending me spiraling out of control. I was lost in euphoria that spread through my soul and body, the divine pleasure cocooning me so that I could feel nothing but glorious peace and pleasure. Oh God, cumming with a man inside a men’s theater was simply luscious, absolutely beautiful!  

I opened my eyes. The handsome actor had stood up and walked across the room on screen. 

“Lovely cum oozing out of you,” Clarkie whispered to me. I gradually realized he was still gripping my penis while I continued to masturbate him, and I was certain he was on the verge of explosion. He blasted, his spunk shooting up like a geyser. I surged towards it, catching a few dollops on my face, around about my eyes, licking my mouth in hopes of catching more. I shyly smiled at him and fell back in my seat. He smiled, too. Again his arm went around my shoulder as I cuddled beside him. 

In a bit he whispered again, “Do you want anything to chew, like candy or popcorn?” 

 I shook my head. 

“Chew? I can think of something else.” I winked and leered at him; he blushed. 

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not into that at all.” He shook his head. “Just good caresses, a few hugs with some jerking-off, and I’m content. I hope you don’t mind.” Still blushing, he looked at me, worried. 

“I love doing the same,” I quietly said. “We can jerk each other off for hours. I know I can.” 

I looked up at him. He bent his head, and we kissed. It was lovely! 

Shortly after he zippered up and whispered, “Be right back. Have to go to the little boy’s room.” He giggled, stood up, and left. 

I sat dreamily contented, looking up at the movie of a man in tight pants flitting up a Hollywood street as another muscular man, also in very tight pants, came after him. I looked at the actors, slowly jerking myself off, when I heard someone entering my row of seats. I looked up, expecting Clarkie returning from the bathroom, when I sat straight up. A tight-shirted man was coming down the row towards me, unzipping his pants and reaching in for his cock. 

Oh my God! I thought and saw that my row of seats ended up against a wall. It would be easy to step over to the next aisle, but the sinister look on the man showed me that he meant business, and there was no escaping him; he wanted his cock in my mouth. He took another step towards me, now holding the sizeable exposed cock before him. I winced in fear of him, of what was inevitably going to happen next: a huge, exposed cock shoved deep into my throat. 

“What the hell!” Suddenly, I heard Clarkie say, “Get away for her!” 

The would-be rapist stopped in his tracks. That was the only way to call him, a rapist, because that was what he had in mind: the vicious brutally overcoming the innocent, but why did Clarkie call me a her? Yet I instantly felt relieved, my worries and cares driven from me. The man turned to face Clarkie in his row, looking angrily and bitterly at him. “Leave her alone!” repeated my savior. “And come out of that aisle. There’s nothing for you there.” 

The man turned to glare back at me but then continued to move down the row of seats as Clarkie slowly walked backwards, stepping out of the seats and moving aside as the rapist stalked out of the theater. 

I sighed heavily as my savior held and caressed me. I was very afraid, wanting to cry as I lay huddled in Clarkie’s arms, whimpering and shaking my head. 

“He was going to rape me,” I said. “I know he was.” 

“You’re safe, baby,” Clarkie whispered, kissing my face. “No one will ever touch you, my precious. Not when you’re with me.” 

I snuggled against him and watched the sexy male movie, jerking him off as he was doing the same to me. We held each other’s dicks, cooing, kissing, and licking our faces, simply holding our stiff muscles as if for the safety they could provide, until inevitably the semen spewed out once more, over and over again. I even went to the men’s room with him, holding his penis while the urine gushed out, providing peace, comfort, and satisfaction as I stood red-faced, embarrassed but clutching his organ as other men leered at us in the somewhat crowded men’s room. We traipsed back to our seats, giggling, gushing, comparing the men we had just seen from the others who stood out holding their dicks to us. I was blushing very much that evening. But we were true to each other, looking but not touching, admiring but not grasping as we were content with what we had: each other. And that was more than enough for us. 

But by Saturday evening, as more and more men came into the Adonis to watch, to hold and suck each other off, we both knew it was time to leave the premises. It was almost ten P.M., and we had seen the same film over five or six times as it always came up after some other raunchy film. We agreed it was time to leave. 

On crowded 8th Avenue, as we slowly made our way downtown, he looked at me and said, “We should do this every week. It was so lovely being with you.” 

I agreed but blushed, knowing he wanted to kiss me, but 8th Avenue was incredibly busy with people moving in all directions; I felt his hand touching my fingers. 

“Yes.” I nodded. “That would be very nice. It’s great to be with you.” 

 “I agree,” Clarkie said, leering at me. “Let’s make a date to meet next Saturday in the early afternoon and see another Adonis movie. They change features every Friday, so we can see a new one each Saturday. I'll pay your way in, how about it?” 

I smiled at him, ecstatic I had a date being set up. 

“Are you leaving?” I sadly asked. We were at the foot of the Port Authority building on 41st Street and 8th Avenue. I was devastated looking at him, already feeling abandoned, forgotten. 

“I’ll be back next week, on Saturday, let’s say one P.M. Adonis will be awaiting us,” he said, and he winked at me. 

“Where do you live?” I sadly asked. 

“Across the river in New Jersey.” 

“You live alone?” He looked at me, studying my sorrow-filled eyes. 

“We each made choices that we must live with years ago,” he sadly said, “but the choice we made today can last a life time. Each day is new, every moment important and precious. Don’t forget that. Savor each moment; it may never come again.” 

He gripped my hand, we hugged each other. 

“You’re precious,” he whispered as we broke from the other. It was just like saying goodbye to each other at the bus station, which it certainly was. 

“Okay,” I said, wiping my wet eyes. “See you next week. I’ll be waiting.” 

He turned and vanished in the crowd. I loped home. 

Chapter 16 

But no matter how sad I may have been feeling, I did have something to look forward to: two set up dates, Wednesday at the Paris and Saturday at the Adonis. I smiled, wiping my eyes. He was absolutely right. Savor each moment, it may never come again. The man was not only a jerk-off prince but a philosopher as well. His knowledge was immense! But then I saw him, the rapist of the Adonis, angrily making his way down 8th Avenue. Was he coming after me? I scurried aside, but he continued down the busy avenue. Whew, that was close! 

I loped home, but Mom had not been back. She most probably was still out with her boyfriend. Boy, almost midnight! 

After she had separated from drunken Dad, she grew silent, having little to say and living her life unattached. But this year she came out of her shell, having a new beau who accompanied her wherever she was going. I used to frown at him whenever he would come calling because he seemed to be so phony and unreal, but for some reason, Mom liked him. I suppose I should too, at least for the sake of peace, as long as they left me alone… 

 I made a sandwich and lay down on my bed, again rifling through The Big Sleep. I was almost halfway done, yet while eating the sandwich, I did fall asleep. I was jarred awake by the sound of voices coming through the other room; it was Mom saying she had a lovely time. I got up out of bed. Wow, it was almost 1 A.M. Then I went in the other room. Mom was at the doorway, saying something to her lover, when she turned, instantly turning red. I looked at him and sat down at the kitchen table. 

“Danny, say hello to Mr. Simon.” 

I snorted, looking him up and down. 

“Yeah, yeah,” I said breezily, showing little respect. But I wondered why. I had nothing against him. I hardly even knew him beyond the fact that he was Mom’s somewhat boyfriend, and that warranted my dismissive behavior. Mom shook her head. 

“I have church tomorrow,” she said to Mr. Simon, “perhaps we can meet later…” A few more words and she shut the door. “Why are you still up?” She came across the room, kicking off her high-heeled shoes. 

I shrugged. “Was reading.” I looked at her. “You going to marry him?” 

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” She shook her head. “We just had a dinner, and he took me to see Camelot, that lovely play on Broadway.” I winced; I was just a few blocks away at the Adonis. “Where did you get the idea I wanted to get married? Don’t be absurd. I was married once, and one time is more than enough for me. Can’t two people meet and have a friendly time together?” 

I remained sitting and looking at her. The fact that she’d spoken so much meant there was something there. It was as if I had hit an uncomfortable topic in her life, one that she wasn’t sure about. I didn’t say a thing; I just yawned.

“Go to bed,” Mom said, “stop making up things that you know nothing about. You’re just a kid,” and she shook her head. 

“Just a kid,” I snorted. A big-dicked kid, that’s what I am. “Night, Mom.” 

“Good night, Danny. It’s good you’re finally home, I have no idea where you go at night sometimes.” 

I shrugged and went to my room. But I couldn’t sleep just remembering the Adonis movie house and the many times I had cum that afternoon and evening. Probably at least ten times, over and over, with Clarkie holding my dick as I held on to his— sometimes not even tugging it as it just spilled it out onto his hand. The memory of just a few hours ago was heavenly. I gripped my hard stiff dick—incredible that it could shoot again, but that was what it did. It was intense, and then... Pfft! Gone…I slept.  

 

Chapter 17 

When I next awoke, Mom had left for church perhaps an hour or two ago, and she was to meet her boyfriend afterwards. I peed, looking at myself in the mirror. Where should I go today: the river, the park, uptown or downtown? What difference would it make? Anywhere in the city would be fine. I was sure to meet someone, just as I did yesterday. I grinned, reading the packaging of a cereal box as I filled up a dish for me. I ate contentedly then got dressed and was back out on the streets again, walking in the direction of the East River. 

 Again the morning heat wave was already oppressive—an early May spring day feeling like the muggy, uncomfortable heat of August. I wiped my brow, walking down Avenue A to Tompkins Square Park when I saw her. I recognized the dress. Luba in her short peach covered skirt with a peach jacket she’d shed and draped on an arm, showing off her round, large breasts. Raymond walked beside her, his arm around her shoulders, as she held onto his waist. They looked as a hot and horny couple would. I smirked; I knew what they were going to do. They were walking along the park on 7th Street. I raced along the paths after them, keeping my eyes peeled as they wove in and out of the bushes and paths. I hurried closer to them, thinking, The whoring stinking bitch, but still with a smirk about my lips. I knew it had come to an end. On Avenue B, I came out of the weaving pathway just as they had reached the end. Luba saw me; her face turned all sorts of colors, from a deep, embarrassed red to a firm, pale indifference as she stood there and looked right at me. Without a word of recognition, I continued on Avenue B. Raymond just snorted at me as I walked firmly into the downtown streets. 

 Good riddance, I thought, figuratively wiping my hands clean. Well, that was that. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that I had lost someone—a pretty, big-bosomed girl who gave me delightful hand-jobs. I smiled. She may have been a low-down cheater, but she certainly knew how to jerk me off, that was for sure. I shrugged and walked on. On Christie Street near the Bowery was a tree-lined street. I paused at the corner, waiting for the light to change, when out of a small building whose restrooms were from the Depression days walked a man. He was looking right at me. I saw he was still adjusting his zipper as he winked at me. I instantly turned red, looking away from him. The light was green, and I thought I would hurry across the avenue when he said, “Pleasant day, isn’t it?” 

