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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 25
I jerked off a few times that night but each time I turned in my sleep, the thoughts about Pani Stetz and how nice to me intruded. Of course, interspersed with cruel Shelly lying about me, and Dickie running away from the puking boy, it's best I run from them and keep out of the way.
But by dawn I was asleep, didn't even hear mom as she left to do her shopping, or whatever she was doing. It was after eight when I opened my eyes, and the image of Shelly invaded my thoughts. He no longer meant anything to Dickie. He was out, I was in. Or was I?
Dickie must have a stable coming over on different days, to learn how to do it and then service him. Shelly was out, I was in. In, out, just as in screwing. You stick it in, you pull it out. In, out, in, out...
I was stiff, rubbing my hardening cock. I let go. No, I wasn't going to do it.
I leaped out of bed and thought about mom. Did she even suspect how much I had changed in just a matter of days.
I shook my head and went to the bathroom where I sat down and peed. Ah, that always feels good. No matter how desperate you are, you still have to piss and shit somewhere.
I flushed the toilet, turned on the hot water and waited. Damn, no hot water. I rinsed, dried my face, and went to the kitchen.
Had a bowl of cereal and got enmeshed by the advertising on the back of the box about a puzzle concerning the states of the union, Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas... A puzzle of fifty states for fifty cents, plus postage and handling. I chuckled, obviously a rip-off of little kids. I put the cereal dish in the sink and went to get dressed.
But still, I was leery and apprehensive about going to Pani Stetz's apartment, after all Shelly was right above her. What if there was a hole in his floor Shelly could spy on us from above?
I thought of Pani Stetz's ceiling but couldn't remember having seen anything up there. Seen what? Shelly peeking down and seeing the blowjob I was getting from his horny big-breasted neighbor? How did her blowjobs compare with Dickie's?
I grinned. She certainly knew better how to concentrate on the actual sucking, mysteriously covering her teeth with her lips and not with that bitter gnawing of Dickie.
A lazy walk up First Avenue, gazing at the morning shoppers at the greengrocers getting to have their food at hand to prepare for tonight's dinner plates and meals. Mornings were my favorite time to watch them. When I was little, holding onto my mother's purse or bag, the women would push and try to grab a fruit or vegetable that some other shopper wanted. I was always amused by the battles for possession of food that would ensue.
I chuckled and turned on Eleventh Street, a quiet street with a few tenements, a barber shop, a beauty parlor, a florist, and a garage for automobiles.
I stood in the doorway of Pani Stetz's building; it was only quarter to ten, still early. When I heard unmistakable woman's steps coming down the stairs. I darted out of the doorway and quickly skirted to the garage. A woman came out of Shelly's building. I breathed out; it was no one I knew.
I noticed the garage man looking at me through his windowed office. I stepped back out from the garage and walked back to Second Avenue. I had about an hour to kill before I was expected by Pani Stetz and thought again I'd take a walk by the Second Avenue Park.
I frowned, thinking of the man who left me in the restroom because my penis was so badly bitten. The hell with you, mister! Pani Stetz had it in her mouth and liked it. Hell, put it in her mouth and sucked it without biting me Oh, they both are assholes, Dickie and the anonymous fairy man.
I entered the park. A few people sitting around the fountain reading books, newspapers, or just staring into space and smoking cigarettes. I winced from the memory of being unable to smoke menthol cigarettes. At school, some boys did that, lighting up cigarettes when they were trying to impress some girl; still I didn't know if they ever got the girl?
On the sidewalk at Seventeen Street, I bent down and tied my sneaker. How many times did I do that in a day, tying my shoes, certainly a few times. It was my way of taking a break and surreptitiously eyeing someone following or me following them.
Then I saw him, the same man who called me a faggot kid from yesterday. He was sitting on a park bench, his legs crossed and smoking a cigarette. I had tied my shoelace and could either walk in dis direction or go back the way I had come. Pretending I had not seen him, I stood him and headed towards him. Damn, my penis was hard!
We must have noticed each other because we kept looking at the other. Yet a few times I turned away as I walked nearer but always turning back as if mesmerized by his penetrating gaze. He nodded as I drew near, and as a reminder, I nodded back at him.
"Out for a walk, I take it," he said, flicking his cigarette away.
"Yeah, out for some air," I answered. I stood before him, one leg uplifted to the bench as if undecided whether to take seat or keep standing. I sat down.
"Still mad about yesterday?" he asked.
"Nah, I understand why you did that," I said, looking at him. "I was damaged, sorry," I bent my head thinking, why don't I just leave?
"Don't be, kid," he said, touching and rubbing my knee. "If anyone has to be sorry it's the weirdo who did that to you. If anyone does that to you, I'd stay away from that creep. That's definitely a sorry loser, a bastard I wouldn't let near me again."
He let go of my knee and drew out his cigarette pack. I shook my head, as I declined his offer. "Have it your way," he said, and lit one up.
I liked this man sitting next to me; he was elderly, older than Dickie was, but he seemed to be more honest and certain in how he acted. No fakery or pretense in his nature. He was an old sissy relaxing on a park bench, and I was sitting and relaxing beside him.
