Date: Mon, 06 Aug 2001 06:43:24 -0400
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Gay Male - Adult Youth - Young Times Pt 23

The building that housed the barbershop was as much a social club as
anything else, serving as a safe haven for a lot of the activity the cops
thought they cleaned up with there 'sweeps'.  In fact, it was all driven
inside, and this building had both the location and the space to bring it
all inside.  Away from the prying eyes of the cops and 'decent' citizens who
clamored to have their neighborhood cleaned up.

Drinking, gambling, drug sales, and sex all moved in here.  The place was
cavernous and all this activity seemed to have it's own space.

>From where I sat, alone in the combination storeroom and bedroom, I could
hear men talking, laughing, and shouting at each other as they went about
whatever they were doing.  I could only imagine, and I would come to learn
more, what was going on in the various corridors and rooms.

"Word up" Bill announced as he came thru the door  "gonna get some action.
Jes be nice to anybody come in here, OK?  I gots the bidness all covered.
You OK?"

"Yes" I answered, trying to sound like I really was.  In fact I was sort of
intriqued by the whole thing.  As I would learn later, by 'bidness' Bill
meant that he had spread the word about me and arranged for paying customers
to visit the storeroom.  In fact, he had done this before, with black
hookers who sold themselves in this room, paying him a percentage for
setting it up.  But with me he was arranging the customers himself, keeping
the money.  They didn't pay as much for me as for the women, obviously, but
the fact that I was white, and so young,  did entice more than a few of
them.

So alone I sat, trying to quell my emotions of trepidation as the time
passed.  I didn't have long to wait as the door eased open and a large black
man slipped thru, taking care to lock the door behind himself.

He was big, maybe 6 feet tall, and decidedly overweight with a stomach that
strained at the confines of his stained tee shirt.  His khaki trousers
looked as if they hadn't been washed in a while, and they were too long.
They fairly engulfed his scuffed and dirty tennis shoes.  As I stole a
nervous glance at his face,  I was frightened by the look of utter contempt.
  Frightened, but not nervous anymore.  Whatever happened, it was going to
happen, and I looked forward with a strange sense of purpose.  The fact that
he was here meant that he had paid Bill for me.  He wanted something, and he
was here to get it.  And now it was just a matter of giving him what he
wanted.  No matter what he thought of me now,  at least in  my mind, he
would be happy with me when I gave him what he wanted.

He shuffled across the floor, motioning for me to vacate the couch, and
plopped down on it heavily as I stood aside.

"Gets down here"  he slurred as he fumbled with the button of his trousers.
I complied, kneeling in front of him on the cold concrete floor.  I moved
instinctively to help him with his trousers, and between the two of us we
soon had them unbuttoned and unzipped.  He hunched upward a bit as I pulled
them down to his knees.  Not satisfied with that, he stood and worked them
down til he stepped out of them.  I pulled his cotton briefs down and off
they came too.  He plopped back down on the couch and spread his legs.  I
moved between them, placing a hand on each of his thighs to support myself.
I was in familar territory now.

"Ah..........suh dat dick"  he slurred as I moved my hands along the insides
of his thighs up toward their juncture.  I shuffled forward on my knees,
bringing myself toward him and moving my face down toward his crotch.  It
was then that the smell hit my nostrils, filling them with the awful aroma
of sweat, urine, and the filth of his unwashed maleness.  I reacted
immediately as the overpowering smell drove me to the brink of retching,
pulling my head back away from where he wanted me to be.

"I sayed SUCK IT BITCH" he roared as his open palm smacked across my the
side of my head, knocking me off balance.  I clung to his right leg, trying
to steady myself as the ringing in my left ear drowned out all but the
cursing.  "Suck mah cock FAGGOT".  And with that he grabbed me by the hair
and pulled me back to the stench I had so tried to avoid.  My resistance
melted with that one slap as I realized that he wasn't going to give up
until I did what he wanted.

My eyes tearing over from his abuse,  I let him pull my head down to him,
opening my mouth for what I knew I had to do.  The smell was just as
overpowering as before, and it was all I could do to go down on him.  My
mouth on his cock now, I could only breath thru my nose, which made it all
the worse.  I felt like vomitting.  I gagged as the circumsized glan passed
over my tongue, but I was able to close my lips around his penis.  He was
big, at least ten inches in length and fat.  Under any other circumstances I
would have enjoyed a cock that size, especially a black one, but now the
smell, the stench made enjoyment impossible.  I tried no to heave as he
hunched his hips upward, thrusting in my mouth.  My saliva provided enough
lubrication, and my jaws were pliable enough, that I succeeded in getting
about half of his cock in my mouth.  I felt his cockhead pressing against
the entrance to my throat as I moved on hand up to grip his penis in an
effort to keep him from choking me.  I wasn't loose enough, just yet, to
take more of him in my throat, and I concentrated on what was in my mouth,
letting me tongue flick and caress along the length of it.  I began
massaging his balls with my other hand.

