He smashed his cigarette out onto the pavement with the toe of his shoe. Thin, aquiline features seemed pale and ghastly under that strobing blue and white light of an over head marquee. He looked at me as I entered the bar. His eyes had that lazy gaze of crimson in them. Was he tired or inebriated? Probably both. American hustlers have to work long hours to make ends meet.
I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. The pleasant old hag behind the counter stated that they did not serve Sol, "Only Coors. On tap."
For two dollars in a sixteen ounce glass, why not? The shit still tasted like a homeless man's piss. I looked around the bar - derelicts, old hookers, junkies. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror across from me, the kid at the front door slid onto a stool next to me. In the reflection, his image was sliced in half by the parting of the mirror plates. One pane was slightly higher than the other. the reflection was somewhat off putting. One good, the other bad.
The aging bartender placed a styrofoam bowl of popcorn between us. With thin, tattooed covered hands he scooped up a fistful and shoved them into a wide mouth. As I watched, I got a better look at him. He was tall, thin, and wore that look of annoyed petulance common to all Americans. It was a look designed to project aloof coolness to whomever cared to meet that gaze, but instead it simply reflected on how sad, beat, and completely bitchy a person could be. His torso was draped over by a green t-shirt with a red star on the chest, loose fitting jeans, and black leather work shoes. His light brown hair was buzz cut and stood out dark from pale skin. His eyes....his eyes, though blood shot, were a light blue when they were blue. He held a face of a young boy, smooth and clean, who seemed to be perpetually pouting.
I turned to him as he shoveled another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
"You hungry?" I asked jokingly.He smiled through discolored teeth that he was or to that effect. I offered him a beer.
"Sure, man. Thanks." He said sniffing. "You spare a smoke?"
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and he went to stand outside again and smoked. I sat sipping my beer. When he returned, he drank a gulp and then asked, "You live around here?"
"I rent a room up on Oracle." I explained. "I am waiting for my housing vouchers to clear so I can get an apartment."
"Up on Oracle?" He repeated. "You rent a hotel room? Isn't that fucking expensive?"
I said nothing and took a gulp of beer.
"What do you do?" He asked.
"I'm a writer."
"A writer? Really? What do you write?"
He laughed, I chuckled and ordered another round. It was that time of early evening that the bar was kept very dark and cool from the insidious, dry one hundred degree weather outside. Even with the sun gone for the day and it being a full moon, it was hot. I can't seem to get used to these temperatures. I snatched a paper napkin off of a stack on the counter and wiped across my forehead.
"It's too fucking hot here." I said to no one in particular.
"Shit! It ain't even June yet." Stated an old man with a huge, cascading beard at the end of the bar. "Wait till yer ass gets stuck outside during August. Fuckin' shit's hot, then!" It was Buddy, the bar regular. Word has it he has been frequenting the joint since 1967. I simply smiled at him and turned back to the kid.
As I was about to speak, he slid off of his stool and walked to the mensroom. His jeans were pulled down and hung off a pair of bulbous cheeks hidden under gray boxers. As I watched him disappear into the pissoir, I thought, That's an ass just begging to get fucked.
Yeah, I was feeling it. I wanted to conquer someone. I was stateside now and did not have to placate some Mexican macho fuck who kept his sphincter clenched the entire time while we had sex. When the hustler returned from the restroom, I was going to casually pop the question to come back to my place. So, I waited...and waited...and waited. What the fuck? He fall in? I thought. I paid for two more beers then casually walked into the mensroom. Nice set up. Red light, dim. The crumbling walls were a mass of scrawled graffiti. There was a long piss trough and a toilet stall in which the boy stood. Fine, I'll take a piss while I was in here. As I stood at the urinal, for a moment it was silent, then I heard the rhythmic clanging of a belt buckle and the light raspy noise of skin sliding against skin. He was jacking off. I was already slightly inebriated, so what the fuck I thought and said, "You need help over there?"
Momentarily he was silent. Then he walked out from the stall and stood in the middle of the bathroom. His jeans were unbuttoned and one hand hung limply at his side as the other held his pants up. Pointing out and up from the hole in his boxers was a long, circumcised erection. His face was tense and determined as he spoke in the most crassest tone, "Yeah, man, I want my cock sucked."
I smirked and said, "Not here. Let's go to my hotel room."
Back out in the bar, we quickly downed our beers and headed by city bus in that insidious heat up to my rented room. He remained quiet on the bus, not saying a word. Even as we walked up to the hotel and entered, he said nothing. A professional. Not paid to talk, but to perform.
Opening the door to my room, we entered. I switched on the light, he looked around. Messed bed, open suitcase, clothes flung around, over filled ashtray.
"Take off your clothes." I said.
As he slid his t-shirt off and revealed a smooth white torso, he asked nonchalantly, "He, man, you think you can loan me twenty-dollars? I got this bill..."
You got this addiction, most likely, I thought, but I said, "I don't see a problem with that. However, depending on how nice you are, you could be loaned more."
He casually folded his jeans and placed them on the chair, did the same with the shirt. He lay his long body across the bed and smiled. "Nice, huh? I'll see what I can do."
I stood over him and reached down to his flaccid penis. After a couple of strokes, he was fully hard. I leaned over and began blowing him. He rhythmically gyrated his hips, sighed, even grunted a couple of times.
"Get undressed." He whispered.
I did. He lay me down onto the wadded blankets and began to suck my cock. Damn, he was good. "Slow down." I said. "That mouth...oh shit, you gonna make me cum fast." He popped up, slowly massaging my chest with one hand and slowly stroking my wet cock with the other, he repeated, "Nice, huh? I'll show you what I can do." With him on top, we began to sixty-nine. He sucked like a champ as I blew his cock, licked his balls and tongued his hairless asshole. He began to pump his cock down my throat, slowly at first then with a faster rhythm. He really got into it. I didn't mind because his penis wasn't that long. I thought he might have something else in mind, I mean, I really wanted to fuck him. I was about to suggest that as he lay straddling my head and thrusting, but before I knew it, his cock became very rigid and then suddenly began emptying semen down my throat.
He fell next to me, gasping, "Sorry, man...oh fuck sorry. That shit was too good. Didn't think I was gonna bust one so quick." Semen dangled from a string from the wet head of his dick to the sheet, creating a damp pool. "Damn." He smiled, "You suck cock way too good."
I looked down at my glistening erection, "Well, we ain't done yet."
"Oh fuck, you're right." He stated as he slithered up and took my cock in my mouth. He sucked and bobbed so good and I was so comfortable, I forgot about fucking that ass. Soon, my head jerked back as a wave of orgasm washed over me and I ejaculated into the boy's mouth. He dutifully leaned over the bed and spat the matter onto the carpet between the mattress and the wall.
"Hey!" I said jokingly.
"Sorry." He chuckled as he rolled off the bed and reached for his clothes. I also got up and dressed. We both put on our clothes without saying a word. I pulled out my wallet and removed three twenties. He took them, smiled.
"Well, uh, see you later." And he was out the door. I waited a minute before leaving and walking over to the corner Jack in the Box for a hamburger and soda...