The Facialist Chapter 33-34 The End A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side by Mykola Dementiuk

 

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist

A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side

by Mykola Dementiuk

Chapter 33

The next morning mom had already left for the funeral parlor, I supposed, when I awoke. It was a warm sunny day when I started walking to Eleventh Street, turning west and heading toward Pani Stetz's building, that is, Shelly's old building. Did he move, I wondered, like he said he would do?

Close to Second Avenue the street was quiet, just the usual car traffic from the mid-block garage. I climbed up the stairs to Pani Stetz's place when I heard men's voice up above me. 

"Don't worry," said a gruff man's voice. "I'll fix it for you. I'm the super. I know about these things. I help new tenants."

I grinned and shook my head. Yeah, the way he was going to fix Pani Stetz's dripping faucet, I thought, drip, drip, drip... 

I gripped my cock and knocked on her door.

Almost instantly she opened it, with her face red.

"Good morning," she said, "Nice to see you so very early. Come in, come in," and she shut the door behind her.

"Just came to fix your drip," I said, very awkwardly, and staring at her purplish negligée.

"Oh, never mind the drip," she said, looking at me. I had followed her to the living room where just a day ago I had felt her warm and soft big breast. "Tell me, did we do anything? I was out of it. I don't remember much..."

"Do anything?" I shook my head, almost smiling. "Like what..."

She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out; I saw it was the menthol kind, the same as Shelly had been smoking, a woman's brand. But I rather liked them, too. I pulled mine out and she didn't say anything as I lit my last one.

"You know," she blushed but continued, "what we were not supposed to do, making doity..."

I looked quizzically at her. "Doity, what's that?"

"Oh, c'mon, you know, when two people get together they eventually have to make doity." And she looked at me, fluttering her eyelids. "It's what keeps the world rolling around."

"Oh, that, you mean, making dirty, having sex," I said, blushing and looking surprised. "You mean like filthy fucking?"

She faintly smiled and poured herself another coffee.

"You get it when you can..." I smirked at her.

She looked at me and puffed on her cigarette, slightly blushing. "Well, did you like it?"

"Yes, I did," I replied, nodding my head, I took a final puff of my cigarette and put it out. "Pani Stetz, you were fantastic, never had one like you before, that's for sure."

"And you've had many, I suppose, at you age?"

"No, not many, just a few. I'm still young, you know," I said and winked at her, rubbing my stiffened crotch. But I had to wonder, from where did that bravado and boasting come from? I never had sex with a woman, yet I was acting as if I've had many...

"Well, I didn't have many clothes on, I suppose," she smirked, quickly finishing her coffee and putting out her cigarette next to mine. "And I was pretty hot..." and she shook her head ang blushed. "Stahsh can't do much when he's been drinking. Sure, am glad you were around, yes, I was."

And she sat down next to me and leaned in for a kiss. She kissed me back as if she was famished, ripping up her negligée while undoing my shirt and pants, whisking off my underwear. 

That's it's amazing how easy my first fucking actually was, of a penis piercing a cunt like chocolate melting in a mouth. Fucking her was the easiest and most natural thing in the world, for a man and a woman, or a teenage boy and his adult lover, but I was certainly a man!

Then I thought of Dickie...Oh, screw him, little twerp don't mean shit!

We were drained and exhausted. But she pushed herself up and got off the couch.

"Have to see Stahsh this afternoon," she said, starting to comb her hair, "but you with you around, I sure don't want too." And she blew me a kiss.

I also got up off the couch and began putting my clothes back on. "I know what you mean, I just want to spend a little more time with you."

"Listen, come back tomorrow, we'll make doity again," and she winked. "But this time in the bedroom, on a real bed to lie down in, okay?"

"What about Stahsh," I asked, "won't he be here?"

She shook her head. "He'll be working in New Jersey, some client down there. Leaves early, comes back late. They do gardening, Stahsh likes it, flowers and stuff, you know. We'll spend all day together, it will be perfect, no?"

I grinned and nodded, "Yes, ma'am, perfect."

We smirked at each other, and I headed to the front door.

"Do you like me?" she asked, looking very embarrassed.

"Oh, yes, I do, very much."

She blushed and gave me a little peck. I was out the door and cheerfully walking up the street. 

Chapter 34

I was very happy, ecstatic really, about time that I was a man and not just a little go-nowhere kid, as I thought I had been before. Now would come the real womanizing me, and I was more than ready, that's for sure. 

I wanted to screw every woman that passed me by, beautiful and attractive or washed-up and dowdy. Made no difference to me as long they had a cunt that could be filled, and I was more then ready to enter and fill. 

