The Facialist--Chapters 5-8, 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

Lambda Award Winner 2012

The Facialist

A Sexual Story of the Lower East Side

by Mykola Dementiuk

Chapter 5

Some months later, while this was going on, Mrs. Stetz, or in Polish, Pani Stetz, who passed us by in the streets many times, asked my mother if it wouldn't have been nice if I had been born a girl instead of a boy and got to wear all the fineries that pretty girls wore?

I blushed and squirmed, looking at the woman as she babbled about how pretty it would make me look. At home she mentioned this to my father.

"Kurva! (whore)," he said. "She's an idiot," he fumed, but went on reading his paper and sipping his beer. My father called Mrs. Stetz, Mrs. Tits, because of her big breasts and her flaunting of them. "She's after something, that's for sure," he'd say, sipping his after-work beer.

But the idea of being dressed as a girl had me instantly aroused. I was fifteen at the time and masturbating every chance I could get besides with the landlord in the basement and getting his spunk in my face. 

The next day I wandered along the street on which Mrs. Stetz lived, but I didn't know which building she was in. People came and went out of various doors all through the day, but I didn't see her. 

What the hell would I have said to her anyway, that I would like to get dressed as a girl? 

I shook my head and was on the point of walking away when I saw her coming up the street. I crouched and awaited her approach, my cock very stiff and eager but for what, I didn't know. 

I heard her heels clicking. Oh, my God, please... I thought, as I watched her big breasts approach. She looked at me tiredly, then passed me by.

I jumped up and scurried after her. "Hello Pani Stetz, I saw you yesterday when I was with my mom..."

Her eyes crinkled when she looked at me and then she bit her lower lip. "Oh yes," she said, blushing. "You're the young man I admired..."

I blushed. No one called me a man before; I didn't know I was one!

I dropped my head, and said, "Uh huh, you said it'd be nice to dress me..." I lowered my voice, making sure no one heard me. "Like a girl." Again, I blushed and felt very embarrassed.

She also turned red and looked around. "I was talking to your mother," she quietly said, shaking her head. "Boys your age have girlish traits; with a little makeup and a dress it would be hard to tell the difference." And she laughed. "I didn't mean I wanted to do it to you, to be dressed like a girl. Did you think that?"

I felt very stupid and didn't say anything just turned and walked away; all the while thinking and imagining that she'd call after me, but she didn't.

Chapter 6

I saw the woman entering Tompkins Square Park and slowly walking along the path, which would take around the park, if she kept walking that way.

It being a cloudy and chilly day, not many people were sitting on the empty benches that lined the area. I was fascinated by her red skirt and the dark nylons shimmering up her legs.

I was instantly hard and began to walk after her.

It had been my sixteenth birthday just a week before and already the leaves beginning to fall and mass in piles along the trails which wove around the almost deserted park.

The young paused, glanced at her wristwatch, and dropped down on a bench, reaching in her handbag for a cigarette. I took a few more steps dropped onto a bench directly opposite from her.

Man, was I hard! It was the early 1960s, when hemlines were rising a little higher, but nylon tops could still be seen peeking from beneath. 

She looked at me and puffed on her cigarette, looking back and forth on the path. It was obvious she was waiting for someone, and it would be best I not be there when he arrived.

But I sat there, staring at her thighs, not able to see nigh or deep enough to catch a glimpse of her nylons coming to an end. A few times I even lowered myself to get a better look, but she crossed her legs and continued sucking on her cigarette.

I yearned for that sight --dark nylons and a glimpse of bare skin-- but now regretted the new pantyhose fashion that was coming along, which would eliminate the ongoing fantasy I carried of women clad in nylons and garter belts. That was all I wanted to see, fresh nylons and snapping garter belts. That was my dream and quest. Again, she crossed her legs.

Oh, my God! I glimpsed the whiteness of her thigh for an instant then darkness again as her red skirt settled on her thighs. 

She smoked ger cigarette, taking puff after puff, glanced around and once again stared at me. I hesitated, looking at her, and rubbed my stiff crotch, squeezing and pulsing. She stared at me as if mesmerized, her mouth open, her eyes enraptured with what she was seeing. I, too, was fascinated.  

Then she blinked and shook her head, flicking her cigarette away. A man was rushing in our direction. I stood up and quickly walked the other way, then turned back to look at them. The man was obviously trying to explain why he was so late, but the woman said nothing. She glanced in my direction and turned red.

