Monday, May 7, 2012

Times Square Queer excerpt by Mykola Dementiuk

Times Square Queer is a landmark book - the first print publication of seventeen stories by Mykola Dementiuk, one of the most distinctive voices in queer literature. Sixteen were published individually on the web as short ebooks; “Missy the Sissy” has never appeared anywhere before. Included are: “On The Prowl,” “Times Square Cutie,” “Eighteen Today,” “Trio At The Movies,” “Love For Sale” and a dozen others.

Times Square Queer also features a moving and penetrating personal introduction about growing up queer in the 1960s amid the sleazy porn theaters and bars crowding Times Square that had become a gay mecca.

Times Square Queer
Renaissance eBooks (February 2, 2012)
ISBN: 9781615084548


He kept trailing her up Broadway and hoping she would turn down a side street, away from the crowds so he could approach and smile and start a conversation. But she continued walking uptown, seemingly oblivious of the bemused staring pedestrians, some gaping in disbelief, others smirking and whistling, and still others taunting and threatening to turn her into a real woman.

It was Friday night and the streets were crowded with revelers and thrill-seekers, the bars and clubs interspersed amid the movie theaters along the avenue all brightly lit, enticing and tempting with loud music pulsing from jukeboxes or live bands playing inside. At most of the establishments tough-looking men stood beckoning to the milling curious passersby, chanting, "No Cover! No Cover!" and gesturing to the photo-plastered doorways around them with provocative pictures of half-naked models pouting out from behind shiny protective glass and offering unimaginable thrills from their seductive and tempting well-studied poses.

He had first spotted her as he had just exited one such No Cover club and stood grimacing at the photos in the doorway. There was nothing like that inside, he wanted to complain to the No Cover man – just a skinny sag-titted woman who had clumsily crawled up on the bar, danced past a few drinkers hungrily gaping up at her G-string and as much as she tried to coordinate the long tassels covering her nipples to sway rhythmically with the music, only succeeded in awkwardly flapping her saggy breasts against each other and tangling the long tassels of one nipple in the studded rhinestone pastie of the other.

No, nothing like the pictures at all, he grimaced, and heard some whistles and laughter and turned and saw her coming up the avenue. She was tall and her body was large and solid and she wore a strange furry and feathery vest which only accentuated her broad shoulders yet covered and concealed whatever bosom she had molded underneath. Her tight red pants, slightly sagging and loose around the hips, did not have the natural fleshy show-off roundness and buoyancy one expected of a woman parading Times Square, but she made up for it by the over-exaggerated swagger of her flat limp ass and her loud clicking high-heels as she moved confidently through the noisy Friday night crowd.

Her ashy blonde-streaked hair was puffed up in an out-of-style beehive roost and her long jingling show-girl earrings, more common in a chorus line or in the come-on doorway photos, dangled from her ears and struck the sides of her face as she confidently pushed into the crowd, certain a gauntlet would open and a path would be cleared no matter how dense that crowd might be.

At times her long gait briefly faltered as she lost rhythm with her ungainly swaying, one foot falling too quickly onto the concrete, her ankle sagging and twisting in the overstrained high-heeled shoe, but she always recovered and pulled her vest tighter around her bosom and sped up the street, her heels scratching and scraping the hard asphalt beneath them.

She neared the girlie-covered doorway and he gaped at her heavily made-up face: thick rouge, lipstick and eyeliner, and all applied with detailed care and precision – yet he noticed at the side of her throat the line of makeup, perhaps through oversight or a smudged mirror, ended abruptly and did not blend naturally into the neck, clearly revealing the red pock-marks and bright seared blotches of recently shaved stubble.

"Getta loada this!" he heard the No Cover man laugh. But he had already noticed; for she swayed up the avenue seeming to disregard the gawking and staring and hooting that circled about her, her cock and balls had somehow stealthily eased themselves free of whatever panty or girdle she wore to keep them in place between her legs and fell down the side of her inner thigh, suspended and outlined in her bright red pants in a large and puffy unmistakable numeral 9. He saw this and open-mouthed watched her pass by, then stepped out of the doorway and began his pursuit of her.

"No Cover!" he heard the man call behind him and gesturing to the milling crowd. "No Cover, gents! Real live beautiful girls right up the stairs. No Cover! No Cover!"

She moved quickly through the crowd up the avenue, crossing streets and for a moment he thought he had lost her somewhere uptown but brightened and sped up as he spotted the top of her beehive bob across the street and continue up Broadway.

The crowds had thinned somewhat – most of the excitement being closer to 42nd street – but her swish and sway remained as exaggerated as before with heads continuing to turn and smirk and call out for a real good time. A few times she had flushed angrily from some malicious taunt, turning to confront her tormentor but his face always gelled in the safety with other conspiratorially smirking faces and she'd end up simply fluttering her long black lashes, pouting her bright red lips, and wiggling her flat red ass up the street, followed by even louder raucous hooting and taunting.