"Ahhhhhhh............."  he groaned as the combination of my tongue and my
hand brought him fully erect.  He was monsterous, and I had to move my head
off him an inch or so to keep from gagging.  As abusive as he had been
before,  he turned docile on me now, content to let me work him over.  His
hands flopped at his side as I did.

"Ahhhh bitch, dat sho some mouf you got.  Sweet Jezzus."  Taking his
encouragement, I bent to the task of blowing him.  The smell still filled my
nostrils, but the excitement of having this massive penis in my mouth drove
me on.  Unthinking, I moved off his cock and dropped my face to lick at his
huge set of balls.  The taste of sweat and urine burned my tongue, but I
hardly noticed as I tried to suck one in my mouth.  It was too big for my
small mouth, but I did manage to get some of it in, letting my tongue
carress it.  The spit dripped from my chin as I worked on it, oblivious to
the rancid aroma and taste that accompanied the act.  I didn't care now.  I
wanted to make him feel good.  To like me.  And I wanted whatever reward
churned now in his ballsack.  I wanted his semen.  All of it.  I wanted to
taste the sweet reward of my efforts.

Looking back on it now, I know I passed over some line that night.  Abuse,
depravity, whatever.  None of it mattered to me.  There, on my knees, with
this drunk nigger's cock in my mouth, I lost all sense of dignity and self
worth.  I was worth one thing now.   Pleasure.  Both his and mine as I
worked to coax his wine induced orgasm from him.  I didn't feel the cold
hard concrete floor, I didn't recoil from the smell, and the ringing in my
ears somehow died away as I strained and bobbed and tried everything I knew
to make him cum in my mouth.  It was, in all truth, what I was there for.
To be used, abused, cursed at, looked down on as an object.  A white whore
giving a black man what he wanted, and getting what I wanted in return.
Dignity?  It didn't matter.  Self worth?  It didn't exist.  I was a bitch
for him and he was a man for me.  That's what it was all about in my mind.
We might have been from two different worlds a week ago, even a few hours
ago.  But when he walked thru that door, when I gave him what he came in
here for,  our worlds collided.  And I made the transistion from my world to
his.

I was lost in the blowjob, simultaneously sucking and jacking this wonderful
piece of manhood as my free hand massaged his churning ballsack.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh.............sheeeeeeeeeeeee..."  he groaned as I felt the first
powerful spurt of his orgasm hit the back of my throat, and the subsequent
discharges completely filled my mouth with the warm, salty cream that I had
so masterfully coaxed from his balls.  It tasted strong, as strong as
anything I had ever tasted, and I was lost in the tasted of it, the smell of
it, everything about it.  I swallowed quickly, emptying my mouth for more of
the goey liquid that continued to flow from his cock like water from a hose.
  It was everywhere now, on my lips, my chin, hanging from my chin, and on
my tee shirt as I tried, but ultimately failed, to get it all down my
throat.

I pulled back,  bringing the head just outside my mouth, and as I did, the
sight of wet goey cum stringing from his slickened cockhead to my open lips
and teeth fascinated me.  I had never seen this before, and the utter
depravity of having this cock spew cum in my mouth set me on sexual fire.  I
licked the head and the shaft clean of the creamy liquid that tasted like
bleach to me.  It was strong, and as it was exposed to the air, the flavor,
the strength, turned from strong to overpowering.  But I kept licking it,
sucking it, driven on by some sexual instinct that seemed to thrive on the
utter depravity of the act.  I couldn't stop my self.  The only thing that
would stop me was to be stopped, and that's just what did it.

"Got....dam bitch!"  he exclaimed as he pulled me up, roughly,  by the hair
"yo sho know how eat dat dick off.  Dammmmmmmm,  I think you a hungry bitch,
go suh my dick off like dat.  Daammmmmmm."  I didn't answer, I was too busy
licking the remnants of his orgasm from my lips and fingers.  God, I was so
hungry for his cum that I would have done anything for more.  He pushed me
aside when I tried to fondle his limp cock.