I shrugged. “It’s a bit too hot for my tastes.” 

He shook his head. 

“Oh c’mon, it’s a perfect day. Pleasant blue sky, a nice summer’s breeze just blowing along—what could be better? You tell me.” 

I snorted. 

“Don’t you think it’s just a little too hot?” 

“Nonsense, it’s perfect!” he said, waving my words away. “On a day like today, I could walk for miles and miles. It’s just wonderful to be alive, don’t you agree?” 

I smiled. Yes, it’s true, life is wonderful! 

“By the way, young man, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Daniel, and you are?” 

I was stunned by the similarity of our names. 

“I’m Danny,” I also said, grinning wickedly at him. 

“Danny and Daniel, eh? A perfect match! We’re a perfect couple.” 

I blushed. “Well, in my school ID it says Daniel too, Danny is just a nickname.” 

He also grinned, tapping me on my shoulder. “Daniel and Daniel, absolutely precious.” He shook his head. “And on Christie Street, too. Lovely indeed.” Again he shook his head, his arm going around my shoulder. “We were made for each other, no?” And he leered at me as I walked down the street with him beside me. 

He was an elderly man, definitely much older than any man I’d ever been with, but his arm on my shoulder only made me feel peaceful and accepted. It was as if we had known each other forever.  

“You think so?” 

“Absolutely.” He shrugged, looking around. “Listen Daniel, would you like to have something to drink? An espresso coffee or a soda, whichever you prefer? We can get either one at the Italian coffee shops all over the street or a cool soda. Take your pick.” Again he winked at me. “But you know, I also have some in my house, just a short block away—very cool sodas, just tell me.” He blushed and smiled, winking at me. 

I looked at the line of coffee shops which were scattered up and down the street. This was Little Italy, a mirror of the older, reputable Italy, but which also had the same reputation of being a criminal underworld. 

I shrugged. 

“I don’t care. I’m not doing anything. If you prefer, we can go to your place.” I winked back. “I’m not much into coffee drinking, anyway.” 

He brightened, beaming at me. “Excellent!” He grinned as he repeatedly licked his lips over and over. “Daniel and Daniel will have sodas; they are in for a luscious, very cool drink. Ah, yes, indeed.” 

“You know you can just call me Danny.” 

He stopped and looked at me in shock. 

“But you’re Daniel.” He shook his head. “Just as I am. Daniel is your name. You’re a young man, and you’re not a kid anymore.” 

I looked at him. He was right. I’m not a kid, Daniel is my name! 

In no time we reached his older building and climbed the stairs—the two Daniels going up. I didn’t feel odd at all. 

Chapter 18 

We made it up three flights when he went breathless, stopping to rest on the stairs. I waited anxiously but patiently when I offered my hand to him. 

“Just one more flight, isn't it?” I said, looking up. “I know you can do it.” 

He took my hand, holding it so tenderly that he readily climbed the remaining steps, appearing to find strength in my touch. 

“Ah, you made it.” I beamed when we made it up, and he was opening the door. 

“Yes, you gave me the strength I needed. Without you, I’d still be on the first floor.” 

He let me inside the small two-room apartment. A refrigerator, a few chairs, a table, a bed, and a closet were all that was needed. I felt warm at the simplicity of his living arrangements. He had more than enough for him; what more would he want or need? 

“A drink of soda coming right up,” he said, turning to the refrigerator in the other room. 

I leaped up. 

“Let me. I’ll get it.” 

 He sank down on a small sofa that was big enough for two people and just stared at me as I got the sodas in another room, an orange bottle in each hand. I shut the fridge door and came back holding the drinks, looking around. “You have a bottle opener?” 

“Why yes, silly me, in the cabinet.” I slid open a drawer. “Yes, that’s it.” I retrieved a small metallic can opener. Rheingold, it read, in ornate lettering. “Or would you rather have a beer?” I brightly nodded. “Yes? It’s in the bottom shelving of the fridge. There are a few cans left, I think. Have to get some more.” I left the room for a couple of cans of Rheingold’s. I popped them open and held one out to him. 

He sipped it, while I guzzled mine, the pleasant biting taste seeping through my mouth and into my being. I took another gulp and sat down on the couch next to him.

“Is it too hot?” he asked. “You can take your shirt off as well as your shoes and socks. Get comfortable.” He winked at me and had another swallow of beer. 

I also drank and grinned. 

“Don’t mind if I do.” I raised the shirt over my chest, flung it to a chair, and sat down, undoing my shoes and socks. Then I stood up, unzipped my pants, and shed my underwear. I stood totally nude before him, and he gaped at me. I took another swallow of the luscious beer, burping one time and giggling wickedly. 

“Oh, gee, I think I’m getting drunk,” I slurred, sliding next to him, my hard penis sticking up at my crotch. 

He sadly shook his head. “It’s a cruel world, and I can’t do much in it. I’m too old to even get hard anymore.” He shook his head. “My erection just lies there like a dead goose.” 

I looked at him. 

“So goose me instead.” I shrugged. “Show me that you’re still alive and feel me up, stroke me, rub me, let me come on you. I would love that very much.” 

“You would?” 

“Uh huh,” I answered. “Take me in your arms and make love to me. We can be as one. I know we can.” 

“Oh, my Daniel, yes, yes.” We kissed as he lowered himself to me, and all I kept thinking about was getting another can of beer out of him.  

Chapter 19 

A few minutes later he broke from me and painfully struggled to get up, his bones creaking and cracking. 

“Have some more beer,” I said, jealously looking at the can on the coffee table, but he shook his head. 

“You can have it. I’ve had more than enough.” 

My eyes happily widened. He had drunk barely the equivalent of a small glassful, but I suppose at his age, even a small glassful can be too much. I had already finished mine and sat there, sipping his beer. 

“You know, you should get undressed, too,” I said. 

He snorted and shook his head. 

“You don’t want to look at me. I’m old and decrepit. You have a beautiful body—young, firm, everything a young man would ever want.” 

“Oh c’mon,” I said, setting the glass down and cuddling against his chest, tweaking his shirt buttons. “Let’s both be naked.” I sat up and looked at him. “Please…” 

He stared at me. 

“Oh, alright, let’s get naked.” 

I giggled and clapped my hands, had some more beer and stood up, pulling his T-shirt off, undoing the belt at his waist, and dropping the pants. 

 I winced. A feeble old man stood before me—frightened, worried, and very ashamed. 

“Those, too,” I said, pointing at his socks and drawers. “Take those off, and then let’s get into bed.” I finished the beer, took his arm, and led him to the bedroom. The windows made me think that anyone looking out from theirs would clearly see what we were doing in bed. I shrugged. Who cares? Sunday was a day of rest, and we were resting. He collapsed beside me, painfully sighing. 

“The old bones—they’re not what they used to be,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Oh, how old are you, forty, fifty?” 

He sadly shook his head again.  

“Sixty-three, young man. A very old sixty-three,” he sighed. 

“Oh hush.” My mouth went to his, kissing and sucking him up, nibbling on his neck and moving still lower. 

But what am I doing? Have I drunk so much beer that I’m going to suck him off, because where else is my drunken mouth going to go to but on his dick? 

When I reached his waist, I looked down and saw his penis. It hung between his legs like a lifeless sponge to be turned in anyway you wanted. There was no life in it; was dead to the world. I sadly winced but moved my open mouth towards it, engulfing the dried, small organ and holding onto his legs with my hands. I didn’t know if he was getting any pleasure, but I soon felt my own stiff penis being licked and rubbed by his own mouth—both of us sucking the other off. I no longer felt anything. I was at peace, but I felt it, a spasm rocking my inner being, gripping my soul, my very existence, and spewing out into his mouth. Yet it was as if he felt nothing, not even being aware that I had cum, that I was sexually satisfied and pleased, but was he? Of course not. I kept sucking and swallowing him, hoping, praying that his dick was still alive. Regrettably I knew it was never meant to be. But where did this knowledge come from? Did I suck an old man as a form of training, a step by step progression, a rite of passage into full adulthood? Yes, because a new being was being formed at that moment—not a man, how meaningless that could be, but a divine sucking man. One who takes it in the mouth and lavishes it, swallows it, draws it up and down, praying, wishing it was firmer, harder, more robust, and ready to spill itself into/onto him, because what is man but one who sucks? The divine sucking man…and I was doing just that. 

Perhaps five, ten minutes later, my penis dribbled and fell out of his mouth. I didn’t realize it before, but his had fallen from my mouth already. He remained at my crotch, breathing in, sniffing, savoring my manhood as I, too, was breathing his in. Two bodies sharing themselves as one—the feeling and emotions were bliss! 

I crawled up on the bed and snuggled at his side, my face red, embarrassed. 

“Did you like?” I asked, playing with his chest hairs and looking up at his face. 

A beaten and tired man looked down at me, but I saw contentment and pleasure beaming from his eyes. He nodded and breathed out. 

“Oh, very much so. That was simply awesome! Daniel, I never knew you were such a great cocksucker—incredible!” 

I blushed. 

“That was my first time. I never sucked cock before—just nibbled around it. I think I had too much beer.” I shook my head but giggled. 

He smiled, too, sitting up. 

He reached over and tried to tickle me. I laughed, resisting. 

“No, don’t please…” 

He did, stopping the pleasant humor. 

“Then I’ll get cases and cases of beer. You’ll have a beer belly in no time.” 

We both calmed down and just lay there, lost in our thoughts and words, slowly whispering, the window fully opened. 

Around 6 P.M. I told him I would have to leave. 

“But you’ll be back,” he gushed, a worried look on his face. 

“I will.” I winked and nodded. “You’re the first cock I ever sucked, I certainly will be back for more.” We hugged, I got dressed, and he stood kissing me. 

“You want some money?” he asked, reaching for his wallet. I shrugged. 

“Only if you want to give me some…” “Of course.” He opened the wallet and brought out a ten dollar bill. 

“Oh, wow, for me?” My arms went around his neck. 

“You deserve it; I wish I had more to give you…” 

“You’re so sweet,” I said, putting the money away. “Can I come back tomorrow or the day after? I’m still not sure.” 

He nodded. “Come back anytime you can. But tomorrow I won’t be here in the daytime. I have a doctor’s visit.” 

“Is anything wrong?” I asked, knowing the worried look was evident on my face. 

“It’s just a six months check up, nothing to worry about.” The concern lifted from my eyes. “But I’m always here or close by. I never go far, maybe just the restrooms on Christie Street.” He blushed and cleared his throat. “But always near the area. Just wait near the doorway. If I’m not here, I’ll always be back.”

“Will do.” I grinned, pecking his cheek and went out the door, merrily traipsing home.  

Chapter 20 

Mom was home with her boyfriend; I scowled at him— never before had Mom let him into the house. But what the hell did I know anyway, perhaps he was even sleeping there? 

