Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2001 19:36:42 -0800 (PST)
From: Zane Green <ZaneG7@excite.com>
Subject: Re: UnderGround Angel-5

Underground Angel: Part Five by Zane Hunter Green

This story is copyright by the author. It can not be placed on a for pay
site. It is a fantasy, and is not about anyone real. It has minor
characters, and is intended only for a mature audience. Comments are very
welcome and appreciated at ZaneG7@excite.com Flames will go up in smoke. I
would like to thank my two friends for inspiring me as always with their
stories.


I stopped at the cash machine, and slipped some bills in my briefcase.
Thanks to the mugging I was without my wallet. I had more important things
on my mind than reporting lost credit cards however. I had a feeling Len was
making all those phone calls for me.

 I was now on my way to Brooklyn by subway to the Transit Museum. I thought
that I would be observant while jammed on the 2 train, and try to peek at my
fellow passengers. My fears of gaping like a tourist got the better of me,
and the more I saw the greater my heart went out to Sash, that he had been
forced at such length to take shelter in this world, where to stare at
someone was to invite hostility.

Like other's around me I screened myself in a newspaper, in my case the
Village Voice that I had filed in my briefcase the other day. I almost
forgot where I was as I read about an award winning autobiography by a man
named Andy. I started to think how I would obtain a copy, when the train
entered Brooklyn and roared into the Borough Hall-Court Street station.

This museum was an abandoned subway station, it had the musty smell one
encounters deep in the gutted underground, but in contrast it had high
ceilings and Italian tiles that were regal. I made a note to spend more time
there someday. I saw myself guiding a beautiful young boy by the hand,
pointing out what the subway looked like in it's heyday when it was filled
with painted walls, and mosaics. The boy, who was of course Sash, would
react with enthusiasm loving me for making a fairytale out of his sordid
adventure. Sash would be the hero, and I the knight-errant. I would ... well I
had to interrupt my thoughts. I had too much to do, and a total uncertainty
of my plans.

I wandered into a gift shop looking for maps. There were of course maps
everywhere, on neck- ties and coffee cups, and shower curtains. I smiled as
I thought about my last companion in the shower, he was so lovable as the
water streamed down on his lean body washing the dirt and soot away,
revealing a beautiful boy with a stiffy who wanted to caress me with soap
Well I had to stop thinking about Sash and find some of the old maps.
Unfortunately all of the maps were up to date. Then in the book section I
spotted an out-of print book that looked like it had been sitting on the
shelf since the museum opened. It was full of information about the systems,
tunnels, and discontinued stations and lines. I had hit the jackpot.

 I quickly purchased the book from a chatty sales clerk and made my way down
Livingston Street until I reached a small Greek coffee shop to study the
maps in the book. I really would make a terrible detective, as I never
noticed that I had been followed, until a MTA worker sat next to me, I
looked at his uniform and read his name, John Cortofski. He was a burly man,
with one of those old fashion mutton- chop mustaches.

" Hi, this place has good gyros, the lamb is on the spit all day." He
shared.

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I know who you are."

"Believe me I am not some type of celebrity, there is nothing to know about
me."

He smiled broadly "I saw you at the Transit Museum."

"You did, I didn't see you?"

"Oh I was there, you interested in the old subway lines?"

"Yes, you work for New York Transit."

"Yeah, and, I give private tours."

"What do you mean private tours?"

"Of the tunnels, there's seven layers down you know, but even I have only
been to four of them."

"Oh?"

"They say in the underground caves of New York there are humans with skin
grown over their eyes."

"And rats the size of donkeys too, I suspect."

"Nay, just the size of a dog, the wharf rats."

"Ugh, I hate rats."

"I know, most people do. Sashcha likes them however, he can tame them with
his voice."

"You know Sashcha?" I tried to keep my voice from showing my excitement at
hearing his name.

  "Yeah, we know that he went home with you, we're very worried about him
you know. So he's not with you anymore?"

"No."

"And Sam said that he never returned to get his belongings."

"He asked me to find Sam." I told him after he mentioned the name, kind of
like a password.

"Sam's hard to get to, however on my night shift I have a old train that I
sometimes run down the closed line off Park Ave. You want to go for a ride
tonight."