Was something going to happen between us if the man hadn't come? I had to find a bathroom. And fast, too.  

Chapter 7

I was in the eighth grade at school; my parents had separated and gone their own ways, in opposite directions. I didn't care; I was growing up, enchanted --no, mesmerized by the breasts growing out of schoolgirl uniforms around me, which they carried so proudly. 

I would watch a pair of breasts, budding and puffing out, until the teacher whacked me on the head, "What's wrong with you?" as the class in erupted in laughter. I'd shrink from shame; grateful no one was aware of the growing lump in my pants. 

Many of the boys were also in such dire situations; arousals were everywhere, followed by quick masturbations. 

There was an old priest who forced boys to make their confessions which he didn't believe anyway, thus forcing the boys to make up stories for him, thus confessing to even worse made-up misdeeds. Of course, this led to constant imaginative fantasies that led to even more masturbation, of which all boys that age were guilty of. 

I was drawn into sex before I even knew what I was getting into. Wait a minute, drawn into? More likely I willingly jumped, plunged, drowned in sex and didn't want to look back... 

Still, of course, I was scared and uncertain of what I was getting into. Yet, I think I led the man who was after me by my adultness and my willingness to follow him... Plus he would give me twenty-five cents as payment and twenty-five cents in the early 60s was a great deal, wasn't it? Well, at least I thought so.

I was seventeen and already in high school, walking the paths of Tompkins Square Park, dreaming of girls and their legs in tight nylons. It was a dreary Saturday afternoon, dark and cloudy and I had nowhere to go but to walk the wet park lanes.  

I don't know if I had to use the restroom that drew me in or maybe the chilly coldness which dreary enough to get out of. I entered the dimly lit restroom. 

Almost instantly, the door reopened, and a man entered behind me. I had seen him around the park, slowly walking the paths, and assumed his walking led him to come in to take a leak. 

I thought nothing of it as he nonchalantly walked to the urinal right next to mine, unzipped his pants, and reached in for his penis.

I must have turned many colors as he stood slightly back from the urinal, clutching and holding the bright auburn penis muscle. I quickly glanced at it, mesmerized by the sight, my mouth slowly open, then shook my head and fled from the restroom.

Outside, I hurried along a walkway where I paused by a tree, watching the man come out of the men's room. What's wrong with me? I thought, steeling myself and walked in front of a tree, making myself visible. The man saw me standing across the park lane and lit a cigarette, slowly approaching me.

Memories...are they real or made-up as I try to recapture and rekindle the past, hopelessly? There are images of faces, each drawing me on, enticing, alluring. And I willingly jump and plunge after them. But am I in command of the situation or am I merely doing what's expected of me?

A few times, over the years, I had followed various men into their apartments after they treated me with a Coke or root beer, which I preferred, or even an ice cream cone as if the treat was a sort of payment for what was to come, usually twenty-five cents or once a while a surprising fifty cents, before I learned.  

But I'd leave rather quickly after that: a feel-up groping, a sucking, a swallowing, and I'd be gone. None of the men wanted me to stay. I'd shrug and disappear down the stairs. 

I don't know what we talked about in the park that day, but very quickly I was following him to an upstairs apartment on Fifth Street and Avenue C. It was small and cluttered, with protective gates on the windows. 

I remember looking at the threatening clouds and thinking, Good thing I'm here, in this dry and warm apartment before the rains come...

We sat on old torn couch, staring at the dreary, uncovered window. I remember he wore glasses that he continuously pushed up from his nose since they kept slipping down. 

But where did my reckless audacity come from when I reached up and slipped his glasses off his face? Did I finally have enough of seeing them sliding down on face?

Our lips met in an open-mouthed kiss, which was more than just a kiss, but a sucking and a swallowing of the other.

He took me by the hand and drew me into another small, cluttered room, where an unmade bed awaited us. I realized all my clothes were off, except my socks. He also was half-naked; a T-shirt at his chest, with nothing at the bottom, with his stiff penis swaying before him. He led me to the bed, but did nothing to entice or keep me there, merely lay at my legs with his face barely at my crotch.

I shrugged, looking down at him, and began to stroke my penis, expecting him to take it in his mouth. But he stared hungrily at it, his wet lips nudging closer to my scrotum. I saw his mouth open then fall to my scrotum, kissing and nibbling on my balls.