“Did you have nice day?” a worried mom asked me. 

I looked away from the boyfriend and saw how nervous she was looking; something was up. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but Johnny asked me to marry him,” she whispered. “I have to ask you first—do I or don’t I get married? It’s up to you.” 

I looked at her in surprise and then turned to the boyfriend. Johnny looked like a jerk, I thought, nothing but a stock boy or a clerk or something menial like that. I scowled but kept my feelings in check. 

“Think it’s time?” I asked, glaring at her. 

She nodded. 

“Uh-huh, very much so.” She was biting her lips and looking fearfully at me. 

I studied her for another second.

“Okay, Mom, you have my blessings.” 

Mom instantly screeched and leaped into my arms. 

“Oh, Danny, Danny, Danny!” A deluge of wet kisses smeared my face. 

“The name is Daniel. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

She looked at me. 

“No, you’re certainly not a kid anymore.” She hugged me. “Oh, Daniel, I love you so much!” Wet kisses again smeared my face; I wiped them off with my arm. What if it had been Daniel who was kissing me? 

The boyfriend also stood up and shook my hand heartily. 

“You won’t regret this. We’ll have a great family. Yes, we will.” He beamed at my mother, and I watched them kiss. I shrugged and stole away to my room. So she’s getting married; nothing I can do about that. Good that he isn’t a drinker like my old man was. I knew that very soon I’d be looking for a place to stay. Glad I met so many men willing to give me a place, I thought, and again picked up The Big Sleep to read. 

Chapter 21 

On Monday morning I was undecided what to do. Should I go and see if Luba showed up without her boyfriend or simply forget about her and go on with my life, which had been bolstered so much with many changes that I could hardly control my feelings? I smiled in the mirror and got dressed. Fuck Luba. One way or the other, I no longer cared about her, yet I was out in the streets keeping my eyes open for her. 

Then I saw her, turning the corner of St. Marks Place onto 2 nd Avenue, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. On 10th Street I inched from a newsstand booth I was standing by and faced her coming towards me. At the last moment, I crossed the avenue. 

“Danny, wait,” she timidly called. “I can explain…” 

Without turning I continued up the street thinking, I should’ve stopped and spoken to her, and, No, I shouldn’t have. The cunt bitch is simply no good. I walked on the street, facing the day before me. 

So Mom was getting married, I thought, and probably so was Luba. Should I get married, too? I smirked and shook my head. Who the hell would marry me besides some cunt or bitch like Luba? She had mentioned it one time as I diddled her pussy. Getting married would get me out of my mother’s house, that’s for sure. I’d shrugged. So get married. She glared at me and angrily pushed my hands away. Oh you just don’t get it. It isn’t that easy. 

I walked on. On 57th–58th Streets I saw a slew of movie theaters though not as risqué as what 42nd Street had. They showed intellectual erotic movies from Europe or at least what was considered erotic in those days. It being around noon time, many of the theatres were just opening up; you could smell the tasty, fresh popcorn ready for sale. I passed by a few theaters, whose movies were about boring troubles between married couples. There must have been three in a row. I finally paused before the display of a French film showing a motorcycle girl and the men crying for her as she rode away in a cloud of dust. I liked the idea of a foreign made movie. It showed that we are more alike with foreigners no matter what some Americans think.  

Then I saw him—a gay-looking flitty man, blinking his eyes and sliding toward me because he didn’t walk but oozed like jelly; I had never seen him but my dick instantly grew, straining against its prison of pants. It would’ve been just wonderful to whip it out and display to him. But I scratched my crotch and continued reading about the motorcycle girl. 

“Seems to be an interesting film, wouldn’t you say?” he hissed at me, the saliva at his lips a clear indication of his horniness. 

“Yeah.” I nodded, looking at him. “I like her dressed in tight clothes.” I bit my bottom lips. “So heavenly, wouldn’t you say?” 

He eagerly nodded. 

 “Oh, God, yes, what I wouldn’t do to look like her in the tight clothes. Delicious!” Again he blinked his eyes. “Are you going to see it?” And he nervously bit his bottom lip just as I had done seconds ago. 

I winked. 

“Well, if someone invites me, I wouldn’t resist.” 

He was relieved. 

“Oh, goody, let’s go in. I’ll treat and make it like we’re on a date.” He giggled, holding my arm. 

He led me to the ticket counter, paid our entrance fee, and led me into the theater, where he treated me to some popcorn and candy. He carried the sodas as I balanced the food goodies in my arms and walked beside him. There were about six or seven people shuffling into the seats. And before I had set the popcorn down, his hands were at my crotch, feeling my stiff erection in my pants. 

“Hmm, I knew you were hard,” he whispered, “but I didn’t know you were this hard.” He pawed me a few times then let go and started nibbling on his popcorn. “What’s your name?” I told him. “I’m Sandy, though the mean girls—they’re boys, but I call them girls—still call me Sammy even if they know that’s a wicked thing to do…” He now went on and on talking about his days that I was glad the movie was starting, and he would shut up. Ha, fat chance! He simply lowered his voice but kept right on talking. 

“Oh, she looks so evil," he whispered all along. "I could never do that. Give me femininity without the brutal macho appearance. Don’t you think so, honey? There’s something about femininity that doesn’t work with a man’s toughness. Those things have to be kept apart. Girls are girls, and boys are boys, but sometimes they drift to where they don’t belong—girls trying to be boys, and boys trying to be girls. You ever meet any like that, hon?” 

I had finished my popcorn and put my arm around his shoulder; he seemed to melt and shrink even lower, very femalelike on a date with her lover. 

“Shh,” I said, “let’s watch the movie…” 

He shrugged, tried to say something, but went back to just nibbling on his popcorn. 

Maybe ten, fifteen minutes later, I had lost the plot of the French film. Sandy did, too, finishing his popcorn and nibbling on some Ju Ju Beans, disappointedly looking up at me. 

“Boring,” he whispered, stretching and yawning. Through his shirt/blouse I could make out the image of a bra—cup-less, but still a bra. 

And I agreed with his boring assessment of the film. The foreign language translation made no sense at all if you kept up with the subtitles; anyway, they were simply moving and disappearing much too quickly from the screen. 

“I have an idea,” he/she cunningly whispered and blinked her eyes, sitting up and looking right at me. “I’ll suck you; you suck me. That’s better than watching this dumb movie, that’s for sure.” 

I wickedly smiled. Hey, why not? 

“You got a deal, sister.” 

“Oh goody, goody,” she said and disappeared down to my crotch. I felt her fumbling with my zipper, and pretty soon it was sliding down. She gasped at my stiff cock as it vanished down her mouth and throat. I shut my eyes, dropping my head back from the glorious feeling. Hot damn, she was a great cocksucker, better than any I’ve ever had. But would I suck him in return? I said I would. I’ll suck you, you suck me. I had agreed to that. Then I felt the gripping in my crotch and balls and something running through my soul and veins. Oh God, yesss! The jism spewed into her mouth and down her throat. Oh God, yesss! I can, I’m ready, and I want it now!  

My softening penis plopped out of his/her mouth, and he/she sat up and looked at me, embarrassed and sated. I smiled back at her. My mouth opened, and I dropped down to her crotch. It was already exposed and very wet; she had just cum all over herself. I sort of winced from the disappointment but nudged the small cock-muscle into my mouth, sucking and uselessly trying to get it aroused again. To no avail—it hung in my mouth lifelessly just as the tired old Daniel’s aged penis did just yesterday. I knew nothing was going to happen; it wasn’t going to stiffen or shoot out. The taste of fresh cum was simply not going to happen; the penis plopped out from my lips. 

Strangely enough, I smiled as I rose back up, my fingers going for his hand. He gripped it, smiling embarrassedly at me, entwining each other’s fingers as if for safety and warmth. We kissed and eased back from each other and just sat there, catching our breaths. 

“Darling, I have to go,” he soon whispered. “Have to meet a contractor who might be doing my house. You know how it goes.” I nodded, though I had no idea what he was talking about. “Let’s make a date and meet tomorrow or another day. I’ll give you my phone number and address.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “I have to meet and see you again. Darling, you were so heavenly,” he whispered in my ear. “You suck for real. I know that.” Our mouths met again, as I felt myself growing stiff once more. 

He broke from me, adjusted his pants, and we went out from the still running boring French film, the motorcycle zooming on the highway and zooming right out of our minds and memories. 

We were outside. The people were everywhere along hot 3rd Avenue, coming and going or just traipsing along. He waved a cab, wiped the sweat from his brow, and winked at me. “Don’t forget, call me,” he said and disappeared in the cab going up 3rd Avenue. I sighed, shoved his scrap of paper in my pocket, and aimlessly started walking again. 

Chapter 22 

But the world sure looked different now than it did before. In a way I was a natural born cocksucker. Whether it was hard or soft, the penis went into my mouth, and I sucked. Simple, really, a snap of the fingers, easily done. I grinned to myself, and a man on the street grinned back. I blushed. Oh no, the faggots are everywhere! But the light changed, and he kept grinning and walked on. But he sure looked like one…Oh look at this flirty guy coming up the street. So what if he’s wearing a suit and tie? Take that off, and what have you got? A flaming faggot, just like me! I turned red as we passed each other going in opposite directions, and boy was I hard. Was he hard, too? More steps, more people, past avenues and streets, stores and doorways, businesses, flower stores, emporiums, museums, gift shops— the avenue led me on. I began to wonder how it had started. 

Well, it began a very, very long ago with men smiling, looking and winking at me so that I followed them into doorways, backyards, a few times over fences to solitary isolation from the world, looking at what we were doing. But it was usually nothing more than a hug, an exchange of a few coins, a suck, with him doing me while I just stood there, and an embarrassed flight afterwards. Much as it was yesterday with the sweet old man, Daniel, then progressing to the movie man this early afternoon, but what the hell was I after? I looked around. Where was it, that big, hard, juicy cock eager just for me as my mouth watered for it, too? 

I sighed, standing near 5th Avenue and looking at Central Park and at the museum across the street. I smirked. Like hell was I going to look at some dumb museum paintings, I thought, when I saw a boy just as old as I was standing and looking at me. But why was his face so red? I instantly realized it because he was like me, a cock-hungry faggot! It takes one to know one. I blushed but hurried into the park after him. 

Many people sat around the boating lake, just looking about and lazing the already hot day away. I saw the boy I had been trailing turn and look at me, stepping near an ice cream cart by the lake. I grinned and approached it, but the boy took his ice cream stick, removed the wrapper, and sat down near a statue of Alice in Wonderland. He was licking it as I sat on his bench, leering and openmouthed. 

“Hot day, don’t you think?” I said, rocking one leg atop the other. 

He licked his ice cream. 

“What, you talking to me?” 

He took another lick. 

I frowned. 

“I said, it’s hot day.” I turned to face him and moved my legs, the hard-on protruding in my pants. He glimpsed it but kept licking his ice cream; the stick was appearing at the top. He was almost finished. 