"What do you mean a ride"

"I keep a few of the old cars around, you know the ones with wooden
turn-tables. I can go practically wherever I want in the old tunnels. I like
to bring food to some of my friends who live in the tunnels. They look out
for my business, and I take care of them. Enough said."


"How did you know that I would be at the Transit museum?" I asked

"Where else would one go for old maps? Sam told me to find you." He told me.

"So how much for the tour?"

"Usually a grand, but as you're a friend of Sashcha's, 20."

"Where will I meet you?" I was almost beside myself having found a tour
guide to the hell I had to enter to help Sash.

" Look I'm not sure which gate will be closed tonight that I can use. I
usually take an off line cab to my storage area. The best place to meet
would be the men's room in the market terminal by Grand Central. Then I can
tell you which gate I'll be waiting for you at. "

"Won't it seem odd to be meeting in the men's room?"

"Nay, that shit stop is a tea room. A lot of men hang out in there. You wait
until the shoe-shine man has a red sign up, that means the bulls will be
staying away for an hour or so, they usually do around 7:30, some of the
wall street boys like a quick fix before they have to go home to their
wives."

"I wasn't going to get into the meaning of all this, and I wish I didn't
have to.

"So when the tearoom is clear go in there." He instructed

"And I take mine with two lumps and cream" I tried to add levity to this
increasingly bazaar situation.

"What?" He asked

"Nothing, so what time do I meet you in this tearoom?" I was envisioning men
caressing cock everywhere as they discussed what stocks to buy.

" Around 8:30 tonight, that's the best time to walk into the tunnels, Listen
wait in the third stall in the men's room, that's the one at the end. I'll
try to meet you there myself, I'll knock on the wall the number of the
track. You know one knock if it will be one two if it will be gate two.

"I get you, what if someone else knocks on the door?" I asked.

"I'll say, I really have to go home now, then you will know it's me."

"Ok, I think I can do that." I said with some hesitation. I didn't like the
idea of hanging around a tearoom.

" But, if something comes up I'll send a message with a friend. They'll tell
you which gate I'll meet you at in Grand Central, then I'll be there at
9:00, that's when I start my shift." He said

"What else?" I said liking the idea even less.

"Go home and change, you don't want to look like you just stepped out of
GQ." He instructed.

"What should I dress like?"

"Let's see, jeans, a sweater, nothing that looks new or good, and pack a
flashlight." He said.

I went to the brownstone and thought about calling Len and letting him know
where I was going, but he was too much like a Mother hen, and I was afraid
that he would bring me to my senses and talk me out of it. I almost did
anyway as I was getting nervious about this ordeal. I mean this was real
life, not a movie where everything is guarenteed to end up happily as Fred
or John goes dancing out in the night.

I have to admit that I almost quit until I looked beside my bed and saw a
green cord, it was one of Sash's shoelaces and it was folded in such a way
to look like a heart. I remembered his face as he looked at me in
despiration and signed,"Find me". Those unusual violet-blue eyes looking at
me like I was his best friend in the world, he had been trying so bravely
not to cry as he was forcefully taken from me. I don't think anyone ever
depended on me before, and he was a boy who deserved only to be loved, not
left in the care of men who terrorized even me. I had to help him, I had no
choice.

I really didn't have any clothes that looked less than designer. Finally I
uncovered a pair of jeans, and an old sweater that I used to wear in college
when I went hiking. I liked tight clothes in those days I was such a
show-off. I packed a flashlight, some matches, and a swiss army knife, a
gift from several lovers back, that had no idea what to get me for
Christmas. I never used it, and as we broke up two months later it had
landed unused buried among my socks
.
I thought I was prepared. I would have packed some KY jell, and condoms if I
knew what was ahead. I ordered a pizza, and played some music, feed Aries
who was wolvishly hunger and helped me eat the mushroom pizza. Then I
showered, shaved, and got dressed in the clothes that still miraculously
fit, although I had to sacrific my boxers to get them on. The denim hugged
my sack and I knew I would have a hard time if I got arroused, somehow
though the thoughts of a tea room and going down the tunnels of Grand
Central was not doing it for me.

