Date: Tue, 02 Apr 2002 10:12:52 -0700
From: Clone Buggs <cqsqfq@hotmail.com>
Subject: Across the Alley 32

	Hi guys, I'm back with more episodes of "Across the Alley."  I want to
thank every one of you who took the time to drop me an e-mail.  I
appreciated each and every one even when they were not positive.  How ever,
after toting up the total, I received over 320 e-mails, and less than one
percent were negative about the direction the story had taken.
	I guess the lesson we all learn from this is if the writer spends hours and
hours writing something and posts it on Nifty, since there is no payment for
the posting the least the reader can do is to take a moment to let the
writer know if it was appreciated.  It doesn't need to be anything more than
an acknowledgement that the story gave you pleasure or not.
	In any case, Best to all of you readers even if you didn't respond.
Stony
cqsqfq@hotmail.com


Across the Alley XXXII

	Early the next morning, we ate some breakfast at the diner we'd met Steve
and Pearly the night before, and hit the road with a full tank of gas, and
the rising sun in our eyes.  The day was glorious and the sky turned slowly
from creamy yellows to a deep periwinkle blue accented here and there, with
fluffy clouds outlined in blazing gold.
	The car was running like a top, and we cruised along at fifty miles an hour
singing popular songs at the top of our lungs.  After a hour on the road,
with the sun already high in the sky, I decided I wanted another driving
lesson.  We pulled over onto the shoulder of the two lane highway, and
traded places.  I put the car in gear, and killed the engine a couple of
times, before I was able to ease the clutch off the floor and get the car
rolling forward.  I drove along the shoulder for a ways, while Michael kept
watch on the traffic coming up behind me.
	"Okay, Davy," Michael urged.  "Throw your signal arm out and pull into
traffic now.  I stuck my left arm out the window, and pulled onto the
blacktop and started picking up speed.  At about forty miles an hour, a
truck came up behind us, and laid down on his air horn.  I nearly pissed
myself, as I hadn't noticed him barreling down on me in the rearview.  He
pulled around and went screaming past at sixty or seventy miles an hour.
The shockwave of his passing, caused the wheel to jerk in my grip, and our
car wobbled all over the road.  A big Buick came whizzing past with its horn
blaring, and I jerked the wheel and almost went off the road, throwing dust
up from the shoulder.
	"Maybe we ought to let you practice on a side road for a while," Michael's
fingers gripping the dashboard, were white knuckled.
	"I'll get the hang of it."  I repositioned my butt and tried to relax my
shoulders and arms, and settled into the process of getting the hang of
driving.  I still had a little trouble shifting gears, but at least I didn't
kill the motor again.  After several minutes, we were sailing along at fifty
smoothly, and I began to enjoy the power of the old car under my control for
the first time.
	The feeling of freedom learning to drive gave me was immense.  As we rolled
across the New Mexican landscape, I began to fantasize the future that
waited for us in New York.  In Santa Fe, we ate Mexican food for the last
time, because I knew from my experience in Kansas City that it wouldn't be
available in the East. At dawn, after driving all night, we crossed over
Raton Pass, with a struggling engine, and then coasted all the way down to
Kansas.  The high prairie was enveloped in a dense rainy fog, and we came to
a little town called Elkhart, and stopped for breakfast.  We both at a big
helping of ham and eggs and biscuits and honey, and must have drunk a gallon
of coffee each.
	Later that morning, with Michael driving, we pulled off the road outside of
Dodge City under a clearing sky, and rested under a roadside tree the State
had used to anchor a picnic table to with a heavy chain.  That hadn't
stopped the vandals from carving it up with knives and hatchets.  The ground
was littered with trash and used condoms.  We didn't care, we were so tired
from driving all night, that we slept upright in the front seats remembering
the previous time when we had fallen asleep in the back seat and were
discovered by the cops.
	As we slept, the sun traversed across the sky and set brilliantly in the
West.  The air cooled, and sometime later, the hoot of an owl in the tree,
woke us asking who we were.  We laughed about it at the time, but hunger,
drove us on, and after eating in Dodge city, we continued on into the night.