But what about sissy men, was I going to leave them alone from now on?

On Fourteenth Street I stood and looked at the branches of the Second Avenue Park, a block away. My penis tingled with a hardness as I watched a man enter the restrooms on Fifteenth Street. Damn, do I go after him? Wasn't my lust satisfied by a woman just moments ago?

I turned and sauntered into the park. More people were sitting around but the hot humid air had receded a bit, it wasn't as stagnant as the day before. 

But I was leery, looking at each sitter as if I could recognize something in them, but what? The sexual chase had been going on for millennia, so why did I think it would be different if I joined the pursuit? Go after men, go after women, in the end what's the difference? Two bodies are becoming one in copulation --ah, bliss!

I fell onto a bench near Seventeenth Street holding on to my stiffened crotch. Man, I wanted to jerk off and fast, too. 

Then I saw him, the old man who had been repelled by my bitten dick a day or so ago. He didn't nod but coldly kept walking, shaking his head, and angrily smoking a cigarette. Was he pissed off that I had been sitting next to the other old man? Weird, that's for sure. Men can be just as petty and jealous of each other as women are. Small world, indeed.

I kept looking around when I instantly brightened. There was the friendly old man I had run away from a day ago and he was walking right in my direction. Funny, but I had been thinking of him just now.

I smiled and rubbed my hard crotch, adjusting it to show my erection more clearly. All the while, my face turning red. I stretched my legs, the obvious stiff bulge protruding upwards.

"Well, well, young man," he said, taking a seat beside me. He lowered his voice, "I see you're still horny, that's what I like about young men. Tell me, how many times have you cum today?"

I snorted. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, if you're looking, I'm looking too, are you?"

I shrugged.

"Listen, I live nearby on Nineteenth Street, we can go there."
I remained sitting and looking at him. "You like to do anything? You name it, we'll do it." He winked; I winked back.

"Sure," I quietly said, shyly staring at him, "I like getting facials."

He curiously looked at me. "Facials, what's that?" he asked. "Can't say I've heard of it."

I blushed. "You know, when you're about to cum you shove your dick in my face and let it dribble down..."

He shut his eyes and seemed to swoon, moving his head slightly back and forth. But then a spasm rocked his body, as he shivered, exploding into deep heavy breathing. Looking at him I knew he had cum. I was very hard, too, just seeing at it.

"Are you alright?" I nervously asked. 

He opened his eyes; they seemed to be pasted together.

"Dribble," he muttered. "Scum dribbling down your face...oh, God, so lovely." He pushed himself nearer, taking me by the hand. "Can you cum on my face, also. I want to be like you, a facialist. You know," he whispered and blushed. "Young man, you made me cum just now. Now, that hasn't happened in quite some time."

I dreamily looked at him, certain I was going to cum, too. This was even better than being with Dickie or Shelly. I was breathing very heavily. I dreamily rocked my legs. 

"So, you shot your spunk, eh? And in your pants --very, very nice, indeed. But can you do it again, on my face?"

He his eyes and squinted as if looking very far way.

"Oh, God, yes, yes I can," he began to get up.

I also stood and we walked out of the park. Something made me recall a long time ago.

"You ever been to Coney Island?" I asked, biting my lip.

He looked at me. "Why, yes, now that you mention it. I used to spend lovely times there, with lovely boys," and he blushed. "Funny you should remind me of those days; I used to live in Brooklyn in those days. Why do you ask?"

I was silent walking up First Avenue. 

"My parents used to take me there in those days, when I was little... Something reminded me of that time, that's all."

We were silent, walking next to the other.

"Something good?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I was just remembering what it felt like..."

He looked at me. "Must have been lush and delicious, no?"

"Not really, I was told to keep my eyes closed or else I wouldn't get a surprise." I shut my eyes as we waited for the light to change.

"How old were you?"

I opened my eyes. "Oh, maybe ten or so, anyway, still little, it's impossible for me to know what was going on."

He was silent, "And in all this time, you're still waiting for your surprise, is that it?"

I shrugged. 

"I was just a little kid; he was an adult who used me, actually cheated on me, ripped me off."

"Was it really cheating? Or did he leave you with a memory of what spunk on your face can be like, cool and lovely? Forget about him just remember what it felt like."

I looked at him. He was right, the hell with who he was and remember what he did --shot scum all over my face. At that moment I stopped with my eyes shut and felt the spasm through me as I shot my scum into my dungarees. He also stopped and hungrily stared at me. I'm sure he knew what had just happened. 

"We're almost there," he whispered, "just a few more doors. By the way, what's your name? I know I asked you yesterday, but I forget..."