“Wish I had something to lick,” I said and winked. 

He tossed the stick on the ground. A little ice cream remained. 

“Why don’t you buy one?” 

“It wasn’t ice cream I was after…” 

“Oh no? Then what?” 

He also turned and sat on the bench facing me. We looked at each other. I licked my mouth as he sat with a smirk on his lips. 

“There are better things to lick than just ice cream.” 

He snorted. 

“Yeah, like what?” 

I snorted back and rubbed my mouth. 

“Well, if you don’t know, who am I to tell you?” 

“No, I want to hear it from you.” 

“What do you think I’m talking about?” 

 “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” he answered. 

Again I crossed my legs. 

“I think you do.” 

“Do I?” 

A man walking a little dog looked at us and disappeared along the path. 

“You’re just like that man,” I continued, “a flaming faggot.” 

His mouth tightened, and he glared at me. 

“Who’s a faggot? You’re the faggot. Who the hell calls queers faggots except someone trying to trick them and rip them off, like you.” He leaped up. “Bastard! You don’t even know how to talk like one! You may not be a faggot, but you’re a pervert! I know you are! Pervert!” And he turned and left me at the Alice of Wonderland statue. I shook my head. What the fuck was that all about? What would be the point in going after him? So I’m a faggot, big deal. In this city, who isn’t one? 

A woman with a baby carriage slowly rolling along suspiciously looked at me. I smirked at her. She started walking a little faster. I got up and started walking downtown. 

Chapter 23 

Jesus Christ, I’d better stick to the older gentlemen instead of these teen cocksuckers. That will get me nothing, just attacks and insults. I might even get a punch in the face. But that boy was nice; I like the way his butt stuck out behind him when he walked, eating an ice cream stick. He was imagining it was a big dick. But what the heck was he talking about—you can’t call a faggot a faggot? Aren’t he and I just the same? No, call us queers. That’s what we are. But am I one, too—a sissy queer? Queer faggot? Oh, what the hell do I know? 

I passed 42nd Street looking west at the theaters that stared out into the sunny street, thinking about the man I met there who took me to the Adonis. Again I felt the twinges of an erection rising. I have to meet him in a few days. I smiled but walked on, passing the big library and the Empire State Building. I moved south by Madison Park on 26th–23rd Streets and continued downtown. I thought about seeing Daniel, the old man, but turned on 14th Street and went home. It was just about six P.M. 

Surprisingly, Mom had laid out the table with three plates, forks and teaspoons, and drinking glasses at each place. I looked at them and frowned. 

“What the hell is this?” 

Mom, embarrassed, looked at me. 

“It’s our dinner. I decided we eat together as a family. I have a nice roast cooking in the oven. Johnny will be here at seven, so go and change and be on your best behavior. Do that for me?” She winced but kept looking at me. 

I shook my head and waved a hand. 

“I’m not part of his family; he’s your boyfriend, not mine! Oh, the hell with him.” I grabbed a jacket. “I’ve had enough. I’ll be out—don’t know what time I’ll be back.” 

She stood in my way. 

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re going to have a nice, peaceful dinner as we get to know each other. You’re our son now. How would it look without you?” 

“I’m not his fucking son!” I erupted. “Get out of my fucking 59 way!” And I grabbed her arm and flung it aside. “Leave me the fuck alone!” I was out the door, pounding down the stairs as I ran out and kept running.

Chapter 24 

Near Little Italy I stopped to catch my breath and look around. On Daniel’s street stood a group of elderly men talking near the corner. Italian coffee shops were everywhere. I wondered if they knew Daniel. Most probably they did. I went up his stairs. It was a rickety old building, much as Daniel was, but I liked him. I made it up the stairs and rapped on his floor. Silence; I rapped again. 

“Daniel, you in there? It’s Daniel!” I felt stupid for repeating the name. 

Someone stood up from a couch. I heard the familiar springs creaking, and I felt better already. The door opened. Daniel looked out and smiled. 

“Well, you’re back. I didn’t know what happened. Come in, come in.” He stood out of the doorway as I entered, shutting the door behind me. “I’m so glad you came back. I was so worried.” 

I turned to him as he put his arms around me. We kissed, and I raised my arms to his shoulders. The feeling was wonderful, the anger flowing out of me and being taken over by relaxing peace and non-concern; my bitterness was gone. 

“What’s with the flowers?” I asked, wiping his saliva off my lips and stepping toward them, looking at the bouquet on the table. He also wiped his chin and went to the table. 

“They’re for you,” he said, “nice tulips just for the lovely spring weather we’ve been having. Many say it’s too hot, but I just don’t care.” He bustled across the room, taking out small parcels out of a bigger bag. “I also bought you two six-packs of your favorite drink—Rheingold Beer—they’re in the fridge.” He gestured to the refrigerator and looked at me. He froze. 

 “What’s wrong?” 

 I stood there, all choked up, tears filling my eyes. 

“No one has ever gotten me pink tulips.” I wiped a tear away, rubbing my nose. “Or a six-pack.” I shook my head. “How can I ever repay you? I can’t, you know that.” I sadly looked at him. He had come back across the room and held my hand. 

“But you already have, just by being here again in my little apartment. You’ve given me a fortune no man can ever claim, just by being you!” 

I sniffled and wiped my nose. 

“A wonderful beautiful feeling has been reborn in me,” he continued. “The doctor just today said I look twenty five years younger, and I feel it already. All he kept doing was shaking his head in disbelief. And I have you to thank.” His arms went around me. “Without you I was nothing, but now I’m everything.” 

I laughed, wiping my eyes. 

“Well, at least twenty five years younger, too,” I answered. 

He also laughed and led me to the kitchen table. I tweaked a pink tulip and breathed in. 

“I don’t think tulips smell that much,” he said, unwrapping a package of sandwich meat, “at least not as much as other flowers do.” 

I took a whiff of the pink petal. 

“You’re right. Hardly any scent.” I straightened up. “I didn’t know that, but then, when have I ever sniffed tulips? I don’t think I ever did.” I shrugged and licked my tongue. “What kind of meat is that?” 

“Prosciutto, salty ham. You know what salami is, right, pork and beef? I also bought a few different cheeses that will go perfectly—mozzarella, provolone, with a few others—and some crisp, just baked bread. It will be lovely!” He smacked his fingers on his lips. “Beautiful, simply beautiful. With you, our meal will be excellent!” 

But by then the food was arranged on the table, and I fell on a chair, salivating. He brought two cans of Rheingold out and poured us each a glassful. I took a sip. 

“Make sure I just have one can of beer, alright? I get too giddy and foolish otherwise.” I giggled, but he agreed, and we started eating. 

It didn’t take long before most of the lovely food was eaten. Plus I had three cans of beer, went to the bathroom twice, and now was finishing my fourth can of Rheingold—in the course of which, my clothes had come off. 

“Man, the beer makes me piss a lot.” I shrugged and returned to the john. When I came back, he had also undressed. Just his blue shorts remained. I collapsed on the bed, holding and trying to balance my fifth or sixth can of beer. 

“I thought you were only going to drink just one can. That was your limit,” he said, smirking at me. 

“Oh, screw that. I’m still walking and talking, ain’t I?” I waved my arm, dismissing the foolish words, and drank some more, belching and giggling. Then I bent down to his crotch and took his penis in my mouth. With the taste of prosciutto and mozzarella still on my tongue, I sucked his lifeless organ, trying to nudge it back into life. Not so—I was an absolute failure. It just lay there, but I didn’t. I sucked, I swallowed, and, of course, I came up for some more beer, taking another sip and swallowing the brew, and then go down on his limp cock again. 

I was drunk. The cocksucking suddenly didn’t agree with me. Bouah! Bouah! I blindly rushed to the bathroom and exploded. Boouuaahh! Fetid vomit was everywhere—in the tank, on the sides of the bowl, along the seat, even gobs of vomit were splattered up the toilet tank and sliding around the edges. Oh God! Boouuaahhhh! Tearing my guts out, my soul, my being, I wanted to drop, to disappear. Again, Bouahh! Not as bad or as harsh. I calmed a little, gagging again, but the vomit stayed down. Belch. Another gag. Dry heaves, the toilet bowl flushing, flush again. Oh God…

I staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed on the bed, inserting a pillow between my legs and curling into a fetal position. I wanted to sleep, to disappear from the face of the earth, to simply vanish… 

When next I opened my eyes, it was dark. A few lights shone from the buildings across the yard, but there was little motion. I sat up; Daniel was sleeping beside me, his mouth open, a soft gurgle coming from his throat. I instantly felt ashamed as my thoughts formed, and I remembered…what? Was it a memory or just a made up thought? Something about my mother and me crying. I shook my head. Oh God, she will be worried, that’s for sure. What time is it anyway? I fell back to the bed. But she’s going to get married to another man while I’m certainly not. Again I sat up; the repetitive movements roused Daniel. “I’m sorry,” I said. “What time is it?” 

 He coughed and reached over to the side of the bed, flicking a switch. A lamp on a corner table lit up the room. 

 “It’s 12:15,” he said. 

“Oh, Jesus, I should go home,” I said, falling back down, worrying about Mom and what she would be thinking. It’s not the first time that I had stayed out, but Mom was always worried about me. One time she had exploded when I had been out a few days. “You think you may be going to just one place, but in my thoughts I imagine you all over in hundreds of places, and I’m never able to find you.” 

“You want to go home?” Daniel asked. “But in your condition you might not make it.” 

I sat up. 

“I’ll make it.” 

I stood up, took a step, and immediately fell against the side of the bed. “Aw shit.” I tried to hold my balance, but the world seemed to be tipped over and spinning around. There was nothing I could do but crawl into bed again, holding an arm over my eyes. 

Daniel lay awake for a while then turned the light off. 

Good, I thought, and instantly fell asleep. 

Chapter 25 

I awoke with the bright sunlight beaming in my eyes. Oh, God, is my head aching. What day is it? I tried to sit up but again fell back down. I managed to get up again and staggered to the bathroom. It was clean; the splashes of vomit had been wiped clean, and the bowl shone brightly. I peed, trying to keep my balance, flushed, and went back to the other room. Daniel was up, standing at the kitchen table, pouring out a cup of coffee. 

“This will make you feel better—a cup of Maxwell House,” he said, weakly smiling at me. 

I rubbed my face. 

“Good to the last drop, eh?” I took a cup from him, as black as it was, and braced myself. I took a hearty swallow, reaching for the sugar canister on the table. Poured some in, had another swallow. “Better.” I drank some more. 

“You drink it black? I always need milk.” 

I shrugged, had another slurp. 

“It’s okay. Black coffee hits the spot.” 

 He looked at me. I was totally nude, sitting and drinking coffee, my penis drooping down between my legs. He was fully dressed, and he coughed. 