  It was nearing dawn again when we rolled into Kansas City.  The streets
were deserted, except for the occasional milk truck or paperboy making
deliveries.  I didn't want to spend any time there, so we made our way out
of town and headed for St. Louis, Missouri.  The flat tree covered farmlands
of Missouri rolled past the window and the only reason we ever had to stop
was to get food or gas.
	 St. Louis was overpowered by the impact of the mighty Mississippi's broad
muddy roil made us stop and find a place to watch the thick chocolate water
roll by.  The city on the Western shore, seemed dirty and gray by
comparison.  There was something of Mark Twain that appealed to us, and we
watched it for a long time, our tired eyes catching every little piece of
flotsam that rolled downstream in the liquid mud.
	We slipped across Illinois in the dark and had no impression of that State.
  I wasn't until we reached Indianapolis, that we decided to stop in a motel
for the night.  By then we were running on empty and needed a good night's
sleep in a real bed.  We got some burgers at a diner, and checked into a
sleazy little motel and crashed about eight o'clock that night.  It wasn't
until an hour or so later, that the rocking springs on the bed in the next
room woke us.  Somebody was getting fucked, and now that we were awake, we
could hear the moans and gasped demands of a woman begging the man to let
her have it with his big cock.  We laid there listening, and began to admire
the stamina of the stud doing the job next door.  He must have gone at it
for nearly an hour before his guttural moan signaled he was filling her cunt
with his jizz.
	"Suck it clean baby," his pleading voice trying to get the woman to suck
him off caused us both to laugh.
	"I ain't suckin' that dirty thing Mister."  The woman sounded tired, but
determined not to help him out.
	"Please baby.  I want to feel your mouth on my dick.  See baby it likes
you."
	"Get that thing away from my face."
	"Bitch!"  The woman screamed and something thumped on the floor.
	"You son-of-a bitch!"  The woman's screech tore the night like a wild
monkey.  "Give me my money asshole!"
	Michael and I were laughing outloud by then when we realized it was a
hooker and her trick.  Somewhere else, probably from the room on the other
side, we could hear somebody pounding on the wall, a faint voice yelling for
the stud to pay the bitch so he could get some sleep.
	"You come over here and tell me that cock sucker!"  The stud was getting
heated.
	"Suck my ass," faintly.
	"What the fuck you say?"  Something loud banged against the wall in the
other room.  Possibly a fist crashing through the thin plasterboard
construction.
	"Holy shit," faintly.  "Take it easy buddy.  I'm just tryin' to get some
sleep."
	"Pay me my money asshole!" the whore chimed in again.  Then screamed and
the door banged open and we could hear her high heels clickty clacking away
from the motel.  Her wails echoed through the night, and she kept
threatening to get her big black pimp on the stud's ass for not paying.
After a while, things quieted down except we could clearly hear the stud in
the next room breathing heavily.
	"Come back here and blow me bitch!" he yelled suddenly, and then all was
quiet again.
	When we finally awoke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly, and
after showering together, we made love for an hour before showering again,
and then hitting the road starving for a decent breakfast.  By noon, it was
raining steadily, and we drove on taking turns at the wheel on for two hours
and off for two hours.  Our excitement was growing and we determined we
would drive straight through to New York by taking turns and spelling each
other so we wouldn't get so tired.
	It was near midnight the next day, when we went through a tunnel, and came
out in a big city.  We were bleary from driving and weren't sure where we
were.  Where ever it was, it was busy even at midnight.  At a stop light, I
rolled down my window and asked a truck driver where we were.  He laughed at
me, and then pointed to a tall building on the corner we were sitting, and
told me to look up at it.  When I did, he told me it was the Empire State
Building.  A thrill washed over me, and I told Michael we were in New York.
I made him stop, and we got out and looked up at the impossibly tall
building in front of us.  We bought hot dogs from a little stand on one
corner, and craned our necks trying to see the top of the buildings, lost in
the slightly pink clouds above us.