I looked at him. "Shelly," I said biting my lip.

He smiled. "Shelly, a lovely pretty feminine name. So, Shelly desires a face-creaming, eh?" he quietly and dreamily said. "I'm sure we can supply her with one, but she has to give us a face-creaming, too."

I leered and winked at him.

"I'm going to shoot my scum all over you face," I wickedly said, "and watch it dribble down to your chin..."

He stared at me, openmouthed. "Oh, God, yes, yes, same here, young man, yes I believe I'm going to cum on your face, too. God, the thought me hard again. Can't wait to get upstairs."

We reached his address.

"This is my place," he said, opening the front door.

"Whew, about time," I said.

We went into his building with our two stiff erections poking out before us. We hurried up the stairs.

The End

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THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist Chapter 31-32 A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side by Mykola Dementiuk

 

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist

A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side

by Mykola Dementiuk

Chapter 31

At four o'clock or so I was headed to Tompkins Square Park. It didn't matter who or what I'd find there, I'd walk into something, that's for sure. 

A noisy walk along Avenue A, with two women arguing in front of me, with each accusing the other of something, but who knows what it was... 

Until I saw Shelly, standing in a crowd of people and viciously eyeing me. He was waiting for the light to change, a useless wait because no one cared what it was on the Lower East Side, they just went and walked. 

I turned red from his bitter glance, but he huffily turned, crossed and walked away. I was sad but turned and went after him.

On Eight Street he walked by the Temperance Fountain and seemed to be headed to the Men's Room. I smirked and slowly sauntered there too, but by the time I was about to enter he was coming out.

Must have been a quick peeing or maybe there was no one inside?

He glared at me. "Hah, figures," he said, "this is your home from home, is it?"

"Look who's talking?" I answered, "sissy..."

"You're the sissy. I know all about what you will be doing next week, you're the real sissy."

"Oh yeah? Well, it takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

We glared at each other. "Get out of my way, sissy," he hissed and hurried down the path to benches near Tenth Street. He took a seat and fumbled with a cigarette, probably a menthol kind, I smirked.

His cigarette kept shaking in his mouth as he edged a match flame to it. Feverishly smoking and rocking his crossed leg he stared at me coming closer. "Sissy..." he quietly mumbled.

"We both are," I shrugged, and fell to his bench. I knew he had tried to hit me, but I no longer cared.

He angrily blew out his cigarette smoke 

"What were you talking about yesterday," I mentioned, "what counselor did you mean, and how come?"

He snorted and puffed his cigarette; the way he was speedily smoking he'd be done in no time. 

"Mama knows all about me," he said.

"She does, knows all about Dickie?"

He glared at me. "Grr, his name's Freddie, Freddie, Freddie, how many time must I say that to you, Freddie!"

I winced or pretended to wince, "Alright Freddie, she knows all about...Freddie?"

He quickly nodded and took another angry puff of his cigarette.

"Not about him," Shelly continued, "but she suspects there may be someone who is deluding me with sissy talk." He looked sadly at me, about to cry. "That's why I told her you're the sissy, anyway we're moving, going away."

"Going away, how come, where?

"She doesn't want people to know what I am, a sissy, just like you are. So, we're going to move to the Bronx, she has relatives there, and my counselor agrees. Mama says it will give me a good start, that I'll forget the sissy things that have sucked me into on the Lower East Side, this homo area." He looked at the park from Tenth Street, "Think I'll forget this place?"

I looked at him, obviously a sissy sitting there, just waiting to get picked up, and twirling a pack of cigarettes. I shrugged, "Tell your mama you don't want to go, you have friends here."

He snorted. "Like who? Mama knows I have no one, just her. Except for sissies like you." He wiped an eye. 

"That's right," I said, taking him by the hand. "I'm here almost every day." I turned red. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

He shook his head. "But we're moving," he blurted. "Go where people know mama and who don't know what I am, a sissy. She has to keep me hidden, it's too embarrassing if someone finds out. And my counselor fully agrees with her." 

He fingered his pack of cigarettes. "Here, take these, I can't have them, not with mama around." And he shoved his half-empty into my hands. "I'm sure they'll be sucked deeply with you around, you know how to suck, don't you? Anyway, you're learning." 

He snorted but kept looking at me, fluttering his wet eyes and faintly adding, "My sweet sissy..." He peeked my cheek, stood up and walked away. 

I did not go after him. I regretted I never kissed or never made it with him, except in the library, I suppose. I lowered my eyes and sat flicking my fingers on the pack her left behind.

Sissy, I thought, why'd he call me that? Was it so obvious?