“Well, I have to go out,” he said, “but you can stay here. I won’t be long.” I finished the coffee, savoring each drop. 

“Boy, was that good!” 

He laughed. 

“Good to the last drop, as they say.” He stood up. I, too, tried to stand but held onto the table. 

“You mind if I lie down? I still feel weak.” 

“Oh, yes, rest all you want. Take your time—rest, sleep, you’ll be safe here.” 

I crawled into bed and pulled the cover around me. I was out. 

When next I awoke, evening had again fallen, with a few lights twinkling across the yard. Daniel was sitting in a corner and reading a book. He looked up when I moved. 

“What time is it?” I grunted, still rubbing my eyes and clinging to sleep.

“9:15,” he answered. 

Again I groaned but rolled over and once more was asleep. At 2:45 I awoke—seeing the small clock on the corner table—and quietly rose to go to the bathroom. I peed and then made my way to the refrigerator in the other room. The light shone instantly as I opened the door, showing off the slices of meat and cheeses on a dish sitting next to three or four cans of beer. I grimaced; Dad used to drink them in the mornings, just when he woke up for work. I never could, that was why he became an alcoholic, I suppose. Oh hell, I don’t really know why…I took some remaining provolone cheese and returned to the bed; Daniel was fast asleep. I chewed the cheese and curled up next to him. 

The next morning we pretty much woke each other up, with our going to the bathroom and once again lazing in bed. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, very embarrassed. “It must have been disgusting. I drank too much and too fast.” 

He waved a hand. 

“Oh, so what? We all get drunk once in awhile. At your age it’s normal, natural, expected. At least you feel better now.” 

I agreed. 

“I sure feel a whole lot better than I did before.” 

We both nodded and kissed. 

“How’s your mom? Don’t you think she may be worried?” 

I sat up, looking at him. 

“My Mom? What’s she got to do with anything? Did I talk about her?” 

“Uh-huh. You talked plenty and cried, too.” 

“Oh, Jesus.” I fell back to the bed. “What did I say?” 

 “Well, you sobbed over her getting married and her throwing you out. And you didn’t want that to happen. You love your mom.” 

“I did? Oh, Jesus, you must think I’m an asshole. I feel like one.” 

He shrugged. 

“We all love our moms, but it’s inevitable we have to grow up.” 

“I know it’s sad that she’s getting married again and to such a jerk, too, but what can I do? Just shake his hand, kiss Mom, and wish her the best, right?” 

He nodded. 

“That’s that way to do it. Be a man.” 

I looked at him. 

“I think it sucks.” I scowled. We looked at each other. “But you’re right, it’s time I grew up, too. 

He smiled, and we hugged each other. 

 “That’s my boy.” He grinned and pushed himself up. “Time to make my morning rounds and have a few cups of espresso in the cafes. What will you be doing?” 

“I don’t know. What day is it, a Tuesday?” 

“No, Wednesday.” 

I instantly brightened. The Paris Theater! 

“Guess I’ll go and see Mom, tell her I’m okay.” 

“Good boy.” He smiled. “Do the right thing. You’ll feel better when you do.” 

“Sure.” I went off to run water in the tub. “I know what to do,” I said, thinking about the Paris Theater. 

Chapter 26 

Hated to do it, but I snuck into the subway just as the doors were closing and rode away uptown. But that was close. The doors nearly shut as I raced under the turnstile and stuck an arm through a door, holding it open. I bolted in, leaving the transit clerk shaking his head from the booth on the platform. I got off on Fifth Avenue, and Paris Theater was right there, just across the street. I realized it when Daniel mentioned that it was Wednesday. I had forgotten, and the memory of the carousel returned. Most of all I remembered how good I felt as I ejaculated in my pants while the man at the carousel sat beside me. 

I shook my head, as if coming to, and crossed the wide and busy street. Then I saw him stepping out of the alcove, looking about and worriedly glancing at his wristwatch. 

“Hey!” I waved a hand, having forgotten his name. He saw me and instantly brightened, smiling at my approach. 

“You made it! I didn’t think you would.” He touched my upper arm, gently squeezing it. 

I smirked. “I started the book you gave me,” I said, nodding my head. “It kept me up most of the night. But I’m a very slow reader. It will take me a while before I get done.” 

Again he squeezed my bicep. 

“Take your time. No one’s rushing you. Read it and enjoy it. You will like it very much. I know you will.” I didn’t think so; at my speed of reading it would take me forever to get it done.

We had entered the cinema. I didn’t want any popcorn but did settle on a package of Ju Ju Beans and we found some seats near the front. 

“That candy is deadly for your teeth,” he said, shaking his head. “You will get many cavities from those for sure.” 

I shrugged. 

“Eat ‘em while you have them. That’s what I always say.” I raised the box and shook the candy into my mouth. I heard someone walking down the aisle. 

“Phillip, is that you?” the voice said, and I looked up. “Thought I recognized a familiar face. How have you been, darling?” 

Darling? This will certainly be interesting. 

Phillip beamed at his friend, standing up and taking his hand. 

“Funny meeting you here.” They shook hands. “Imagine that,” he said to me, “I first met Henry here many, many years ago, right here at the Paris, and we’ve been friends ever since. Isn’t that right, Henry? Oh, allow me to introduce to my new young friend. This is Danny.” 

Henry nodded at me and winked. 

“Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling...” he sang. 

I tried to stand up and shake his hand, but the movie was beginning, and Phillip just nodded, and said in a hush, “Let him through. He’ll sit next to you on your right, and I’ll be sitting on your left.” He smiled at me. “You don’t mind, do you, Danny? Of course you don’t. You will be sitting in the middle. In a way you’ll be our center boy.” He winked at me and looked at Henry pushing his way past me. I blushed, feeling Henry’s hard erection in his pants as he brushed against me. Did he feel my stiffness as well? I wondered. Henry looked above my head at Phillip, who was beaming back at him. 

“Just like years ago,” Phillip whispered. “Do you remember, Henry?” 

Henry beamed back. 

“How could I forget?” he dreamily answered. “I always wanted to sit in the middle.” 

“Shh!” a voice hissed behind us. 

Phillip giggled. Henry said, glancing behind him, “Oh, shh you!” 

The black and white film started. And we watched Humphrey Bogart sit down in his office. Sitting in the middle, now what were they talking about? I shrugged and watched the film. I knew more or less what was going to happen, but as we sat there I felt Henry’s hand reaching across my legs for my crotch. I pushed it away, but as if in response, Phillip’s hand began to reach from the other side. I wanted to shake it off, but instead I let him touch me, groping, feeling and undoing my zipper. Henry looked greedily at me and joined Phillip’s hand probing my crotch. I grinned secretly. So this was what they were doing years ago at the Paris, eh? Each one probing the other’s penis, one from the top and one at the bottom and one in the middle, their center boy, which I was now. I had dropped the empty Ju Ju Beans box to the floor and reached out for Phillip’s dick. On the other side I reached out for Henry’s. I felt so slutty. I was beating off a penis on each side of me as they both were caressing and almost beating me off, too. Was this the memory they had from years ago? Was it being repeated? I did not care; I loved them both. Henry ejaculated, a dollop shooting up into the air and cascading back down to him, sprinkling his stomach and shirt. He had collapsed and twisted in my hold, but still I held onto the large penis. Phillip took a little longer, but when he shot his semen it was just a squirt, a little splash, simply exiting his penis and instantly falling back down. I made sure I didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see I was aware of what had happened. I concentrated instead on what they were doing to me. I was in a state of incredible expectancy—that they were not jerking me off and instead were merely holding my entire length, once in a while tweaking my balls. I was in an incredible state of horniness, an arousal that was holding me in a state of utter bliss. That I was just a mere second away from the eruption I knew was going to be mine— but when? Oh, God, please let me cum! But it wasn’t meant to happen, at least not yet… 

Henry again tweaked my balls lovingly, tenderly, while Phillip gently stroked and caressed my penis. I was sure Henry ejaculated two times or maybe three, the semen becoming a paste. I loved Henry at that moment, loved as I would never let him go. He was mine, and I was his. God I hope he can cum. Then I felt it, a rumbling going through my body and spirit and cascading upwards. Though I still groped and tugged each penis, I now was cumming, and cumming fast, like I was being reborn, exploding in a rush of ejaculation. I didn’t sigh; I screamed as the spray, the splash, the flood erupted from me. I was in utter ecstasy, my cares vanishing, my obligations dwindling down to nothing, and I no longer cared about anything. I was ecstatic!

I opened my eyes and saw the movie had ended. What, when did that happen? I had seen Humphrey Bogart sitting and snidely smirking then I felt hands on my body, hands that caressed and mauled and felt me up for an hour, if not more. Oh God was I happy! 

I giggled and stretched as they were adjusting their clothes. I left my dick and balls still hanging out before them. 

“Ahem,” gurgled Phillip, looking down at me. 

“Leave him alone,” said Henry, shaking his head. “He must think he’s in Times Square. He certainly acts like he is.” 

By then they had begun to move up the aisle away from the screen. 

Damn, they were going to leave me! I didn’t even have my pants pulled up! I was pissed, especially since they had just explored my body for perhaps an hour if not more. I jumped up and not caring what I looked like, reinserted my penis, tried to adjust my clothes, and still awkwardly dressed I bounded out of the theater leaving the assholes behind. 

“Wait!” I heard Phillip call. 

“Oh, leave the silly fruit alone,” Henry said. 

I stormed out of the Paris Theater. That’s what I was, a silly fruit, their center boy. 

Chapter 27 

I had to see Mom, I thought as I made my way downtown. The hell with these asshole faggots. They’re bad news but wasn’t that curious—a solid dick in each of my hands and those two, tweaking my own penis with their eager fingers. 

 “Sorry…” again I bumped into a lady. 

What’s wrong with me? That is the third or fourth person I had bumped into. But this last one was a blonde, just like Luba. Oh, stop thinking about her. That’s over with. But for a while I must have liked Luba, or at least I liked the hand-jobs I was getting from her. If anyone asked why we met every day by the river, that would have been my ultimate answer: getting hand-jobs. What else was there? 

“Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!” 

I had walked into a big brawny guy who stood glaring at me, his fists clenched and ready to strike out. I turned red, saying, “Sorry, sorry…” as I fled from him. At least I knew where I was—the Lower East Side, my home. I breathed out and collapsed on my front stairs. 

This part of New York, more poverty-needy than actually-poor, which was a step up in the struggle to survive, had always been my home. And I never thought of myself as destitute or looking for a handout. We just existed, and that was all. I shrugged, went up the front steps, and listened through the door. Silence. 