Oh, so very nice...

I was ready to cum, knowing my seed would spill out onto the bed, but I circled the top of my penis with my thumb and index finger, entrapping the heady boiling scum from spilling out. The entrapped spasms rocked my body, but I kept my sperm in, really not knowing what I would do with it.

I looked at the man who by then had swallowed my two balls and lay there contently with his eyes shut. I nudged him.

"I'm ready," I said, looking down at my dick holding my entrapped scum.

The man opened his dazed eyes as if coming to, letting my sucked-in balls pop out of his mouth --one by one-- as he stared at me. I moved my penis to his lips and mouth, letting go of the entrapped fluid, my scum spilling itself out onto his tongue and teeth, which he readily and greedily every drop.

After a bit, I nudged him. "I have to go, it's getting late."

My softened wet penis plopped out of his mouth. He licked his lips and looked sadly at me, scum still dribbling down his face. Incredible how morose and different he looked without his glasses. 

"Can you stay just a little longer?" he quietly asked.

I bit my lips and shook my head. "No, I really have to go."

He sighed and pushed himself up out of bed. I blushed but I his wet penis was still hard and stiff. I looked away. In the kitchen, I heard the rain beating against the windows.

He reached for his glasses and draped them around has face, immediately appearing more like himself. 

"It's raining," he said, nodding towards the window. "And a lot, too."

I shrugged, slipping my underwear on. "Yeah, looks that way."

My T-shirt went on as the man sat on the couch, rubbing and stroking his still hard cock. I reached for my pants and sat down to slip them on. 

"Please," he whispered, "don't go..." He held his bright red cock gripped in his fist. "You're so nice to be with. I know other boys, but you're so sweet."

He blushed and smiled at me. I awkwardly blushed and smiled back at him. We looked at each other and he let go of his penis. His muscle still stood erectly as if pleading for a touch and a clasp. I reached out and nervously circled my fingers around the stiff shaft. My clutching hand seemed very normal and natural. I squeezed, feeling the warmth and eagerness in my palm, lowering it and instantly it back up. I was jerking him off, as I had done many times with men, but this seemed very curious and natural, more like a normal state of affairs. 

He groaned, and his eyes were clenched tightly as his face grimaced, and I felt it, his semen shooting up his cock and exploding out of the frantic muscle. 

I was amazed; never had I felt anything like it before, and I didn't want to let it go. There were men before, but this was different. His scum shot out and dribbled from my face, streaking it with an explosive coolness/freshness that was the opposite from what I expected. But then I smelled it --morning dew, being reborn again-- that's the only way to describe it.

"Oh, man," he fluttered. "Whew, that was awesome. I really adore someone who jerks me off. Absolutely divine!"

I still held onto his wet penis but felt it weakening in my hand. We looked at each other and embarrassed, I let go. We both sighed but he smiled. I nervously smiled back at him, then wiped my wet scummy hand on the couch. He saw me and again I reddened. I shrugged, and almost at the same time, he shrugged too.

"We're birds of a feather," he said, smirking at me and pushing his glasses back. "We do everything together. We even think alike. You know what that says?"

I quizzically looked at him. "No, what...?"

"That we're a pair, nothing can separate us. We were made for each other."

I pulled up my pants and reached for my shirt. "You think so?" I said, buttoning up and slipping on my shoes.

"I know so," he answered, nodding his head. "You're just like me, you like cock."

It was as if a spasm went through me; accusing me of the truth I didn't want to hear. 

I like cock. As a matter of fact, I love cock!

I was mesmerized by the reality of it, thick and hard and luscious. And I'd follow anyone through a dim park, as I had done with him.

I fell down to the couch and looked sadly at the man.

"Don't be afraid," he said, as his arm around my shoulder, "It's only natural. It's time to learn, let me be your teacher, honey..."

We looked at each other and our faces met in the most natural thing in the world, a sweet kiss...

Chapter 8

When next I redressed, about an hour later, he said, "You can come back anytime you want, I'm always here. Plus, you have so much to learn. I can always teach you."

"Like what?"

"Like the proper way of sucking cock, you suck much too fast. Or when you try to take it up the ass. You can't be a real sissy if you can't do that."

"Well, maybe I'm not a sissy, you ever think of that?"