"Get away from me faggot"  he admonished as he pushed me away.  I stayed
there, on my knees, and watched him hurriedly pull his underwear and
trousers back on.  "You teh anybody bout dis and I crack yo head, hear?  I
cut you I hear you tell anybody bout me lettin some faggot cocksucker near
me.  You hear?"

"S...........su...........sure"  I stammered as I looked up at him.  He was
serious.  He had let me, no make that wanted me to, suck him off.  But now
it was over, and I was back in my place and he in his.  No, I would keep
quite.  Bill knew.  He must know, I mean if the guy paid him and all.  But
Bill was too much of a businessman to share that kind of secret about
someone who didn't want anyone else to know about it.

And I would come to realize that most men I would go with were the same way.
  When it was over, when they had relieved themselves in me, it seemed that
they didn't like what they wanted.

But enough men wanted it that night to make me a popular attraction.  Bill
had told me to do what they wanted, and that's just what I did.  I refused
them nothing.  I knew I couldn't.  I was there for a reason and I knew it.

Bill slipped me a strong mixture of bourbon and coke in a plastic cup and
kept filling it between 'tricks'.  I felt no pain, no humiliation although I
knew I was being humiliated.  It just didn't matter.  In all truthfulness, I
didn't count the men who came into the room.  I didn't count the number of
cocks I so willingly sucked.  I was on a combination sexual and liqour high
that had me in a hedonistic fog, trying to sate my pent up needs.
I don't even remember leaving.

But leave we did, as I was to learn later, after a heated argument between
Bill and the owner of the 'shop' over my presence in the building.  The
owner won, forbidding Bill to ever bring back 'that white faggot jailbait'
to the place.   The fact that Bill was selling my underage talents obviously
didn't sit well with the owner.  He was afraid of his reputation it seems.
He didn't mind hookers, mind you, but he wasn't going to put up 'queer
cocksuckers', as he put it, hanging out in his backroom.   'Sends the wrong
message - queers attract queers' he told Bill.

So, with his source of income from me dried up at the 'shop', Bill had to
find somewhere else to peddle me.  And, after nursing my hangover most of
the next day, I would come to find out just where Bill had in mind.

Campbell Avenue S.E. runs thru a decrepid industrial area between 9th and
3rd Streets, across from the hulking railroad shops.  Long an area of cheap
thrills, the hookers, both women and transvestite,  had now been routed out
of the area and moved westward into the black neighborhoods.   Few reminders
of it's decadent days remained,  like the faded graffitti on several utility
poles.  It was, to all appearances, just another of Roanoke's run down
areas.  A few old 'beer joints' and a single gas station were the only signs
of life after dark.  Everything else was either closed for the night or
closed for good.   The street lights gave the whole area an erie,  out of
this century, look as their glow cast a series of unconnected, lighted
islands in the sea of otherwise darkness.  'Forbidding' is the word that
came to my mind as Bill slowly cruised east on Salem.

I would grow accustomed to this area in the next few days, as I would come
to grow accustomed to areas just like it in other cities over time.  I would
come to appreciate these places for what they were.  For what went on there.
  For what was bought and sold.  But for now, well,  it was more than enough
to intimidate a small town, 17 year old.

"Lissen"  Bill instructed as he pulled in to what appeared to be a parking
lot  "stay off Salem 'much as ya kin.  On dem side streets, 'specially dat
one dey"  he motioned to a street running perpendicular to Salem in front of
us  "dat one go up da hill and off ta da right is da cruizen spot.  Dey be
sittin in dey cahs on det street."

"You.............you want me to .........to ........to get out of the car?
All by myself?  I...........I..........can't......"  I stammered.

"You what?"  he cut me off in a loud tone  "You cain do what?    Coe's you
can.  You get out dis cah, you wiggle dat ass a yo's.  You walk up dat
street,  let dem see dat ass.  An you doan gih nuten away fo free.
Understann?"

"I........I.......I don't know.  I mean............I've never......."  I
tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't be swayed.

"Nevah?  Nevah?  Gi me a break bitch.  Dey ain nuten nevah you done.  You a
damn ho.  A gottam faggot ho.  You suck dey cock, let dem fuck up in yo ass.
  Nevah?  Sheeeiiiit.  Doan tell me no nevah.  Jus git yo white faggot ass
out der 'n make me da bread."  And with that, he reached across me, opened
the door, and shoved me out.  I crumpled on the asphalt of the parking lot
as he cirlced me with the car.  "Make me da bread, bitch.  Doan gih nuten
away fo free" he yelled out the open window.