I went in, immediately opening the refrigerator and looking at the foods there: a head of lettuce, ketchup, orange container, milk, and a few other things, but nothing I could chew on. Then I heard it, a bed creaking, and there stood Mom, her hair undone, looking disheveled. Did I do this to her, lost in so much worry with a broken heart? Obviously I did…Then I heard another footfall. Mom’s boyfriend, Johnny, her husband to-be, was also standing in the doorway looking at me, dressed or undressed in just a pair of Jockey shorts. My teeth clenched. And here I thought she was worried about me, when all along she was getting fucked with no other thought but gratification. I slammed the refrigerator door shut and ran from the apartment. 

“Danny, wait…” I heard Mom call as I ran.

Chapter 28 

The day had gotten cloudy. It sure looked like rain was going to fall. There had been incredibly little rain since December and little snow during the winter months, but now it sure looked like it was ready for a downpour. I slowed my pace on 2nd Avenue, undecided where to go—Daniel’s apartment in Little Italy or just keep walking? I knew something would come up. I walked. The first droplets started falling around 14th Street. I took shelter at a shuttered newsstand that still had an overhanging roof. A few other people scurried in for a little protection, but as the light changed, they hurried out and ran off in the rain. Except one man. I smirked. Was he looking for something just as I was always looking? 

“Bitter rain,” he said, having a hard time lighting a cigarette. 

I looked at him. Definitely a queer, I told myself. 

“Hey, you have another one?” I asked. 

The man turned about from the rain and he held out a pack to me. I started to take one. “Marlboro, I like,” I said while he lit the cigarette for me. 

“It’s a man’s cigarette—for real men,” he said quietly. 

“Yeah, just like the manly cowboy in the Marlboro commercial, eh?”

Thunder crashed, jolting us where stood. 

“Wow, that was close.” He jumped, as I did, too. 

“Very.” I nodded, standing much closer to him. 

“By the way, I’m Taddy, with an a. Really Thaddeus, but everyone calls me Taddy.” 

“I’m Danny. Nice to meet you...Taddy.” I gave him my hand as again thunder rumbled above. We both jumped almost into each other’s arms. 

“Another big one,” he said, terrified, still holding my hand. “Big ones are sure scary.” 

“I know.” I was enthralled by his comforting hand on my own. 

“You live near here?” he nervously asked, biting his lips. 

“Pretty close, further down the Lower East Side. You?” 

He threw the barely smoked cigarette in the gutter; it was immediately saturated by rainwater. 

“Just a block away," he gestured, "13th and University Place.” 

“Nice, you’re almost home,” I said, sucking on his cigarette. “I still have a way to go.” 

He looked at me, as if thinking and trying to decide. He lowered his voice. “Would you like to stop by, get out of the rain?” 

I looked at him, flicking the burning cigarette to the wet sidewalk just as he had done; it was instantly drenched and put out. 

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind. Anyway it looks like it will rain for awhile, according what the weatherman said.” He instantly smiled and squeezed my hand, which he gently kept holding and pulling. “Lead the way,” I said, which he quickly did, the rain falling over us, as he pulled me along. 

Chapter 29 

In his fifth-floor apartment he said, “Oh my dear, we have to get you out of these wet, wet clothes, or we’ll both catch a chill.” He started pulling up my shirt and undoing my belt buckle. Needless to say, I was already hard and couldn’t wait to get out the wet clothes as well. He quickly removed his clothes and I looked in shock at him. He was totally hairless at his crotch and his ass, his bare penis standing firmly up. 

“What happened to you?” I asked blushing, thinking something was wrong with him. 

“What this?” he shrugged. “Just a shave. I do it every week. It feels wonderful. You should try it, too. Anyway, it’s better this way. The hair just gets in the way, ugh!” And he cringed and made a face. “Hairlessness is so much better.” 

And all the while he kept gesturing to my hair, which wasn’t a lot, but they still got in the way. How many times did I have to pull a piece of hair from my tongue? Countless times with Daniel or the man at the motorcycle movie, that was for sure. I never thought of it, but Taddy’s hairlessness was already looking very appetizing, indeed. 

“How do you do that?” I asked, drooling at him. “Just a shave? It must hurt when you get a cut. You have to be very careful, right?” 

“Not at all. There’s a feminine cream for that. You wipe it off rather than shave it. Would you like to try it? You’ll feel very feminine. I can guarantee it.” I blushed. 

“Yes, I would, Taddy,” I said, blushing again. “Yes, I would.” 

He held my hand and led me to the couch, our two stiff dicks sticking out before us. I lay down, and he shook the canister, squirting a thick, white foamy cream onto his other hand, and applied it to my testicles. I giggled. It was smooth and creamy, very thick, too, plus it got me very hard. 

He held a towel and wiped off the top of my pubic hairs. I was amazed at seeing my bare flesh, my mouth hanging in stunned wonder. 

“Holy shit, where the hell did it go?” 

He laughed. 

“In the towel,” he said, and he held it open and showed a thick, creamy mess with many pubic hairs mixed in. 

“Awesome.” I shook my head. “Simply awesome.” 

 He continued wiping the cream off, and in a few minutes I was totally hairless like a newborn baby. I stood before him, my head lowered as if I was ashamed to look at him, when I saw his hairless penis probing the air around my own new hairless penis. The two moved against each other, as if they were pleasantly dueling. I put my arms at his waist and held him. He did the same but also kissed me, and I fell into his arms. Thunder crashed outside again. I felt very safe with him. 

What a beautiful hairless stiff penis going into my mouth. I welcomed the intruder pulsing against my inner cheeks and throat. It was heavenly, indeed. My face was pulled to his crotch, and we did a sixty-nine 69. I sucked his penis as if it were a fresh meal I never knew I could have—as if I were being denied it. He did the same to me. Within a moment of each other, both of us did cum, spewing our loads into each other’s mouths. Oh, God, it was sweet and delicious, utter pleasure! 

Chapter 30 

I crawled off, and we lay head-to-head, trying to catch our breaths, panting and gasping. Whew, I loved doing it with a hard, erect one in my mouth. 

He got up of the bed. “Have to make pee-pee,” he stuttered, embarrassed. I also rose. 

“Gotta go, too, but you go first.” I looked down at him and reddened. “You’re so big and large, still stiff.” I shook my head. “You must have to go faster.” I giggled. 

He shrugged. 

“I have you to thank for my erection. You made me very hard, sweetie.” He kissed the side of my face, and we entered his small bathroom. It contained a tub, a sink, a supply cabinet— just the usual essentials. He turned and loudly peed. I watched his penis as the heady urine hit the water in the bowl and bubbled up. 

“Ah, that feels so good!” 

He sprinkled a few more droplets into the bowl, shook his penis, and stepped aside. 

“You’re next, sweetie.” He winked and watched me trying to pee. 

I strained, jiggling my penis, but nothing came out. “Let me,” he said, nudging my fingers out of the way and encircling my penis with his own hand while his other hand tweaked and rubbed my ass, gently trying to insert a finger, but I wiggled my ass, and he let go. Behind me I heard the supply cabinet opening. He removed something, and the cabinet closed again. He still held my penis as his other hand went around the back of my neck, holding a slim tube. I did not recognize what it said but again strained and then shrugged. 

 “Guess I don’t have to go.” 

He nodded. 

“Bend over a bit,” he said, opening the tube, “you’re too tight.” He squeezed it, and I watched as a gob of jelly squirt into his hand. I read the tube: Petroleum Jelly. “Bend over; hold on to the flush pipes.” 

“No,” I shook my head, trying to step away. “Not for me.” 

I saw his lips tighten, little lines forming about his mouth.

“Bend over,” he repeated. “I said bend over, you little whore!” He tried forcing me down. 

“You’re nuts,” I said, pushing him away. “I’m outta here!” 

“You bastard, bend over!” He pushed me down again and moved my head to lower itself. Again I tried to free myself from his hold, but somehow he had forced my hands to hold on to the piping, or else I would have dropped to the ground. He clutched the back of my head with one hand while his other probed my buttocks with the jelly. In that position I could do nothing but hold on or else my face would’ve been smashed against the ground. He pushed himself in. 

“Ooh, you fucking bitch!” I squealed. 

I felt something pushing in, straining against a sheath of stubborn resistance then finally breaking through to the sphincter. Oh God! It was as if my entire existence, from early childhood up to now, lost in confusion, my head turned on wrong, my body askew, my senses delirious, when all that was missing was a hard dick up my ass—a natural event in my boring, complacent life. He pushed again, a natural in/out movement, and I moved with him, clasping, straining, surging and leaping for the muscle as his dick surged in and out, over and over again. 

 I don’t know who came first, but my cock dripped with sticky, gooey cum while his own cock probed my insides, his cum trickling out of my anus. He plopped out, still holding onto my ass and balancing me to his body. It was as if I was collapsing against him, my body weakened, ashamed, exhausted, yet he held on to me as I wanted to vanish. I was physically and psychologically beaten. I turned back to him not knowing what to expect. 

“You’re so sweet,” he whispered, his arms around my chest, his mouth at my neck. I had no choice; I let my mouth droop open, our tongues licking each other. 

He led me out of the bathroom and back into bed. Though I was embarrassed, I knew I liked him. 

Chapter 31 

These past few days had been wonderful. I hardly ever licked or blown a man before, but in a matter of days, I had sucked on a few limp ones and now a sturdy, hard one who knew how to fuck me in the ass. I had been a virgin before but now was a real man. Well, at least a sissy man who took it any way he can: in the mouth, up the ass, in my hand reaching out for a stiff cock to beat. 

He held me as saliva fell from our mouths. I blew him, he blew me, and we slept. In the morning the rain had finally stopped after falling all night long. I stretched and looked at his face. The eyebrows on his forehead appeared to have been plucked in a thin line as if drawn there. I did not see it before. He crinkled his face and rubbed his nose. I lovingly looked at him. He stretched and opened his eyes. I had raised myself up on one arm and looked down at him. 

“Good morning,” I whispered. 

He stretched, sighed heavily. 

“Oh, God, good morning,” he groaned. “How long have you been up?” 

I shrugged. “Not long, just a few minutes before you. I’ve just been lying here and looking at you.” 

He smiled. 

“See anything you like?” 

By then I had moved my hand beneath the thin covers and grabbed his cock. 

“Yes,” I said, “what have you got?” 

“Oh, my,” he grinned back, shaking his head. “First thing in the morning? My, you are fast.” 

“The early bird gets the what? A big cock!” I grinned and groped him again as we kissed. I loved his almost instant hardness, growing so large that I envied him for it. By then the covers had been removed, and we compared our two dicks—his rigidly hard, mine stiff as well, but nowhere the bulky size he had. 

“You’re young. It takes a little while,” he said by way of explanation. “It will grow. You’ll be big one day, big and stiff.” 

“Really, oh goody goody.” I giggled. “I can’t wait.” And I bent down to his cock, wrapped my lips around it, and instantly swallowed, as he did mine, sucking it up as well. 

Afterwards, we were again breathing heavily when he asked, “Any plans for today?” 

“Guess I’ll go home—haven’t been there in past few days.” He rose and put on his clothes. 