It was Friday night and for decades this area of peepshows and dirty movies, loud bars and dangerous side streets, was synonymous with sex and cheap thrills. It was the place to come to get laid or blown or even watch a skin-flick while jerking yourself off. The purpose and logic, the thrill and enticement of the area was just that: sex, cheap and dirty and quick. On any night, the street scene was often the same: a red-faced geezer hurrying towards some dark sidestreet hallway with a young boy trailing behind him; nervous men in business suits skulking into dirty-movie houses or speeding out of porno bookshops with magazine-crammed paper bags tucked under their arms; ragged old whores roosting atop garbage cans and displaying flabby tits and busted-toothed grins to cars and passersby and sometimes actually negotiating a price with them. On the street, a young boy could lose his virginity to a manipulative wasted cunt as easily as to a scheming diseased dick up his ass. You took your chances when you got to Times Square, and you got what paid for; and more often then not, it was exactly what you were after anyway.

He followed the woman across a street and saw her pausing in the middle of the clock to gaze at a mirrored doorway covered with photos of half-naked girls, just as the one he had stepped out of in pursuit of her. This far from 42nd Street there wasn't even a No Cover man outside, just a bold pink-lettered poster hanging above the photos: Girls-Girls-Girls-No Cover!

He came closer and saw her preening in a slither of mirrored glass around the girlie photos. She puffed up the sides of her hair and flicked her tongue around her bright red lips. He paused behind her as she opened her vest, sucked in her pot belly, and thrust out her unbalanced and knobby bulging blue knit-bloused bosom. She saw his smiling image in the mirror and darted her eyes down his reflection, suddenly gasping and staring at her own bulging crotch; a deep red flush raced up her neck to her jaw and cheeks and nose and she wrapped the furry vest across her chest, quickly turning and racing up the avenue, her gait no longer an exaggerated show-off swagger but a rapid and purposeful flight.

He frowned and looked after her, his own hard penis tightening and pulsing at the side of his own inner thigh. Certainly she didn't think she had tricked anyone with her makeup and hairdo? Certainly she didn't imagine that earrings and high-heels were all that it took to pass as a woman? Yet the image of appearing as a woman was indeed what had mattered, what she had strived for, what she had probably spent hours preening and dolling herself for, what she had dared to risk insult and ridicule, and possibly injury for, only to see that imagined female image shattered by an intrusive pair of male genitalia, her own cock and balls.

Still, hadn't she felt them creeping out of her panties and down her leg? Or had the masquerade been so successful, as least in her mind, and the image so complete that the pleasant oozing of bulbous flesh at the bottom of her groin was experienced as a sort of divine female orgasm?

He watched the blur of her red ass and legs turn off the avenue, racing after her to the corner and saw her entering a side-street building. He darted again and reached the doorway just as the door slammed shut behind her. He paused, peering through the portioned glass door and saw her stooped over, tugging at the inside of her pants leg.

He pushed the door open and entered the hall. She jerked around and pulled her hand out of her pants, stared at him, her mouth open, her eyes wide. He smiled and walked towards her as she braced her back to a wall and eyed him warily.

For a moment they looked at each other when suddenly he reached out and grabbed her between the legs and squeezed her cock. She jerked aside, pushed his hand off but he quickly maneuvered behind her, dipping his hand under her ass and straining to reach the puffy cock and balls from beneath. She slightly sagged and lowered her torso, then spun around, leaning back against the wall.

"Where did you come from?" she blinked, and raised her hands to his chest. He bobbed his head and kissed her mouth, their tongues darting against each other, their teeth clicking. She circled her hands under his arms and clutched his shoulders, raising her leg up his calf and clasped him tightly to her. She pounded her groin against his thigh and he groped and squeezed her cock, feeling her torso grind faster and faster until she desperately buckled and shivered as he held on, his tongue deep in her mouth, her semen oozing out of her dick and spreading through her pants and into his palm. She buckled a few more times, then sagged down his chest and pulled her mouth off his, gasping and smearing her lipstick from his mouth to his cheeks to his throat, nibbling and kissing and sucking his neck. Slowly, she relaxed, regaining her breathing, dropping her leg off his calf and straightened up and pushing him away.

"Boy was I hot!" she blushed, and glanced down her pants and grimaced. The large wet semen stain had quickly spread at the thigh of her red pants. She cursed and said, "What'll I do now?" She brushed at the edges of the dark wet stain. A fat thick globule of pasty scum shimmered in the center of the expanding stain. He reached out and cupped her moist cock and balls and she stiffened, sucking in air, then pushing his hand away, giggling as he raised it to his face and rubbed the damp palm against his mouth and jaw.