I shook my head and looked at the cigarette pack. Three cigarettes remained. Did he smoke them all? But the way he had been smoking, one right after the other, it sure looked like he had. 

I flicked the almost empty pack, and one came out part way, as if teasing me to suck it up. I put it in my mouth then reached for a book of matches he had inserted in the cellophane paper around the pack. I felt nervous doing that but also very adult- like, too. 

I sucked in the flame and breathed out. Smooth and gentle, it felt as if my throat was being caressed and tickled by smooth fingertips. I drew on the cigarette again...and almost gagged.

Across the park on Ninth Street sauntered Dickie, looking back at some young men who just passed on the pathway. But he was always looking at young men, actually boys, they were his choice and pursuit. Shelly was young once but now he had grown too old, and it was my turn.

Old, but by whose standards? Shelly was eighteen, I was seventeen. He was out, I was in. But for how long? Maybe three months like Shelly, when I learned how to suck and swallow and, of course, take it up the ass, like a good girl should...

I blinked me eyes, Dickie had spotted me and was looking in my direction. What are the rules, am I supposed to hurry to him or just shake my leg and smoke my cigarette, Shelly's cigarette? 

I sat there nervously puffing the menthol smoke. Now, how do they do that, making smoking look so cool and refreshing?

Dickie started walking towards me. I flicked the half-smoked cigarette away; shards of lit embers sparked from the tip, as faint dying smoke flickered out. I glimpsed Dickie's shoes stop before me.

"Hello, Timmy..." I heard.

I looked up; he seemed nervous, unsure of himself.

"Yeah, hi," I answered.  He took a seat beside me, I slightly moved away. 

"Don't be like that," he pouted, edging his hat back. "Sit closer."

I didn't move, so he edged closer. I lit another cigarette.

"I thought you didn't smoke," he said, curiously looking at me. 

I shrugged, blowing out smoke in his face. "Just started," I said, looking at the single cigarette remaining in the pack. "Shelly gave me his."

"Shelly?" he said, looking around. "He was here?"

"Uh huh," I nodded, taking another cigarette puff.

"Gee, I thought he'd be gone by now, today's the first, isn't it?"

I looked at him. "Now, how the hell would I know, I guess, what's the big deal, anyway?"

"Well, the first of the month Shelly had to move. Which was perfect for me." He lowered his voice though no one sat near us. "You're in, he's out. Shelly knows how it goes." And he made a move to grope my crotch. I quickly pushed his hand off. 

"Get off of me, you creep!" Again, I moved down the bench. He sat sadly looking at me. "What happened with the boy yesterday," I asked, "in the bathroom? You did something to him, admit it."

He shook his head but shrugged. "Thought he was a sissy, it's not my fault he wasn't. But most kids that age are, look at you..." He scratched his chin and looking around the benches, as if he was getting bored with me. He focused on me again.

"You want to go to my place, Timmy, for a little quick one? I'm expecting a sweet negligée you can try," he winked and licked his lips.

Needless to say, but the conversation with Shelly and now with Dickie had my crotch stiff and hard. Still, I shook my head. 

"I won't be coming up there, anymore," I said, standing up. My erection was clearly discernable in my faded dungarees, an obvious bulge. He eyed it.

"C'mon, just a fast one, you can leave right after that," he said, very hungry for my body. "And this weekend, on Sunday, you can come up and spend the entire day with me, how about it?"

I looked at him, one part of me desperate to follow him to his place, while the other part desperate to run away and flee. I shook my head.

"No," I said, and turned from him. He angrily stood up.

"Don't think I can't find another sucking lover, younger than you are. They're a dime a dozen here in the park. "

He haughtily stood there glaring at me. Across the park a young boy strode past, in shorts and T-shirt, looking like the small boy Dickie had been admiring just a day ago.

"By this weekend, I'll have two or three boys trying to suck my cock, which you don't even know how to do yet." He glared at me. "But I don't think you'd have been a very good cocksucker at that." He looked at me, shaking his head. "Oh, fuck you, you asshole!" he spat out, then turned the other way to the restrooms and the little boy in shorts.

I hesitated but didn't light my last cigarette. I turned and walked home. 

Chapter 32

Late the evening, mom came home from Jerama's Funeral Home. Boy, that was fast, she was killed that morning and by the nightfall they already had her in the funeral casket. 

After having some tea, mom sat at the kitchen table and sadly said, "You're right, the sweet kid was a...prostitute," the word was hard to come out.

"A hooker, mom," I added. "The guys say they hookers, if you want to know the real word for prostitute."