“Yes, I have to go out, too. How about we meet later? Just wait for me downstairs, say around 4 or 5?” 

“Yeah, okay,” I answered, not sure that I’d be back. We went downstairs and parted at the front door, with him going uptown as I headed downtown. 

Chapter 32 

I decided to go home. I needed a change of clothes, anyway. I sure hoped my underwear didn’t smell too badly, but would there be any blood? After all I did lose my virginity, but would it show? Oh, probably not. 

I opened the apartment building’s front door and took out Mom’s mail—a few bills and catalogs, the usual. Then I saw it: Bride’s Magazine. I frowned. She had received a copy in the past few months, and I thought nothing of it, but now I did. Bitterly and angrily I ran upstairs. Mom, the slut whore, no good bitch! She had been planning a wedding for a long time, that was for sure. I tore the door open and heard silence. I stormed into her room, viciously flinging the door open. A messy bed met me followed by the usual silence. “Bitch Mom,” I said over and over, shoving some clothes into a shopping bag. I thought about taking The Big Sleep and instead cursed at it while taking all the money Mom had in her cookie jar—three dollars in paper bills. I didn’t bother with her loose change and added that to the ten I got from Daniel then stormed out of house. Had she already gotten her divorce and filled out the paperwork marriage forms? Bitch mom, bet you she did. 

But how could I call Mom a bitch? It wasn’t her fault, but that creep she started seeing—he was an asshole, definitely a stinking faggot. I blushed. What am I? Oh Christ, I don’t know… 

I got out of the Lower East Side and was up in the 20s, carrying my small bag of clothes all bunched up together. On 23rd Street I started walking west towards Madison Square Park when it hit me, Yankel’s mother was dying. I wonder if she made it through or not. I grinned and walked resolutely by the park on Madison Avenue, reaching 30th Street in no time. The front door was locked. I read the four or five names looking back at me. One read Y. Shapiro. I pressed it. Must be Y for Yankel. What else can it be? But he’s probably at his mother’s side, and we did make tentative arrangements to meet next week. The buzzer buzzed back. Oh, wow, he’s in! 

I walked up the stairs, keeping my head up and looking ahead of me. Near the third floor a balding man’s head looked down at me, wearing a little yarmulke and a suit and tie. I paused. 

“Sorry, I was looking for Yankel,” I said. 

The man stood, disappointed. 

“No, I’m Yankel. Don’t you even recognize me?” He shook his head. 

I looked up. It really was Yankel! The suit and tie with a yarmulke certainly threw me off, but as I came up the stairs, I recognized him for what he was: a grieving Jewish man. I didn’t know if bothering him was the proper thing to do. 

“I know you said next week, but I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by. Hope its okay?” 

“Come in, come in. Don’t be foolish. Of course it’s okay. You’re always welcome.” He shut the door behind me and immediately reached for my crotch. I dropped the small parcel I had been holding, letting him paw and grope me and slide my pants zipper down. I heard a voice. 

“Well, well, what have we here?” 

I stiffened in shock. His brother stepped out of the other room. Yankel let go of me. 

“This is the handsome young man I was with when you interrupted me.” Again he reached for my crotch. 

I pushed his hand away, but again he tried to grab me. 

“Shlomo’s just like me,” Yankel said, “a queer. Just like you are. No, so don’t resist. We are a family.” 

“I’m not a queer,” I shamefully muttered, turning red. 

Shlomo stood with his arms akimbo. “Mitromem mizdayen batahat,” he muttered. 

Yankel looked angrily at him and put his arm around my shoulder. 

“Don’t you say such a thing. He’s very nice boy—looks to be the nicest one I’ve had up here in a long time.” 

Shlomo shrugged and lit a cigarette. “I simply asked if the boy was an ass-fucker. Nothing wrong in that.” He looked at us and blew the smoke in our direction. 

Yankel angrily erupted and began to say something in Hebrew. 

“Sholom,” I simply sighed, trying to bring peace (Sholom being the only Jewish word I knew) and removed my T-shirt and began to undo my pants. Yankel and Shlomo watched me, openmouthed. I’d always been fascinated by being undressed before men. My earliest remembered dreams were of just that—being on display and shown off like a circus animal or perhaps even like a chunk of meat everyone pawed and fingered until I was chosen for a repast and was carried home. I didn’t know where the dream came from, but it was there, and it was mine. I stood nude before them, my head lowered. 

 “Mein Gott, he’s hairless!” exclaimed Shlomo, shaking his head. 

“But when did that happen,” Yankel muttered. “You were hairy when we first met?” 

I shrugged; I wasn’t going to tell them who shaved me. 

“Was too hot, the humidity was very bad, so I took it off.” 

Yankel did not say anything—just stared and licked his lips. 

“It’s an abomination!” erupted Shlomo. “Man was born nude as an infant. But being hairy is the natural state he will develop into. You must not do otherwise. It’s a disgrace.” He turned away, refusing to look at me. 

Yankel wiped his mouth. 

“But I like it,” he said, “anyway, the boychick is mine, not yours.” I had heard that term before, boychick, from Yiddish men of the Lower East Side and though it meant “young man,” I still thought there was something sexual in the term. 

Again Yankel put his arm around my bare shoulders and immediately began to play with my penis and testicles. 

“It’s disgusting,” retorted Shlomo, “simply gross and sinful. And on the day your poor mother was laid to eternal rest. Ptui!” He spat. “On your soul is Yahweh’s gehenna garbage dump! Ach, go to hell!” And he slammed the door, pounding down the stairs. 

Yankel muttered something and shook his head then looked at my crotch, standing me before him and stooping down to my testicles. 

“Amazing, simply amazing. Turn around.” 

 I did so, and he licked his lips. 

“You must stay like that every time you’re in his room: naked. Agreed?” We looked at each other. I nodded. “Good. For what are clothes to you? Mere nonessentials that you don’t even need. Standing naked is perfect, don’t you think?” 

Again I shrugged and nodded. 

“But you,” I said, “you’re still dressed.” 

“Yes, yes, but I just got back from the cemetery. I must stay like this to honor my poor mother. You see, I must be respectful. I’m sure you agree?” 

I nodded. “Yes, I know, today we will be good and respectful.” 

He beamed. 

“I knew you’d see things in their proper light.” 

I leered at him, winking. 

“But tomorrow, watch out world! We’re cumming with our hard dicks blazing away! Pow, pow!” 

I made a move as if I was a gunslinger, holding my dick before me and drawing back my uncut skin and firing it like a gun. 

He sternly looked at me, shaking his head. 

“Today is a sacred day. It’s not funny. You can’t laugh at the sacred.” 

“Oh c’mon, who’s laughing? I’m not,” I said, still drawing the skin back. Exposing my own skin makes me feel as if someone was molesting and ripping it off. That was why I hardly ever did it. I smirked at him. “C’mon, is my dick sacred?” I jiggled it back and forth. 

He instantly let go of me. 

“Get out!” he said. “I will not allow you to profane this moment. Shlomo was right—you’re nothing but an ass-fucker. Leave!” 

I wasn’t even dressed. I winced in confusion. 

“Leave? But I was just joking.” 

“Get out, I said. Now!” 

We looked at each other. Maybe I should leave? There was no compassion in him. I was angry. 

“Fine, you stinking asshole, I don’t know what is wrong with you,” I said trying to reverse my T-shirt which I just took off some minutes ago. 

“Leave!” he shrieked. “Get the hell out of my house!” He pushed me to the door. I barely had a few seconds to grab my few clothes in the paper bag when I was ejected from his premises. 

“Jesus Christ!” I shouted back at him, pounding on the shut door. I was certain someone was looking at me through the peephole of a nearby door. I got dressed, cursing throughout, and spat a few more choice curses at him and bolted down the stairs. “Jew asshole!” I screamed back at him. 

Chapter 33 

I was out on the street. Boy that fucking Jew is weird. I thought his brother was a flake, but this one takes the cake. Forget the stinking assholes! Throwing me out without any clothes on? Shit, I should’ve had the cops up there investigating. Asshole Jews should be in jail for slavery, and they wanted me to stay naked, Jesus! 

I fumed and walked on, eventually coming to 14th Street and University Place. I could see the house I was in just yesterday, where I learned to ass fuck. I bit my lips, knowing I might be going up there again when I saw Luba stepping out of the subway in her tight clothes and walking down the street. I smirked. No use in following her, but that was exactly what I did, walking behind her, following along the busy street, my dick growing still harder as her skirt swayed against her legs, her large bosom thrust out before her. Boy was I hard! Stealthily, I walked after her… 

On Avenue B she paused, by then the traffic was less hurried and more relaxed. She glanced at a few pedestrians that passed her. Home wasn’t too far away when she turned, and instantly our eyes met. Did I blush? Did she? We stopped in our tracks, looking at each other. She gestured with her hand, and I shrugged and went on over. 

She turned red and whispered, “I missed you very much.” 

“I missed you, too, you know.” 

We both moved close and met in a kiss, our arms around each other, caressing, clinging to each other. 

“You want to go to the park?” she asked, blinking her eyes seductively. 

I nodded. 

“Yes, very much so.” 

I clung to her shoulder as she steered me by the waist. We trod to the 10th Street overpass and entered the secluded East River Park. I marveled at the huge size of her bosom, shaking my head and wondering how women hid their lust and horniness because it was so evident. They looked so natural, even with their big breasts, just traipsing down the street nonchalantly when actually they were more like animals, rabidly out of control and always in heat. 

We fell onto a bench and she immediately went for my cock, freeing it from my zipper, reaching in and taking the hungry penis out. 

I slightly inched myself up, raising my buttocks off the seat and lowering my pants to a comfortably half nude position. She also raised her skirt to where her garter belt held up her nylons, appearing so intensely erotic that I tried lifting her up spread-eagled and dropping her down on my crotch when she opened her eyes. 

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened?” she blurted, wiping her face and looking down for a better view. “Where the hell is your hair? Your pubes are gone.” Again she bent down for a closer inspection. “Did someone do that to you?” And her lips were clenched, her nostrils flaring. “What’s the whore’s name? I’ll fix the slut.” She sat up, shaking her head. “The cunt shouldn’t get away with that. She should be in a nut house!” 

I shrugged. 

“It wasn’t a she,” I said, lighting up one of her cigarettes. “It was a he.” I breathed the smoke out. 

She looked at me and narrowed her eyes, letting go with a strained laugh. 

“What you mean, she was a he? Stop kidding. Now tell me what the hell happened?” 

I looked at her and grinned. 

“A guy shaved my cock, and all I did was suck his dick in return. That’s all. Oh yeah, he gave it to me up the ass, too.” I dreamily grinned at her, my eyes far away and not seeing her anymore. 

“What!?” she muttered, disbelieving and shaking her head. “Now stop playing games with me, or else I’m out of here. You got that, buster? Now what the fuck happened?” 