"In a day or so," he continued, drawing on his cigarette, "if that creep doesn't bite and damage you again, we'll get together and see where it goes from there." He smiled, looking up and down the paths, running his hand to my crotch. "Mm, very nice, you're hard already," and he winked. "Or you happy to see me?"
"Huh, what?" I looked at him.
"Never mind, kid. An old joke before your time, that's all."
I remembered that Dickie had told me the same thing about Mae West in an old movie of hers...
Again, he winked and stood up from the bench, flicking cigarette away and looking in the opposite direction.
"See you in a few days," he said, "if you're alright, that is." He turned and followed the trail that skirted along the park. The trail led to the restrooms where we met yesterday.
Then I recognized what he was after. I turned red; a young man, perhaps a little older than I was, had climbed the single step to the restroom. In the doorway he looked behind him, then nodded and stepped in. A few steps more and the elderly man entered after him.
I winced from the fear and shame that I was not allowed entry into that public but private sanctuary.
I rubbed my crotch, then shook my head and hurried to Pani Stetz house; it was almost ten, anyway.
Chapter 26
I was wary of going up the stairs in Pani Stetz's building, trying not to make a sound, but with these fairly news buildings there were many that had birthing cracks and groins. Every step I took was like a loud notice that signaled someone is there. Fortunately, no one opened their door, and I made it up to Pani Stetz's apartment.
She almost instantly answered. standing in a long negligée, her large breasts braless, with a panty brief covering her crotch.
"Oh, it's you," she said, yawning.
I turned red from looking at her in the pink negligée, my mouth open.
"Thought it was Stahsh, he just left, too, a little while ago," and she winked. "Thought it was him coming back for more..."
She looked out her doorway; I suppose looking for Stahsh, but grinned at me and shut the door.
"He was pretty wasted and so was I, but he had to go into work. Poor baby, I hope the boss is out and he can get a little sleep."
She touched my arm, running her fingers up and down along my bicep.
"You know how to make coffee?" she asked, turning and going to a cabinet. "Here, make this instant Maxwell House, just boil water." She handed me a small jar of coffee.
"This is coffee?" I said, opening the jar and taking a whiff of the brand. But she had turned, yawned, and stood in the doorway. "Just add water, read the instructions, it's all there." And she left the room, though unsurely. I realized she was still drunk. Must have had some night with her beau, Stahsh...
I grinned and rubbed my crotch, again breathing in the smell of coffee. It seemed too fresh and too fake at the same time. Mom kept something similar, but it was the cheaper brand from the A&P supermarket on Fifth Street. Mom liked it, I didn't.
The water boiled. I made her a cup and sat at the kitchen table awaiting her return. Damn, I shouldn't have made the coffee, what an idiot! Let her pour it herself from the jar.
But five minutes, seven minutes, ten minutes went by and silence throughout the house. I stood up.
"Pani Stetz," I called. "Your coffee's ready."
Nothing but silence. Maybe she's waiting for me in her room, I grinned.
"Pani Stetz," I repeated, peering into her bedroom. She had dropped on the bed, clutching a cannister of hairspray, which lay on its side with its flip-top cover removed. With her panties and bare breasts exposed out of the pink negligée, I instantly felt my hard-on pushing out in my pants.
"Pani Stetz," I again whispered, taking a step towards her. She loudly snored, her throat gurgling chaotically. I wanted to lie down beside her and hold her in my arms, but the loud gurgle stirred her awake. She looked at me, as if trying to remember who I was.
"Your coffee's ready," I said, having turned red. "Didn't know what happened to you?"
She sat up in her bed, holding her head. "Yes, yes," she mumbled, trying to focus her eyes, but they were bloodshot and wasted. "You came to...do something but can't remember what it was?"
"Fix your locks. Plus, you have a leak, it drips.""
By then she had slumped on the bed, her head dropping back; the hairspray cannister rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor.
"Wha...!?" she bolted up and saw the cannister rolling along on the floor. "What the fuck was that?" She momentarily shut her eyes and made a face like she was in horrible pain.
"Are you alright?" I asked. "The can rolled off your bed, that's all."
"Yes, yes," she mumbled, rubbing her forehead. "Just had a little too much with Stahsh. Listen, can you come back some other day?" she said, pushing herself up from the bed and staggering to the hallway. "I really need some sleep and to get sober once again." She looked sleepy-eyed at me. "Oh, can you take this bag out...has old clothes? Leave it with the other garbage bags. Thanks, you're a doll." She looked at me. "Stahsh is going to move in here, he needs a place. You don't mind, do you?"
Mind, why should I mind? I frowned but shook my head, picking up her garbage bag.
"Okay, tomorrow," I mumbled, "See you then..."
I stood looking at her doorway, but she just nodded and shut her door after me. I stood there then looked up the stairs, pulled my zipper down and gripped my cock. The ejaculation was almost immediate.
"Bitch!" I hissed and spat out. "Fucking bitch!" My semen lay on the floor, dull, not glistening.
I thought of Shelly upstairs and stormed out of the building.
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
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