He must have taken my look of fear for one of defiance.  That he could not
have.  He wasn't about that.  He circled slowly back until he beside where I
stood.  "Git in de cah"  he instructed,  opening the passenger side door for
me.  I slipped in.  I must have looked like a lost puppy to him, my head
hung in silence.  I was sure he was going to hit me or something.

>From the movies I had an idea of how pimps treated their whores, keeping
them in line by a combination of dependence and fear.  Bill had done the
same with me.  I depended on him, having no one else in this city to turn
to.  I feared him, he had just demonstrated that.  But what I didn't know,
but would come to learn later, was the other tactic pimps used.  It was more
subtle, more coniving,  designed to win what might not be possible with the
other two.  And it would be the one tactic that I was completely helpless to
resist.

"Luk, I ain' no asshole.  I ain' gonna make ya do nothin ya doan wanna do.
It juz, well it juz dat we a family ya know?  You an me an Harold, shit we a
family.  An evuh body in a family, well dey got's ta pull deu weight, ya
know?  I mean, Harold he work all damn week tryin' ta make a livin'.  I
tryen ta make a livin.  Ya gots to do yo paht, dets awl.  An I'm tryin to
hep ya, dats awl."  He looked at me like a father looking at a child.
That's the way he was talking to me.  And I felt like a child in his eyes.

"Ya juz gots ta do yo paht to gets us some money.  Unahstan?"  I was
starting to feel guilty now,  my resistance waining.

"Yes"  I said meekly  "I understand.  It's just..........well, it's just
that I'm not sure I can do this Bill.  Out here and all, I mean."

"Shush up sweet pants, ya ken do it to.  I know ya ken.  Ya dih jez fine las
night.  Ya know it."

"But.........that was different.  I mean, I felt safe last night with you
outside the door.  I felt like you would take care of me and not let
anything bad happen to me.  Out here, out on the street,  I'm just not as
sure."

"Hey, I said I take care of ya.  I won' let nuthin happen to ya.
I............I mean ya special, ya know?  Ya special ta me.  I teh ya wha,
wan summa dis to calm ya down?"  he grasp his crotch and pulled.  Did he
mean?  Oh my God, Bill?   He held the high moral ground over me.  Was he
serious?  Coming down to my level?

"You........you want me to...........you'd let me...........?"  I was as
confused as I sounded.  But his tactic had worked.

"Goan out der 'n do yo thang, den if ya's steh hungry, ole Bill gih ya dis
big ol' black dick."  God, he was serious.    I could hardly believe my
ears.

"OK"  I agreed meekly, but calmly.  I would do what he wanted.  He had me
under his spell now.

"I sho ya where.  Ya be safe.  Doan' worry."  and with that he drove out of
the parking lot turning left on Salem and then left on 8th.  Another block
then right onto a dark street that ran uphill.  "Dey be sittin in dey cahs
lookin fo action.  Sometime dey queers, sometime nor, but alltime dey be
lookin.  Ya juz hang out ova der"  he pointed to a row of rock stairs,
leading up hill from the street.  They appeared to be overgrown with some
type of vegetation which hid them from easy sight.  "Juz be der and lookin.
Ya can walk down da street if'n ya doan see no cah lights.  Da cops be comin
by, but not alot here.  Most time dey chasin da hookers west a here.  Ya be
safe here."

He stopped at the top of the hill and cut the engine and lights.  As I
looked in the rear view mirror I could make out two or three cars parked
along the street.  We were too far away for me to tell if there was anyone
sitting in them.

"Now,  'member dis"  he said as he groped his crotch again  "and take a
little sum'pin make da blues go away"  he added, handing me a cigarette.
Only it wasn't a cigarette, it was a tightly rolled joint.  I put it to my
lips as the flash of his lighter nearly blinded me.  With my eyes shutting
out the bright light, I drew in to get it lit.  I had never smoked a joint
before, had never smoked before, so it took a few false starts before I
finally got and held down a hit of it without coughing.  As I sat there
smoking it I could feel myself letting go, relaxing.

"Dat's enough fo now sweet pants"  Bill said as he took the joint from me
"keep some fo later".  He expertly pinched the lit end off the joint and put
it above the visor.  "Now gets yosef out there."  I got out of the car.  "An
doan gih nutin away fo free, unnerstan?"

"How much?"  I asked, not having the slightest idea what to ask for.

