Kinky/Pubes by Mykola Dementiuk

 

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

Kinky/Pubes 

By Mykola Dementiuk  

Chapter 1 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I yawned. 

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

A dreamy expression crossed his face. 

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

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

“You live somewhere near here?” I asked. 

 He brightened. 

“Around the block, on 22nd…” 

 “Wow, close...” 

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

“And you have some beer up there?” 

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

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

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

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

 * * * * 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I looked at him. 

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

He shook his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Means beer in Polish.”

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

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

I pretended to frown. 

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

He grinned. 

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

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

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

He looked at me, wrinkling his brow. 

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

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

He shook his head. 

“Try twelve fifty for a six pack."

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

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

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

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

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

I felt his hand tenderly rubbing my back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I belched and it threatened to turn wet and explosive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 I shook my head. 

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

She shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * 

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

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

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

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

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

Damn, what if he sees me? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I leaned back against a car and lowered my head. 

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

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

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

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

I pressed the buzzer. 

Footsteps immediately sounded on the floor right above me. 

“Yes?” a voice asked through the speaker. 

What am I doing? Was that him or not? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled but shook his head. He breathed out.

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

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

“You want to come up, sweetie?” 

“If I can…” 

He nodded and I followed him up the stairs. 

Chapter 3 

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

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

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

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

I narrowed my eyes. “You mean that?” 

He nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned. 

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

I scowled. “I’m not a sissy.” 

He shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you cum, sweet baby?” 

“Uh huh,” I answered, very embarrassed. 

He smiled. 

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

My eyes marveled at this... 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinky,” I murmured. 

“Yes, my darling Pubes?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whew, incredible, Pubes, simply incredible!” 

I turned red and cuddled to his chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You ever try having this on?” 

He handed me the package. 

Pantyhose? I blushed, shaking my head. 

 “What for? I’m not a girl.” 

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

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

“Try it baby, one size fits all.” 

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

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

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

Chapter 4 

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

I jolted up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Henry’s eyes widened. 

“Very cool, that’s enough.” 

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

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

Kinky looked back at me. I gazed at them. 

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

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

Kinky shut the door and rejoined me on the bed. 

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

Kinky snorted.

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

I smiled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We kissed and drifted off to la la land. 

 * * * * 

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

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

He pulled off his pantyhose and opened another package. 

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

He ripped it open and pulled out new nylons. 

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

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

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

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

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

I narrowed my eyes. 

“Nail polish, for what?” 

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

He again snapped his fingers. 

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

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

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

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

 I nodded. 

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

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

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

“But life steps in and makes its demands.” 

I chuckled. 

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

He put on some white shoes and a dress jacket. 

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

I smiled. 

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

“Near here?” he asked, sounding concerned. 

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

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

I shrugged. 

“Sure, I’ll be fine.” 

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

I turned red. 

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

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

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

Chapter 5 

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

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

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

“My God, what this?!” 

I jumped up. 

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

She looked at me through her wet and worried eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With who, a homo?” 

“Mom…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shook my head and crossed to 1st Avenue. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit, what if he sees me? 

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

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

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

I glanced back at him, nervous. 

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

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

I winced. 

“I really can’t…” 

“Oh, c’mon, just a beer.” 

 I bit my lip thinking... 

“Okay, maybe some wine instead?” 

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged.

“He’s a very dear friend.” 

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, what…?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6 

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

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

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

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

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

I gazed forlornly up at him. 

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

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

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

I gagged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I changed the subject. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I frowned. 

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

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

He shut the door and sat down beside me. 

"Hmm, you remember anything?"

“Just a little, not much..." 

He waved his hand before his face.

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

For some strange reason, I distrusted Tex. 

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

 * * * * 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footsteps pounded above me and raced to answer. 

“Yes, yes?” 

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

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

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

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

He put his arms around me, hugging and kissing. 

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

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

He locked the door behind me. 

“Just wine, had a few glasses.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drinking some wine.” 

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

I cringed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears ran down my eyes. 

Chapter 7 

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

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

I heard the door opening. Kinky stood before me. 

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

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

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

 We looked at each other. 

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

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

“What’s in the bag?” 

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

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

I faintly smiled. 

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

We were quiet, watching each other. 

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

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

“You get many blowjobs there?” 

I winced and nodded. 

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

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

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

He studied me and undid his zipper. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?” he said, standing above me. 

I was terrified. 

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

He brought a wallet out, flicked it open. 

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

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

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

He flicked the dollar with his fingers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stood up and picked up my clothes bag. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Typical...

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

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

I began to sniffle and weep, shutting my eyes. 

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

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

I narrowed my eyes.

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

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

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

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

He faintly smiled at me. 

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

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

He looked at me, his arms at my shoulders. 

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

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

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

He squeezed my shoulder. 

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

He hugged me, again looking around. 

“I had to follow...” 

We kissed. 

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

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

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

Chapter 8 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t Kinky, I was sure of that. 

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

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

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

Kinky shut the door behind him. 

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

Henry nervously cleared his throat. 

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

“Get to the point,” Kinky scowled. 

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

Kinky glared at him. 

I felt my blood boiling. 

“Go on,” said Kinky. 

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

He lowered his gaze. 

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

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

“Do you mind?” Kinky opened the door. 

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

Kinky slammed the door after him. 

 * * * * 

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

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

Me and Kinky went and joined in the march. 

I told Mom about it. 

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

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

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

Mom stared at me, red-faced. 

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

I instantly brightened, falling to my knees before her. 

“Oh, Mom, I will, I will.” 

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

 

THE END