- ASIN: B004XFC5LU
I had spotted him coming out of Bryant Park and moving to the Pix movie house where he studied the girlie stills outside, then darted across the street and looked at the similar Bryant theater display. Though his park exit troubled me since there had been an increase in beatings, muggings, and faggot rip-offs that summer, not only in the park but the entire
I lingered by the girlie photos and pulled out a wad of bills, hoping he read my offer of paying his way and made a show of counting each bill, a ten, two fives, five ones. We stood near a big-breasted bimbo poster, but he just glanced at the money and at the Admittance sign on the ticket booth window and pulled out and looked into his own wallet, making sure I saw the empty flaps. Then he shrugged and walked away from the theater, cramming the empty wallet into his tight pants pocket.
God-damned fucking whore! I smirked, but kept right behind him as he casually moved west along 42nd Street, then crossed at 8th Avenue and sauntered back east on the other side of the crowded street.
A few times I came close enough to once more flash the wad as he stopped at porno-shop window displays, studied tiers of engineer and cowboy boots at the Army/Navy store, and once practically into his hands as he lifted his lips and stared at a large store-front hamburger/fries menu before a dingy and empty diner tucked next to a bright movie alcove. But just as he turned and continued along the street I'm certain his smile was growing broader with each pause, our eye contact more knowing and sure, his walking and halting more cunning and luring. He had me, I smirked to myself; he knew it and so did I.
It was a Friday evening and the
For a moment I thought I had lost him in the thick crowd but his white pants and t-shirt made it easy to spot him making way with the lookers as the cop car spurted its siren and cleared a path down the street. He was laughing along with the other bystanders and shrugging to questions of panties or not but I noticed his eyes were eagerly scanning the faces as I was searching for his. We saw each other. And did he blush? Or was that just a streak of red flared cop-light moving across his face? He smiled, and I turned and I continued my pursuit of his tease, moving up Broadway, crossing more streets, pausing at windows, and each time being enticed to follow still further.
On 47th Street, Broadway separates from its brief link-up with 7th Avenue as though having been assisted in its frenzied traverse of Times Square and begins the long oblique stretch uptown, a garish mainline for all the dull dim-lit parallel streets that slink along and only liven up when they cross its path.
The young man turned off Broadway and moved up
He stopped at a porno-shop window. And of course, this being uptown they couldn't settle for displays of big tits and open cunts, that was a dime a dozen back on
The young man walked past the nude studies and entered the long store front alcove. Near the paint-covered front door, well off the street, the display window was plastered with photos and magazine covers of transvestite drag-queens. For added enhancement and inducement, a pair of dusty panties with bra and black mesh stockings lay at the bottom of the window display as though some big-dicked transvestite had just disrobed and waited inside the shop. I stood next to the young man.
"They look like real women, don't they?" I said, and gestured to the TV photos.
The young man glanced at me and shrugged, then looked back at the exhibit. It was as though we had been walking and holding a conversation and paused; now we continued out talk.
"This one had an operation," he said, pointing at a magazine cover and shaking his head. "They shouldn't show her with the other ones."
I glanced at the transvestite model: long blonde hair, sculpted face, perfect cleavage, narrow ankle-length black dress gown.
"You mean she had her cock cut off?" I asked. "What a waste!" I shook my head.
The young man sniggered and nodded.
"I saw that magazine," he frowned, glancing at my groin, "and it was nothing but cunts, new made cunts," he grimaced, and suddenly looked up at me.
I also grimaced and looked at the transvestite model then back at the kid and for the first time noticed there was something feminine about him too. He was small-framed and thin and wore his pants tightly around his hips, totally out of the current young style of baggy peg-top waists and fat-ass look. His face was smooth and clear, the lips thick and pouty and his blue eyes seemed avid and eager with thin eyelashes narrowly arched on his forehead above his eyes. His blonde hair was also much longer then the current short mode and he wore a tight V-neck t-shirt which naturally drew the eye down to his chest. I suddenly envisioned him in a bra with cleavage, his face made-up, his legs nyloned and long. I smiled and looked back at the magazine covers.
"This one is real," he said, pointing to a black transvestite. "She has a dong down to here," he gestured to his knees. "And that's when it's limp," he giggled.
I knew this was a perfect cue to bring the chase to an end, to toss out a feeler as to his own dong-size, yet something was wrong about the whole conversation. I saw his darting eyes from my face to the magazine covers and hardening each time he looked away. I again felt that inarticulate inkling of suspicion, mistrust, and fear. Why had this taken so long? I wondered. There were TV photos in any of the shops along the way. What was this chase and pursuit, if not an attempt to lure me away from the crowds and lights? A few more blocks and it would be easy to tease me down a deserted street, into a dark construction site, a dim-lighted parking-lot or a shuttered doorway. It had happened before: a slow tease, a long pursuit, a blooded mouth, rifled pockets, a kick in the groin, the spat out word, "Faggot!" The memories came fast and clear and I stared at the kid. Had I seen him before? Did he look the type?
"I'll bet you have a big dong too," I dared, nonetheless, glancing down at his groin, the crook of his white pants and thighs smoothly aligned and narrowed below his zipper and between his legs with no sign of actual cock and balls. He may have objected to having it cut off, I thought, but he clearly didn't like showing it either.
"Wouldn't you like to know," he replied, and maybe it was his expressionless face, with no longer any pretense at the expected flirtation that once more hinted at something not right, but I looked at the transvestite photos and took a step back towards the street.
"Twenty bucks!" he suddenly blurted and moved after me.
I stopped and glanced at the opposite window from the transvestite display and looked at some pseudo-literary blatantly imitative books and novels: Tropic of Tropics, Hard Candy, Lord Chatterley's Love-girls.
I looked back at the kid and asked, "Where?"
"Around the block," he answered.
I studied him and fingered the wad in my pocket. We could've had this solicitation and talk anywhere along the way, I thought again, and kept my wad in my pocket. Suddenly, a big-breasted girl in tight pants surged into the alcove, glanced at us and giggled, then snorted at the nude studies in the front window and stepped back out. I saw a winded man hurrying past and give us a glance, clearly in pursuit of the girl, as he continued behind her to
"There's a parking lot down the street," the young man said.
I shrugged, then nodded and gestured for him to go and that I'd follow. He quickly moved out of the store alcove.
Should've flitted your eyes, I thought looking after him, that'd make you look real.
I glanced back at the magazine covers and the transvestite who had it cut off. A dong down to here, eh? That I'd like to see…
I moved out of the store alcove and looked up the street. The young man was a few doors down, waiting before a ladies' clothing store, a headless bra and girdle-clad mannequin in the window behind him. I glanced at his slim waist and tight hips. A dong down to where? Well, maybe packed and stashed in a girdle, I supposed.
I turned downtown. To
Mick Mykola Dementiuk
Lambda Literary Awards Winner 2013/Gay Erotica, 2009/Bisexual Fiction
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