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I was breathing fast and my eyes were wide. I could feel my nostrils flaring as the air rushed in and out of my nose. I was nervous, even scared. I guess it's supposed to be like that your first time. Shhhhhh. Sh. It was all I could hear; hot breath filling my ear, soft and reassuring. "It's okay. Just relax and enjoy it." The moist warmth of a tongue wriggled around my earlobe. I felt a hand sliding up my leg. It gently cupped my crotch. I trembled and closed my eyes.
***
"Can I give you a ride?"
Night had fallen. There were only a couple of other boys left in the park. I looked at him through the open window. He was white, in his early 40s, sitting behind the wheel of a BMW, dressed in a business suit. I'd seen him before. He cruised the park a couple of times a month, but this was the first time he had stopped to speak to me. "Sure," I said. I pulled the handle on the car door and got in.
He pulled away from the curb. Tenement houses and apartment buildings seemed to float outside my window. "How old are you?" he asked, breaking the silence.
I was 16 at the time - sure I knew everything and too street-smart for my own good. "Old enough," I said. He turned a corner and the neighborhood began to look familiar. I'd already taken this trip more times than I could remember. With the married closet jobs, it was always in the car in some alley or the hourly-rate hotel a few blocks from here. The old fags, past their prime and needy, had nice apartments we could go to. But these guys were my bread and butter. "You married?" I asked. I liked to make the married guys squirm a little.
He unconsciously took his left hand off the steering wheel and ignored my question. "So how..."
I figured I'd save him the time and interrupted him. "Fifty to fuck. Twenty five for anything else. I don't swallow."
We had arrived at the hotel. He drove past it and found street parking down the block. He put the gear shifter into park. "I've already got the room," he said. "Wait here on the sidewalk for five minutes, then come up to room 12."
I sat on the stoop of a nearby house and watched him cross the street. His leather shoes clacked against the asphalt as he jogged to the other side. I lit a cigarette as the lights flickered on in the buildings on the block, as people came home from work.
***
His hand moved from my crotch and slipped under my shirt. His face began to move away from my ear, gently kissing my neck. The side of his face was rough and smelled like Barbasol. The kisses tavelled along my skin toward my mouth. His breath was stale tobacco smoke and coffee. Soon his lips were on mine and his tongue was in my mouth. His fingers traced the edges of my nipples.
***
He let me into the room. He immediately excused himself to the bathroom and shut the door. He knew how the game was played. I looked around the room and spotted the money sitting on the table. I picked it up - two twenties and a ten - and shoved it in my pocket. I pulled a condom from the other pocket and placed it on the table where the money had been. I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. I kicked my shoes off but nothing else; most of them liked to do the undressing, or at least watch. He came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a hard-on. He grabbed the condom from the table and handed it to me. They liked that, too.
I simultaneously took his cock into my mouth as I rolled the condom down onto it. I blew him for a few minutes, his hands on either side of my face at the jaws. He lowered his hands to my shoulders and pushed me away. He reached down and lifted my T-shirt over my head then pushed me down on the bed and removed my jeans. He rolled me over and grabbed my hips with his hands, raising me onto my knees, like he was adjusting a baby's high-chair. Propped on my knees and elbows as he entered me, I looked at the painting on the wall above the bed - a ship on a stormy sea with a lighthouse in the foreground.
***
His fingers began to move away from my chest, across my belly, to the button on my shorts. He tugged at it with his finger and thumb until it came unfastened. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was textured with dozens of swirl patterns. I studied them looking for familiar shapes. He pulled the zipper on my shorts down and I could feel the vibration of each tooth as it moved through the metal track. I saw what looked like a face in the swirl near the window and right beside it, an elephant. His hand moved beneath the waistband of my underwear. There was a car in the swirl near the door and right above me, one that looked like an all day sucker. He slid his body down the length of mine, positioning his face near my pelvis. By the end of the summer, I had the ceiling memorized. I lay there motionless; I didn't know what else to do. I was only ten.
"Can I give you a ride?"
Night had fallen. There were only a couple of other boys left in the park. I looked at him through the open window. He was white, in his early 40s, sitting behind the wheel of a BMW, dressed in a business suit. I'd seen him before. He cruised the park a couple of times a month, but this was the first time he had stopped to speak to me. "Sure," I said. I pulled the handle on the car door and got in.
He pulled away from the curb. Tenement houses and apartment buildings seemed to float outside my window. "How old are you?" he asked, breaking the silence.
I was 16 at the time - sure I knew everything and too street-smart for my own good. "Old enough," I said. He turned a corner and the neighborhood began to look familiar. I'd already taken this trip more times than I could remember. With the married closet jobs, it was always in the car in some alley or the hourly-rate hotel a few blocks from here. The old fags, past their prime and needy, had nice apartments we could go to. But these guys were my bread and butter. "You married?" I asked. I liked to make the married guys squirm a little.
He unconsciously took his left hand off the steering wheel and ignored my question. "So how..."
I figured I'd save him the time and interrupted him. "Fifty to fuck. Twenty five for anything else. I don't swallow."
We had arrived at the hotel. He drove past it and found street parking down the block. He put the gear shifter into park. "I've already got the room," he said. "Wait here on the sidewalk for five minutes, then come up to room 12."
I sat on the stoop of a nearby house and watched him cross the street. His leather shoes clacked against the asphalt as he jogged to the other side. I lit a cigarette as the lights flickered on in the buildings on the block, as people came home from work.
His hand moved from my crotch and slipped under my shirt. His face began to move away from my ear, gently kissing my neck. The side of his face was rough and smelled like Barbasol. The kisses tavelled along my skin toward my mouth. His breath was stale tobacco smoke and coffee. Soon his lips were on mine and his tongue was in my mouth. His fingers traced the edges of my nipples.
He let me into the room. He immediately excused himself to the bathroom and shut the door. He knew how the game was played. I looked around the room and spotted the money sitting on the table. I picked it up - two twenties and a ten - and shoved it in my pocket. I pulled a condom from the other pocket and placed it on the table where the money had been. I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. I kicked my shoes off but nothing else; most of them liked to do the undressing, or at least watch. He came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a hard-on. He grabbed the condom from the table and handed it to me. They liked that, too.
I simultaneously took his cock into my mouth as I rolled the condom down onto it. I blew him for a few minutes, his hands on either side of my face at the jaws. He lowered his hands to my shoulders and pushed me away. He reached down and lifted my T-shirt over my head then pushed me down on the bed and removed my jeans. He rolled me over and grabbed my hips with his hands, raising me onto my knees, like he was adjusting a baby's high-chair. Propped on my knees and elbows as he entered me, I looked at the painting on the wall above the bed - a ship on a stormy sea with a lighthouse in the foreground.
His fingers began to move away from my chest, across my belly, to the button on my shorts. He tugged at it with his finger and thumb until it came unfastened. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was textured with dozens of swirl patterns. I studied them looking for familiar shapes. He pulled the zipper on my shorts down and I could feel the vibration of each tooth as it moved through the metal track. I saw what looked like a face in the swirl near the window and right beside it, an elephant. His hand moved beneath the waistband of my underwear. There was a car in the swirl near the door and right above me, one that looked like an all day sucker. He slid his body down the length of mine, positioning his face near my pelvis. By the end of the summer, I had the ceiling memorized. I lay there motionless; I didn't know what else to do. I was only ten.