I walked to the site where I was to meet up with John. I noticed the
shoeshine man outside, he had a red sign up so I took at deep breathe and
walked in. I could only hope that John would be inside waiting for me. I
cased over the urinals quickly. I had to take a piss so I got in the line up
and pulled down my zipper. There were some interested eyes, but unfortunitly
none of them were John's I therefore had to look occupied until the last
stall was vacated. I washed my hands twice, then once again. Finally the
door swung open and two men came out. I had only seen one pair of legs so I
wasn't surpised that I had to wipe seamen from the toilet seat.

   I was hoping that I wouldn't have to spend much time in the stool until
John tapped on the outer door. This was starting to remind me of the one
time I went into a backroom down on Christopher street, but I was not sober
at the time nor this restless. I almost wished I brought a printout of my
favorite Nifty story to read. One about a young male dancer down in
Australia. Instead I had to play the scenes in my head. I was just getting
to the good part about the truckdriver and hamburgers when I heard a voice
in the stall over one.That was when I noticed that the toilet paper bar was
off it's hinge.

"Pull it back"

"What?" I asked.

"The bar, move the bar the voice hissed.

I then noticed the hole in the metal, it actually was sand blasted down. I
was hoping this was the messinger John was sending, as I figured he was
unable to come in here himself. He told me that he would send a way for me
to know what gate to met him at.

Well something was coming through the hole in the wall, it was a prick, a
rather large one at that. I almost turned away until I noticed a number 8 on
the shaft. It looked like the messinger had taken red lipstick, and had
drawn an eight on the tender skin of his cock, okay a very creative way to
send a message. I was about to leave when I heard the voice whisper "We're
being watched, get down on the seat of the toilet, and twist towards me and
start sucking my cock."

Sure enough from my periperal vision I noticed someone peering over the
stalls. I banged the toilet lid down, sat down and leaned over, and opened
my mouth. and once again had a strange cock wanting to be blown. The number
eight was greesy, and coming off on my lips. The cock was another thing
altogether. It was warm and tender skin, but the atmosphere was dim, smelly,
and embarrassing. I found a pressed mint in one of my pockets. I slipped it
into my mouth and started to feel the added pleasure. The strange messinger
also agreed.

"This is good, very good! OH ohhhhh wow!

He started pumping into my mouth which was now I was sure stained with
lipstick and sperm. I really felt like a whore when 10 dollars came dangling
down from the top of the stall. I looked up and the spectator was still
watching. Well he would think I was just a slut who turned tricks. I was
about to leave when I heard a new voice.

"Hey boy pull down your jeans and press your anus against the hole so I can
fuck you."

I froze.

"Listen I'll give you one hundred." At that more money floated down from
above. I was ready to throw the money back and make a dash for it when I
heard the man  who was watching me say to someone below him.

"It's just a whore, I want to watch him get screwed, then we'll look for our
man elsewhere."

"The boss won't like it if you linger in here, he's sure the man knows where
the boy hid the box, we need to look for him"

Damn I was going to have to service this patron of the tearoom.

"Do you have a rubber?" I called.

"Yeah, It's on, I'm hot baby, it's on... lets go, I want your nice sweet
little hole pressed against the big hole in the wall."

This was a nightmare, I slowly pulled down my jeans then I quickly spit on
my hand and bend over to try and lubercate my asshole. This was not going to
be any fun. My friends called me a slut because I always had my share of
interest, but I had never done anything like this before. I had to keep in
the back of my mind that I was doing it to help Sashcha, to to keep myself
from getting killed.

I guess it was getting around, that there was a new stud in town, although
from the throbbing in my butt I was feeling more like a very humiliated
bottom.  After I serviced the man in the next stall, I finally realized that
the goons had left. When I felt safe enough to go out there was quite a line
of men waiting to go into the ajoining stall.

"Hey you're not leaving yet beauty" One called out.

This was not my idea of moonlighting! I ran out the door so fast I almost
forgot to pull my jeans up. Who ever was next to use my stall had 110
dollars waiting for them wrinkled on the floor. I swore that going to the
men's room would never be the same! Then I started walking calmly to Gate 8.
I was now getting paranoid, I turned around thinking that someone was
following me but I could only detect the press of late evening comunters.