"Don't say that," she said, getting up and starting to refill her teacup. "Did you something to eat?"

"Some spaghetti from last night," I nodded. "Heated it up, it wasn't bad."

"You should have seen the fancy women that came by the funeral home, most of them were stoned or already drunk."

"Oh, mom, do you think I don't know what goes on in the Lower East Side of New York City?" We looked at each other. 
"She may have lived in the Bronx, but she came down here to get some money. Anyway, I'm not a little kid anymore, I'm seventeen."

She snorted. "And I suppose, that's what makes you a man, is that right?" We looked at each other. "It takes a little more to be a man than just being grown up, even some grown up men are just losers and real jerks, and they have kids with wife they're responsible for. When you're grown up, don't be like them, please?"

Whatever it was, I nodded. Because I knew such men, actually, grown-up kids. I had come across them in the neighborhood, adults who get pleasure in shaming and using others, as if they were little kids. 

What was the pleasure in that? But obviously they gloated over it as they stood there so victorious. 

I yawned. 

"Go to bed," said mom. "It's late."

It was a little after nine, but I yawned again and went to my room.

More to come on the upper right...or you can read the eBook now, click here:

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist Chapter 29-30 A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side by Mykola Dementiuk

 

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist

A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side

by Mykola Dementiuk

Chapter 29

At that time of day, the Second Avenue Park was crowded with old-timers sitting next to other old-timers, gesticulating as they conversed --probably no hearing aids; those things sure cost money.

I walked around the park two or three times and couldn't find a seat. Oh, sure, there were seats here and there, but they were much too near to the old-timers, who, of course, didn't want a young snotty kid sitting and listening to their gab. 

Then I saw a spot, just vacated by other old-timers, and leaving one still sitting there. He curiously looked at me as I sat down, then crossed his legs and turned my way, facing me not far from where I had taken a seat.

What an old codger, I thought, but I was growing a bit nervous from his staring at me so steadily. Probably should have gone to the library instead and maybe get into another argument with Shelly? Nah, leave the sissy alone...

"Nice day," I heard, and as if coming to, I shook my head.

"Huh, wha..." I said, blinking my eyes. 

"I said, it's a nice day," he repeated and frowned, glancing in the other direction. He turned back to me. "Good to get away from your hard work, if that's where you're coming from?" And he winked.

"Yeah," I nodded, winking back at him. "Hard work is no good, you need some play time."

"Oh, yes, play time. Hm, do you work around here?"

I shook my head. "Just sitting, that's all."

He started getting up slowly and taking some steps towards me. "I'm Louis," he said, sitting down next to me and holding out his hand. "How come I never seen you here in the park?"

"Shelly," I replied, shaking his hand. My God, why did I say that? "I'm usually down at Tompkins Square Park, that's a nice, big park. Just came in here while I was walking on Second Avenue."

He smiled. "Yes, it is," he thoughtfully said. "Big park, but walking is nice, too." He looked at me, eyeing me carefully. I was getting paranoid from his scrutiny and feeling a bit tense. "Are you looking for something while you're walking," he asked, "or just looking?"

"Just looking," I shrugged, hoping I had gotten the stress and intonation correctly. He beamed.

"I thought so," he said, rubbing me on the kneecap. I grinned. But at that moment, coming up the trail, was the other old man I had talked with the day before, who had rejected me in the restroom. All three of us were looking at the other as if we knew each other, but we said nothing. The approaching man glared at the old codger and me but stepped up his pace and hurried past.

I shot off in my pants, doubling over.

Wow, that was three times I had cum in barely an hour or so. I was certainly a pervert or worse. And in my pants too... But I love that feeling of cumming, the blindness, the forgetfulness, the devil-may-care attitude that says, The hell with you!

"You know each other?" he asked, looking after the old man.

"Huh, wha..." I answered as if I was coming too. I cleared my throat. "We talk now and then," I shrugged, shaking my head, but breathing very heavily. Probably thinks this is the man who bit me up, I snorted. 

"I thought you did," he shrugged, and again gripped my kneecap. "But it's not my business who you know or don't know." I turned and glanced up the trail, but the old man was no longer there. Must have gone to the restrooms, I smirked.

"Is something funny?" the man asked, thoughtfully. "You seem to be not breathing very well. But smiling, too." 

We looked at each other; my breathing had relaxed and slowed.

"You seem a nice boy," he continued, "and so new to the park. Bet you have many friends in Tompkins Square."

I wanted to laugh. 

"A few..." I sighed, lowering my head.

As if we had something in common, he lowered his voice. "Feels like you're a virgin, are you?"

His eyes seemed very distant, far away, staring at me.