I shook my head, grinning all the time. 

“But I told you. I swallowed cock and took it up the ass. Why is it so hard to explain?” 

Her eyes were wide open, and her mouth was open, too, as if thinking that it wasn’t true, that I had betrayed her. But I no longer cared. I had enough of her. If this was going to mean goodbye, that was exactly what I meant: goodbye and good riddance to her. She looked at me. 

“You’re serious. You’re not kidding.” She slightly shook her head. “Was it recently when you started with fags?” She snorted but slightly moved away on the bench. 

“Nope, been going with them a while. Sometimes I made it with them in the afternoon then go and meet you in the evening, just like today.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter when I was doing it as long as I got the pussy or dick I was after. I’m after one or the other—cunt or penis, you know?” I winked, grinning at her. 

She angrily leaped up. 

“I’m just a cunt to you, am I? And you’re the cocksucker, is that it? You bastard! You’re a fag, a stinking faggot! I always suspected you were one! Oh, Jesus, you’re disgusting, ptui!” She spat out, viciously wiping her mouth over and over. “You bastard, if I get infected with your faggot disease, I’ll come after you, you pervert. Oh, God, I’m gonna puke! You make me sick, you mother fucker!” 

I shook my head. 

“You’re not going to get infected with anything; it’s just cock I was after. You’re after it, too, right?” 

“You filthy faggot!” she screeched and hit my chest before tearing along the path which would take her to the overpass leading out of the park. I smirked and shook my head. 

“Cunt bitch!” I grunted, rubbing my stiff dick over and over. I shot off, shrugged again, and decided to go home.

 

Chapter 34

That is, if Mom would let me in, or if she wasn’t out with her boyfriend on the town. I chuckled. Being out on the town would be too late for Mom and the boyfriend. They’d be yawning at eleven and out of it before it hit 11:30. Zzz…Out like a light. I had to laugh when I went up the stairs leading up to my apartment. I decided to knock. Someone crossed the room. 

 “Who is it?” Mom nervously asked. 

“It me, Danny.” The door was flung open, and a worried Mom stood before me. 

“Where have you been? I was so worried! You just don’t know.” 

I shrugged. 

“Out, you know, around.” 

“Don’t give me that, where? I’m your mother.” 

I looked at her. Yes, she’s my mother and I’m her only son. And she’s going to get married, and where would that leave me? Nowhere, that’s for sure. I simply could not stop the tears pouring down my face. 

 “Oh, Mom,” I wept, “I’m sorry that I grabbed your arm and pushed you. I’m sorry. But I’m not sad that you’re going to get married. I’m very happy.” I hugged her. “You’re everything to me, Mom. Stay the way you are. I accept every part of you—a new husband, too. I love you, Mom, very much so.” 

She held me tightly, tears also falling from her eyes. From the corner of the room I heard a step. I looked up; her boyfriend/future husband nervously stared back at me. I wiped my tears and smiled at him. He instantly smiled back. 

Much later that evening, after talking and discussing our futures, or what we hoped they would be, Mom and I parted. 

“You’ll be alright?” Mom asked. 

I nodded, picking up The Big Sleep with some of my clothes. 

“I have a place to go to—a friend of mine.” She shook her head. “I can’t help but worry about you.” 

She bit her lips, weeping. “I love you, Danny.” 

I looked at her and sadly said, “I love you too, Mom.” 

I ran down the stairs, tears falling from my eyes. 

Chapter 35 

But as I walked through various neighborhoods, I couldn’t help but be aware of the diversity that had made up New York City in the olden days, the 1960’s–70’s. It was amazing, all the cultures and races that thrived there once: Spanish, Italians, Poles with Ukrainians, Swedish with Germans, Chinese with Russians. On and on it went, each trying to stay apart, distinct, but the brutal rich city was constantly at their throats, always stepping on them with rules, regulations, and forever raising the rents higher and higher. It finally got to a point where the poor were forced out, and the tenement buildings were turned over to the rich, who immediately razed them and set up boring and useless high rises, which were similar-looking to others everywhere in the city. Where life was once so much more interesting had suddenly become very boring, staid, so humdrum, that it became a constant and oppressive yawn. New York had breathed its last as a culturally identified city and finally died, Phft! But that was in the future, and as I still walked through its streets, always looking, hunting, searching. I turned into Little Italy. 

The cramped area made me feel as if I did belong right there with the bunched together buildings, even with the old men viciously looking at me as I sauntered down its streets. They seemed to be saying, “You don’t belong here; you’re not one of us.” Still I walked on, more confident and determined, certain of where I was going. 

In front of Daniel’s building I looked up; the building appeared just as tired as he did. I went up the stairs. At his door I listened, then knocked. 

“Daniel, it’s Daniel,” I called out and blushed; the two exact names together seemed very awkward—sounded like a business going bankrupt. I snorted. 

Silence. I knocked again. 

“Daniel, please…” 

I heard a footfall and someone moving to the door. I breathed out. The door opened. Daniel looked at me. 

“Yes?”  

I bit my lips. 

“It’s me, Daniel. Don’t you even recognize me?” 

 He nodded his head. 

“Yes, I recognize you.” 

“Oh, Daniel, let me in. I can explain.” Again I bit my lips. “I went to see my mother.” I lowered my head. “She’s getting married again.” 

 Daniel stared at me for a moment then stepped aside, letting me in, and shut the door behind me. 

“I knew she was gonna get married. That had me upset, but I went and saw her and how happy she is. That got me even more upset because I suddenly realized how stupid I was for being upset. It was a waste of time, really. I wasn’t upset anymore. I even spoke to her fiancé, joked with him, too.” 

He stared at me but seemed relieved as well, his earlier angry breathing more composed and peaceful. 

“How old is your mom?” 

“Forty-seven.” 

“Still young.” 

“She is?” I said, shaking my head. “Sure, I suppose she is.” I shrugged. “How old are you again? Forty? Fifty?” 

He smiled. “A lot older than you think.” 

“Oh, c’mon. You can tell me. I think you told me before, didn’t you? I already told you how old I am: nineteen. Now tell me yours, please. Remind me again.” 

We looked at each other. 

“Sixty-three,” he whispered, shamefully staring at me. “Compared to your nineteen, that’s a lifetime away.”

We looked at each other; he had collapsed on the couch while I remained standing. 

“No, it’s not.” 

He looked at me. 

“You were at your mother’s all this time?” 

I stared right at him. 

“Just about or else walking the streets, thinking about Mom, you know.” 

I had moved across the room and joined him on the couch. 

“Oh God, Danny, I thought you had disappeared out of my life forever.” He fell to my chest, burrowing himself there. “I was sure you had gone from me.” 

“No, no,” I said, lifting his head up. “I had to see Mom. That’s important, too.” 

“Oh, I know, extremely important.” He nodded. “More than anything in the world. I sure am glad you realize that and that you reached an agreement. You know we can’t stand in the way of people’s lives. We have to let them go whether they are children or parents. They all have different paths to follow.” 

I sadly looked at him. I sighed and sniffled, wiping my nose. 

“Yes, I know that now. I think I finally let her go as she let me go, too.” 

We kissed and snuggled on the couch. 

“Did you have anything to eat?” 

“Mom gave me some meat and potatoes, I’m full.” I made a movement showing off my belly. “Did you eat?” 

“Had some pasta earlier. I’m satisfied.” 

“At Luigi’s downstairs?” 

“Yes.” 

“They always look at me so funny, as if they know where I’m going.” 

He smirked. 

“Maybe they do. You ever think of that?” 

I looked wide-eyed at him. 

“They know I’m a queer? How could that be?” 

He shrugged. 

“You don’t have to look like one to be one. Think of all the men you’ve been with. Did they look like they were queer to you?” 

We stared at each other, and I thought, no, they didn’t look like they were queers, except the flirty flamboyant ones. Most looked like normal residents of the area they lived in. The entire city wasn’t Greenwich Village, I knew, with queers everywhere showing off their walk, their stance, their sex, whatever. But mostly they were still hidden behind their disguises though were known only to the others around them. They were queer, as I was queer, too. 

“So Little Italy is your Greenwich Village?” 

“You can say that. Either way, it’s my home.” He smiled, staring at me. “You’re welcome to it, too.” 

“I’d like that.” I hugged him, and we rose from the couch, went to the bed, and undressed. 

“What the hell happened?” he blurted out, staring at my hairlessness. 

I turned red. 

“Oh this,” I said, looking down at my nudity. “I wipe it off every now and then.” I got up from the bed and retrieved the canister I had swiped from Taddy, the University Place man. “This takes it right off. You wanna try it?” 

He shook his head. 

“Amazing, simply amazing.” He again shook his head. “But I’m an old man. I suppose these things were made for the young,” he said, reading the canister. 

I shrugged, picking up a towel. 

“It will make you feel very young. You mentioned that the doctor said you’re twenty five years younger. Well, this will make you even feel younger, maybe fifty years younger. What would that make you, sixteen years old?” 

He licked his lips and rubbed his crotch. 

“What do I have to do?” 

I took the can from him, shook it about, and flipped open the cover. 

“Nothing, just relax. I’ll do the job for you.” 

I sprayed the thick, white soapy cream on his crotch area, lifting up the penis, and held it up in my hand. I wiped some of the cream away. Though the towel didn’t seem to have a lot on it, the cream sure took a lot off. 

I leered up at him. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, amazed, but it was evident his feelings had intensified. 

“Oh, no,” he whispered. “What is happening?” 

I had let go of the penis and looked at him. 

“My, God, oh no!” he squealed.” It’s getting hard again!” 

“What?” 

The penis had slightly grown and was beginning to stand up on its own, rising up and getting bigger and bigger. To me a hard-on was a natural response to an arousal, but the reaction in him was a miraculous event. Did the hairlessness affect it? I suppose it did. I gripped it, my fingers curling and slowly beating it back and forth. Almost instantly he gripped me, pushing me down to him. I shut my eyes and opened my mouth and swallowed. 

Oh Christ, it was beautiful! If ever a penis had been untouched by another, this was it, but now in all its glorious hardness, it pierced my throat, spewing its load. I swallowed and drank in as much as I could, trying to take it all in and swallowing deeper and deeper. 

It softened and fell out. 

I wiped my mouth and looked at him. 

“That was incredible,” he breathed. “I didn’t believe I would ever cum.” 

I looked at him, grinning and snuggling against him. 

Yes, an old man, I thought, but so what? There were many men out there. I’ve had a few, and still more would be waiting, but for a little while he would be mine, as I would be his. I thought of the scrap of paper the motorcycle girl had listed his/her number on. I should give her a call one of these days. Oh yes, it would be a Saturday again soon, have to meet Clarkie at the Adonis. I leered. Yes, men are just men, but life can be beautiful. I was sure of it. 

I rolled over onto hard-again Daniel. 

THE END 

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, On the Prowl and others.