"Doan axt fo nuten.  If dem vice cops come, hell you woan know em.  Dey
sneaky bastards.  Make dem teh you how much.  Doan axt.  If dey axt, juz axt
back, ya know?  An doan evah do nuten les ya see sumpin, ya know?  Cop cain
show, dat's entrapment."  And that was my primer in street knowledge.  With
that firmly in mind, I turned to make my way down the street to the stairs I
knew were about halfway down.

Within ten steps, my confidence level dropped to zero and below.  What the
hell was I doing?  What made me think that young, naive 17 year old from the
sticks could survive in this enviroment?  Dressed like this.  In a spot like
this.  Why...........did I ever agree to this?  I felt like all the world
was watching me pick my way down this dark street.  I wanted to hide, to
somehow melt into thick vines that covered the embankment to my right.  To
be away from this.  I kept my eyes to the ground, afraid I would stumble and
fall just out of nervousness.   I wasn't at all at home with the situation
now, and my first impulse was to run back to the relative security of Bill's
car.  But I knew I couldn't.  I knew I had to do what Bill wanted, otherwise
he might pack me up and send me home.  Home?  No.  Never.  No matter what I
had to endure to stay here, to be taken care of by Bill, or Harold, I would
do.  I was away from the prying eyes and slurs of my small hometown now and
I intended to keep it that way.  It might not be so bad, I was nearing place
where the stairs dissappeared into the kudzu.  I would find refuge there.  I
would calm down.  I would take stock of the situation there.  Just a few
more steps.  There!  I made it, hurrying up the first few steps until the
kudzu blocked my path completely.  I crotched, then sat.  Whew!  Well, so
far so good.  I hadn't looked right or left as I walked down the 100 or so
feet from Bill's car to this place and I took the opportunity now to peek
out and survey the street.  There, one car.  There another, and another.  It
appeared to me that there were no more than 4 cars in total sitting on the
street, all on my side.  Counting Bill's parked in the dark at the head of
the street that made 5.  Not a crowd for sure.  Not the whole world as I had
imagined on the way down.  So, there were 4 strangers here who may or may
not have seen my nervous trip and my subsequent dash to the steps cut away
in the bank.

Time has a curious effect on attitude.  As I sat there peering up and down
the street in perceived safety, a sense of relief came over me.  Relief to
be off the street, in a position of relative safety.  Relief to have Bill at
the top of the hill to protect and look after me.  Relief that there were no
more than 4 cars on the street.  Relief.............................well,
just relief.

I would come to recognize it later as paranoia.  Some natural, and more than
that due to the pot taking effect.  It had been a scant 5 minutes since I
had smoked it and only started to really kick in as I sat on the stairs.  I
felt a light headedness, then a calm, fuzzy warmth spreading over me,
starting in my head and oozing slowly downward until my toes tingled.  And
as it spread downward I felt something else.  Something that would catch my
attention and hold it.  As I sat on the steps, I could feel the the seam of
my cut offs pressing into the crack of my ass.  I could feel the cool hard
steps pressing against my ass cheeks.  And I could feel the first stirings
of excitement  in my dick as it slowly came to life.  I brought my hand down
to it, up from the open legs of my shorts.  I ran my fingers along the
sensitive glans and felt the tell tale wetness of my own precum.  My mind
completely blocked out everything else as I played with myself.
Ah...................

The night was still.  The city noises sounded far off, even though they were
but a few blocks away.  It didn't matter.  Here, alone on the steps, on this
street, all was quite.  I stood up and peered around the corner of the steps
again, looking down the street.  There were three cars on my side of the
street.  I could make out the shape of a person sitting in the driver's seat
in the car nearest me.  His window was down and he had his hand resting on
his side mirror.  Beyond that I could see the other cars, but couldn't make
too much out in the darkness.  I stepped out from the steps until I was at
the edge of the road trying to get a better look.  Hesitantly at first, I
moved a few steps down the hill.  Nothing moved.  the world didn't end.  I
was alright.  Safe?  Maybe.  It didn't seem so bad now.  I had the feeling
that everyone of the four was here, more or less, for the same reason.

I moved down the hill now,  each step boosting my confidence,  still keeping
to the right side of the street along the embankment.  If anything happened,
I reasoned, I could make a dash for the cover of the kudzu that seemed to
have taken over the entire bank.  Two steps, three, then ten,
then.......................before I knew it I was drawing abreast of the
nearest car.  Bolder, I moved out in the street and passed by it on my
right.

For better or worse, I was taking my first steps as a street walker.

To be continued.
lesli99@hotmail.com