But was I a virgin or was I slut, hungry for anything and ready to put it out? Before Dickie or after Dickie, that was my question? And what about Shelly, before him or after him? And of course, Pani Stetz, can't forget her!

I shook my head, surprisingly brushing his hand off my knee, and stood up. "Sorry, have to go..."

"Wait, why are you going?" he asked. "We were just chatting, getting to know each other." He gripped my hand. "Please don't go..."

Isn't that what Dickie had first said, please don't go? I stood there looking at him, he didn't seem like a bad old man, was he?

"I just don't want to sit here anymore," I shrugged, "was going to continue to Tompkins Square, that's all."

I looked down at him as he bit his bottom lip and blushed. "You're such a naughty boy," he now lisped, shaking his head, "tsk, tsk, and wet down there too..."

"Huh, what wet?" Then I noticed that my thrice-spilled scum had finally saturated through the dark denim material of my pants and shone up at my crotch. I fell to his bench, feeling stupid.

"Aw," he shrugged, "but these things happen, if you're careless or just hot." He scratched his face, "Now which was it, careless or hot?"

I looked at him. "I guess both, careless and hot." I breathed out; I was exhausted. "But I guess I'm always hot, anyway."

"Hmm," he pondered, once again feeling my knee and reaching for my crotch.

An elderly woman walked by, looked at us, shook her head and passed by. 

But I did nothing to resist, just sit there with my moist damp dick getting bigger under his touch. But then he quickly moved his hand off my crotch as another man looked but walked past. 

Still, I sat there, not caring anymore of who saw what. How many times could I cum, I wondered, five, six, seven times. And doing it right in the open too!

"You want to go to my place," he whispered, "I live on Nineteen Street?"

Once again, he reached for my damp crotch, melting from his touch of my scum smeared stain. He raised his fingers to his nostrils and took a whiff, "Hmm, so very lovely..."

I shrugged but once again I felt the spasm seizing and rocking through my body, clenching my teeth, my eyes shut as the scum poured out of me into my already drenched pants.

I had cum again! So, what was that five or six times? But can I cum so fast? Defiantly a pervert!

"My God, young man," he blurted, finally understanding what was happening. "Control yourself!"

Still, I was at peace, barely opening my eyes. But then it hit me, I was on a park bench, in the open with a man sitting beside me and pawing me too... I pounced up from my seat.

"Wait..." I heard the man say. "Wait..." but I ran out of the Second Avenue Park.

Chapter 30

Damn, I was wet, drenched in my own scum and perversions that were getting me nothing but shame and ridicule. No matter where I went there was always the possibility of an erection, with an explosive cumming hovering nearby. 

I fled down Second Avenue, trying to stay near the buildings I passed. I imagined each passerby knew what I was ashamed of. It was a futile walk, shame and accusing looks everywhere. Or so I imagined. That's him, he's the masturbating boy!

Still, somehow, I made it to my front door and surged in. I breathed out in relieve. What will I do? and started making it up the stairs of the First Avenue apartment. I stepped to my doorway and turned the lock, pushing it open.

"Mom," I said, surprised at seeing her home, "I didn't know you were home?"

She looked sadly at me. "Little Shosha passed away this morning. Mrs. Johnson received a telegram from Shosha's mother," she shook her head. Mrs. Johnson from upstairs, a nosy old creep who knew everyone's business; we still didn't have the ability to access to phones in those days, she did, had more money coming in... 

"Bad accident," mom continued, "a truck hit her on the Bowery," she stopped, looking a bit thoughtful. "Now what was she doing on the Bowery, I'd like to know..." She looked at me, wiping her eyes. "There's a service tomorrow at Jerama's, we have to go..."

"Aw, mom, do I have to?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, you have to. How would if we didn't go? Don't be ridiculous, now wash up and I'll give you something to eat."

"You want to know what she was doing on the Bowery," I angrily erupted, "I'll tell you what she was doing, she was selling herself to any bidder who drove down Delancey Street to the Bowery, that's what! Thought she was going to do it in the Bronx, but no, she came back here..."

I crossed my arms over my chest, as if proving my point. Mom looked at me as though a secret had been revealed; she had suspected how much Shosha had quickly changed from sweet little girl to a brazen short-skirted Delancey Street hooker. 

"So, you don't want to go?" she sighed, looking at me.

I shook my head, thinking of all the people would come just to stare at Shosha. "No, you can go without me." We looked at each other. "Where's it going to be?"

She shrugged. "At Jerama's, where else?" Peter Jerama Funeral Home was the only Ukrainian funeral home in the area, a bastion of the neighborhood. Over the years, people have thronged individually into the area, but Peter Jerama always carted them out. People who lived elsewhere were also buried by him. 