"Oh, stop it," she said, slapping his wrist. He grabbed her hand and their fingers entwined. They looked at each other and he tried to pull her hand towards his own hard crotch but she wriggled her fingers free and glanced down at her thigh and grimaced.

"I have to do something," she said, "I can't go back out like this."

He nodded and looked at the glass covered doorway then moved around her, blocking her from view of the outside and reached for her waist. She pulled away but he persisted, stooping down and said, "I'll fix it," and fumbled for her side pants button. She peered over his shoulders at the door then let him unsnap the button and slide down the zipper and open the pants at the side of her hip. He reached down her belly and into her pants. She gasped as his fingers caressed her warm damp flesh and soft panty girdle. He wriggled his fingers in between her stomach and girdle, maneuvering them down to the crinkly pubic hairs at her groin. Her fleshy stomach quivered but she held onto his shoulders as his fingers inched deeper and deeper, groping out of the girdle and leg-hole then sliding down her thigh and grasping her wet cock and balls. He heard her suck in air and gasp as he tenderly pulled up her bollocks, retrieving them back into the panty girdle.

She shifted her weight and leaned on the wall, opening her legs as he gently positioned the sticky wet dick beneath the loose scrotum, pushing it in between her thighs, the head of the penis cuddled by her clammy and hairy flat ass cheeks. He tweaked each tight little testicle on the side of the limp prick, then slowly and carefully moved his hand up from between her legs and up her belly, as the restraining panty girdle closed firmly behind him.

For a moment he hesitated, his thumb circling and probing her belly button and gazing at her wide eyes, then reluctantly moving his hand out of her pants. She faintly smiled and kissed his cheek and let go of his shoulders, tucking her blouse in her pants and tugging up the pants zipper, looping the button shut at the side of her waist. She puffed up the bottoms of her phony breasts with the back of her hands and leered, blinking at him.

"Thanks," she mumbled, and he blushed, but she reached up to his face and smudged the lipstick smear on his cheek and neck. He glanced at her red-daubed finger-tips and tried to catch them with his mouth but she also giggled and jerked her hand away. He pulled out a handkerchief and she took it from him, wiping his face and throat.

"Oh look what I did," she girlishly pouted. "A hickey!" And he reached up and hesitantly touched his lipstick smeared throat and looked at his fingers. "Will you give me one too?" she leered, and fluttered her eyelashes, as he opened his mouth and licked her lipstick off his fingers, then bobbed his head to her neck but she giggled and braced her hands atop his chest and pushed him away.

"Later," she said, and held out his handkerchief. "First buy me a drink, okay?"

He nodded and looked to the door, wiping his neck with the stained handkerchief and cramming it back in his pocket. "Sure, let's go."

She looked at the door and frowned, then forced a smile and asked, "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," he answered, and moved for a kiss, but she giggled and sidestepped around him, darting her tongue along her mouth.

"Lipstick okay?" she asked. He nodded, as she smirked and they walked to the door. He pulled it open and saw her glancing down her groin; the stain was dark but seemed to be blending into a natural shadowed highlight on the bright red pants.

"There's a bar down the block," he said, but she grunted and placed her arm in the crook of his elbow, pulling him out of the building hallway.

"This way," she said, and led him back up to Broadway. Her sway and swagger quickly returned, her hips spinning from side to side and he fell in rhythmic step with her as she parted her furry vest and tightened her belly and thrust out her lopsided bosom. They rounded the corner and she pulled his arm closer as they moved towards the crowds and walked to 42nd Street.

He saw someone smirk and poke at the person beside them but he stared straight ahead at the Broadway lights.

"No Cover!" he heard a man yell, pulling her hand tighter to his chest and concentrated on her clicking and scraping heels fall in step with his own. He knew his stiff dick was pushing out at the front of his pants; he wondered if hers had stayed put. He heard someone laugh. He didn't care. He walked confidently.

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Victor J Banis said...

Mick, there's just no one like you, that is brilliant. And I love the cover, by the way. Congratulations on seeing your stories in print at last.

Mykola ( Mick) Dementiuk said...

Thanks Victor, I've waited for this for a very long time, there's nothing like a real book in your hands, especially one written by you. Hope everyone experiences that comforting feeling. Ahhh... Bliss...

Marty Wombacher said...

Great excerpt! No one captures the old school dark side of New York like Mick!

Vastine Bondurant said...

OMG. That is so extremely vivid, like watching a film.

I can see them, hear them, smell them, feel them.

Brilliant, Mykola.

Joe DeMarco said...

You've made those delicious times in the Square come vividly alve, Mick. Wonderful excerpt!

fieldinski said...

masterful, Mick -- you've brought that time back so vividly -- made me shiver, and at the same time grateful for your courage and deep humanity.