He grinned at me. "Oh, yes, you are, sweetie," he said, nodding his head. "Yes, you are..."

I looked at him. "You think so, but why?"

He grinned. "Two men going to bed together, now, what would you call that? Sounds like sissies to me..."

I winced but continued getting dressed. "Maybe we can meet in the park," I said, trying to change the subject. "Where we met today?"

"Sure, sweetie," he nodded, "If I'm not here," he shrugged, cleaning and blowing on his glass frames. "I'm always nearby, walking around, and looking for boys." And he winked at me.

I turned red. "What do you mean, looking for boys?"

He smirked. "I found you, didn't I?"

I grimaced. "Yeah, you did. You get many boys?"

He shrugged. "I'm always in the market for boys. I'll have extra room for a boy next week."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at me. "In one week, I'll have room for another boy. One comes, one goes. That's the nature of life, isn't it?"

I stared back at him. Interesting, whatever is going on in this room... But I shook my head.

"I'll have my money, now," I said, and waited. He smirked at me.

"Oh, yeah, money..." He reached in his pants pockets and jiggled a few coins. "A quarter isn't it," he snorted, "is that what you wanted?"

I nodded my head, the sudden redness burning my face. He flipped a quarter between his thumb and forefinger.

"A quarter isn't much, you know, for what we did." The coin flipped around his fingers like he was teasing someone, namely me. "All the other boys who have been up here ask for at least two dollars. Some even have even demanded three." The coin flipped onto his open palm, and he held it out to me.

I looked at the coin, so feeble and solitary, lying there next to his fingers. But how was I supposed to know what to ask for? A quarter seemed all right to me. At least it would buy me a soda, a root beer, or even French fries for fifteen cents. 

I again reddened and looked up at him, grinning so snugly.

"Hey, don't worry," he winked, "We just met, sweetie." He reached for his pants and retrieved a wallet. He flipped it open, pulled out a dollar and held it out to me.

I held out my arm to take it. "But you said you give the other boys two or three dollars...."

He flipped the wallet shut. "Come back next time and maybe I'll give you should be getting, two, three dollars, but now you get this..." And he held out the single dollar. 

I crumbled the dollar in my palm and stuck it in my pants pocket.

"Okay," I said, looking at him. "Till next time; I'll be back."

He shrugged. "And make sure you do." He put his arm around me. Give us a goodbye kiss, sweetie, okay?

I didn't care, I shut my eyes and felt his warm lips touch mine. Again, that tingling spasm rocked my body, the one that would make me do anything he wanted. And reminded me of my past Coney Island days... 

But he broke from me and led to the front door. He stood holding the doorknob, his naked penis all stiff and ready.

"By the way," he said, "What is your name, I didn't get that?"

"Timmy," I answered, making up a name and lowering head. I looked up. "What's yours?"

"Dick," he slyly smirked. "You like that, don't you?" We looked at each other. "Say it, I like Dick..."

I looked at him and bit my lip. "I like Dick," I mumbled.

"What? I can't hear you..."

I frowned but said it again, a little louder, "I like Dick."

"It's really Dickie, but we all know that you like dick, too. Say it again."

I sighed, getting peeved. "I like Dickie."

"No, no, dick, say I like dick."

I quietly mumbled, "I like dick," and blushed.

"I still can't hear you..."

"I like dick!" I repeated more loudly.

"Like?" he shook his head. "Don't you love dick, too? C'mon, say it..."

I winced but loudly exclaimed, "I like dick. Like dick spilling out on my face, wet and sticky scum. I really like dick!"

He dreamily stared at me. "But don't you love dick, too. Come on, you can say that..."

I leered at him, and quietly said, "I love dick. Yes, I love dick."

He tenderly smiled at me; I smiled back at him.

"That's my sweetheart," he said, pushing his glasses up and putting his hand on my shoulder. "I know you do, Timmy. I know you do." He winked and was about to open the door. "But remember, this is our little secret, no one has to know, alright? You can love Dickie in this room but outside it's a cruel and different world, you know that don't you? And of course, they wouldn't understand..." (what was he saying to me? I wondered) and he bit his lips and opened the door. 

I nodded and went down the stairs. Outside little raindrops remained, and a chilly autumn wind swept through the evening sky. I turned onto Avenue B. Dim lights hung on the pathways of Tompkins Square Park, but the restroom was closed. I hurried home.

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