"What happened, her slimy pimp get to her?"

"Stop it, I can't stand you talking like that!"

"I know, sorry, mom. But she was a teenage hooker..."

Mom glared at me, but sighed, "Who knows what will become of us in life, or even if there in a life?" and she sadly shook her head. 

"You should've seen in the evenings," I said, "showing off on Delancey Street, where all the truckers come off the Williamsburg Bridge, lining up truck after truck. She even tried to get me once before she recognized me..."

"What?!" she said, wide-eyed, staring at me incredulously. "Go to your room!" she exclaimed. "Right this minute, young man! The nerve of you to say such a thing about your Aunt Shosha..."

"I heard they call her Slut Susie, mom, and at five dollars a pop, not bad at all." I turned red, remembering I had asked for only a quarter. 

But mom had angrily walked out from the living room and slammed her bedroom door. I shrugged and went to my room, where I sat down on the bed, scratching my damp crotch.

I slid down my zipper and surprisingly my scum seemed to have dried somewhat. But damn, what a mess! My wet scum, overloaded with endless spurts of sperm, had saturated my white underwear, leaving a blueish tinge spread over the material. It wasn't watery but scum, dewy scented and desirous. I again wanted to jerk-off, but with mom home, I couldn't.

In a bit, I heard mom moving about the house. I pulled up my zipper and sat; the front door opened and slammed. Now what was that all about?

I was still, once again lying back on the bed, daydreaming about my active day. Drunken Pani Stetz, who was a beauty to me. The outraged tenant at Dickie's apartment building calling me the masturbating boy, which I was. Along with the dreamers in the Second Avenue Park, and on and on it went. Seems my day was very busy...

I un-zippered and removed my pants and underwear and tossed them on the floor. But boy was a I hot! I gripped my cock and thought about Shelly. He's out, I'm in. I shook my head. What rot Dickie spreads, nothing but a pack of bullshit...

By then my cock was rigid and eager for a cumming. But what was that fifth or sixth time I had cum? 'The masturbating boy' is right!

I moved the skin up and down, with a tingle of pre-cum already rising up my shaft. Then it gripped me, another ejaculation! My eyes clasped shut, one hand gripping the side of the bed, as my other circled the fingers around the spewing cock. And damn, I was thinking about Shelly... 

I smeared the dewy-scented scum on my chest and belly and tried to remember how many times I had cum that afternoon. Still, no matter what, my ejaculation was fantastic!

I got up and gathered the bluish underwear with the moist dungarees and went to toss them in a bag mom had for doing the laundry. It felt great to be half-naked and walking about... 

But I dressed in a fresh T-shirt and another pair of faded dungarees and ate some bread mom had lying in a bag on the kitchen table. Mom was always angry when I ate that way, saw dad doing it some years ago dipping his fingers in the white part while ignoring the brown crust around it. I felt guilty in doing that but still I kept doing it.

I put the brown crusted remains back in the paper bag and trotted downstairs.

More to come on the upper right...or you can read the eBook now, click here:

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist Chapter 27-28 A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side by Mykola Dementiuk

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions

The Facialist

A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side

by Mykola Dementiuk

Chapter 27 

About a block on the street, I realized I was still holding the bag as I was making my way to Tompkins Square Park. I stopped near the entrance of the bus garage on Eleventh Street, off First Avenue, just as a bus rolled in for repairs, I suppose. I stared at the old tired looking bus, the weary bus driver looking as beat as the conveyance which carried him in. 

I recalled how at school we had to make things up that we wanted to become. Many of the boys said Doctor or Lawyer, while the girls mentioned Nurse or Teacher. When it was my turn, I boldly said Bus Driver, which was followed by explosive guffaws loud dismissive laughter. Still, at the time, that's what I wanted to be, a Bus Driver.

I walked to Tompkins Square and took a seat near the kid's playground, Pani Stetz's bag beside me. What was in the bag, I wondered, household trash or diamonds? I rolled the top open and peered in. 

A red blouse glimmered at me. I lifted a corner of the folded blouse. Another merry orange-colored one followed, with two of three more trying to push their way to the top. Whew, was I hard! I rubbed my crotch. 

The nearness of the woman's clothes was amazing, I felt as if Pani Stetz was disrobing article by article, a blouse, a bra, a panty...and giving me her femininity. 

I sat, rocking my leg back and forth, really a spasm, thinking of how I would look in the clothes. God, I'd look nice, that's for sure. Sexy and seductive... 

Still. I rocked my legs harder, faster, anyway, no one was eyeing me. I nudged my cock to stretch upwards but still held in my pants. God, it feels tight! I was gripped by an inner explosion. Oh, no, I was cumming, and barely touching myself, and cumming right in my pants!

The orgasm gripped me, doubling me over and tearing through my belly, feeling the ooze, spilling onto my drawers and pants. Wow! Then again, but a weak spasm, melting me in a release relaxation and contentment.

Oh, man, that was nice, real nice... I smacked my lips, opened my eyes, and saw the park was the same as when I had closed them, but my hand had eased itself into the clothing bag. 

Wish I could take them back to Pani Stetz, but no, she didn't want them... Then I realized, Dickie's the only one I can leave them with. Dickie can give the clothes to Shelly, or whoever he has in his bed. I should take them to Dickie.

I clenched the bag, got up, amazed at my semen ooze spreading all over my crotch, and headed in the direction of Dickie's house. 

Chapter 28

Of course, Dickie wasn't in --I knock two or three time trying to stir him; I wonder who's in bed with him now-- and finally set the bag down. 

Clothes for Dickie, I smirked, gazing at the soft pretty blouses in the bag. And all belonging to a big-breasted woman who wore them once, but now was left with a pink negligée...

Wow was I hard again! I looked at a shut door down the hallway. Standing and pressing my side against the wall, I'd hear if anyone was coming up or going down the stairs.

I reached into the bag and pulled out a light-colored blouse, orange, really. But a woman's blouses or their clothes in general, are indecipherable to a male. What color, what style, what fashion? To a woman they are very natural; a woman knows if it will fit, that it will look good on her, and that men's eyes would surely drop at the sight of her. Of course, she still would spend hours and hours just looking and searching out for the correct mysterious fabric that was made just for only her.

I rubbed the linen on my chest, raising it up to my face. Oh, God, was that her lovely scent emanating from the blouse? 

I moved it back down to my chest, inching it down to my cock, un-zippering my pants and pulling out my hard moist cock, still damp from my previous cumming. Good thing I wore my usual dark dungarees, any stain would certainly be unclear.

I gripped my palm around the cramped muscle, while holding on to the orange blouse, with barely five or six strokes I again felt that beautiful instantaneous rushing of semen barreling through my cock and desperately seeking a release.

At that moment, I heard someone moving --going up or going down, I didn't know-- but I doubled downwards, trapping my cock against my belly and jean??s. 

With a force I never felt before, a spasm gripped and held me so strongly to where I no longer cared what was right or what was wrong, much less who may be watching.

I straightened somewhat, letting the blouse drop to the floor and focused my eyes. An elderly woman stood at her door at the opposite end of the hallway, looking at me open-mouthed while the scum dribbled out of my cock.

"Oy gevalt!" she exclaimed in Yiddish. "What's wrong with you? And doing it right in people's doorway. You should be in jail, you pervert!"

By then I had zippered up and tripped over the bag of women's blouses I had brought for Dickie, leaving them scattered about the hallway as I ran down the stairs. 

"Help!" the woman screeched. "This pervert boy was masturbating! Help police, perverts, help!"

Fortunately, it was a workday with not many people opening doors, but a woman with an infant in her arms did peer out of one of the lower floor apartments as I sped down another flight of stairs; finally, was out and racing up the street. 

On the corner I bent down to re-tie my sneakers and catch my breath. Not one person came out of their doors to look why I was running... I stood up, shrugged and went to Tompkins Square Park.

Well, I won't be going to Dickie's place anymore, that's for sure. Even though he expected me to take Shelly's place and dress in the frilly female clothes he had in his apartment. Fat chance I'd be going back. But what frilly female clothes did he have anyway? All I saw were a few negligées in his closet and I wore one... Silly sissy, I shook my head, at least he'll have the ones I brought for him and his girls, Pani Stetz's clothes. 

I smirked and walked through Tompkins Square, falling onto a bench. Was this the same bench I was sitting on when I had cum in me jeans? No, I thought, rocking my legs, at least I don't think it was. I rubbed my hard crotch. I'm probably diseased or sickly demented for being so hard, ready to cum at any moment of the day.  So, what? I shrugged.

I stood up and walked to Second Avenue, passing by Pani Stetz's and Shelly's apartment building and saw the treetops of the park in the near distance. 

Second Avenue Park was my goal now; no playgrounds or kids there, that's for sure.

More to come on the upper right...or you can read the eBook now, click here:

THE FACIALIST: The Lambda Award Winner for Best Gay Erotica by Mykola Dementiuk – Sizzler Editions