	We were too excited to sleep, so we parked the car on 33rd street, and got
our money out of the trunk, and went exploring.  There was one shock after
another for us as we saw people going down into the ground.  When we
explored we found there were trains underground.  A cop told us it was the
subway.  It seemed like he was talking a different language, and it took us
a while to grasp that he was speaking English with some sort of funny
accent.
	A little further West, we came to a big building with a street on either
side of it.  The buildings on either side of the streets, were covered with
big billboards.  One of the huge billboards was a giant Cowboy puffing on a
cigarette and blowing real smoke into the night air.  Up at the end of the
big city canyon, a big sign made out of flashing lights, was advertising
Coke, and under it a brightly lighted billboard advertising fold out sofa
beds.  Big movie theaters were lined up along either side of the canyon, and
people were walking everywhere just like it was daylight.
	One of the theaters was showing porno films, and we decided to go in to see
what they were like.  Neither of us had ever seen one before.  The ticket
seller, was also the ticket taker, and after he took our money, he tore the
tickets in half and pushed them through the little half moon window to us
before he ever looked up.
	"Hey," he shouted.  "No kids in there!"  We grabbed our ticket stubs and
ran into the theater.  The lobby was dark except for some lights in a series
of posters advertising coming attractions.  All of the movies being
advertised, were for straight sex, but since neither of us had ever
experienced straight sex, we decided it would be educational at least, so we
pushed through some heavy curtains into the theater itself.  We thought we
should hide in the darkness in case the ticket seller came looking for us or
there was another person working that would catch us and throw us out.
	On the screen, a thirty foot cock was pumping in and out of a thirty foot
twat, and the twat was oozing clear liquid that was running between her ass
cheeks in a four foot wide river of slime.  It was disgusting to watch, but
at the same time it was captivating.  We slipped into a dark spot in the
back row right under the projection booth, and slumped down in the seat to
watch.
	The cunt on the screen was grunting like a pig as the huge cock stroked in
and out faster and faster.  Suddenly, the cock pulls out of the slimy cunt,
and the scene switches to a medium shot and the guy begins jerking himself
off over the woman's belly.  After a moment, he squirts his load on her, and
she moans like she's getting something out of it.  He came quite a bit, but
after he finished, he stands up next to the bed, and the scene changes to a
woman and two men, all naked, and she's on her knees, sucking both guys in
turn.  Her technique wasn't much to write home about, but at least she had
the guys hard.
	After this suck job had gone on for a little while, she pushes one of the
men down on his back on the bed, and climbs up over him and sticks his cock
in her cunt and sits on it.  The guy starts pumping her up and down while
the second guy gets up on the bed and she starts sucking him again.  After a
bit of this, she lifts herself off the cock she's riding, and stuffs it into
her asshole.  She slides down on it all the way, and then leans back on the
guy's chest, and he starts pinching and kneading her big tits.  The guy who
was getting blown, gets down and feeds his dick into her sloppy cunt.  The
camera moves in between their legs and does a close-up of the two dicks
fucking in and out of her two holes at the same time.
	A man pushed through the heavy curtains, and stood looking around the
darkened theater.  By then, our eyes had totally adjusted to the light in
the theater, and we could see the heads of several men sitting here and
there isolated in the theater.  The guy in the isle, turned and looked in
our direction, and then bent slightly and squinted at us in the dark.  A
smile spread over his lips, and he stepped into the row of seats where we
were sitting.  He moved down to within a seat of us, and sat down.
	For a while, we thought he might be going to throw us out, but he seemed to
be watching the film, so we relaxed and went back to watching ourselves.
The guy fucking her cunt pulled out, and jacked himself off onto her belly,
then when he was finished, the guy fucking her ass pulled his dick out, and
the first guy, grabbed the big swollen dick and started jacking it for his
buddy.  He soon had it squirting a massive load of jizz high in the air on
screen.
	"That's fuckin' hot. Isn't it?"  The guy sitting next to us muttered,
looking at us.
	"Yeah," Michael said.  "It is."
	"You guys ever do anything like that?" The guy slipped into the seat next
to Michael.
	"Nah,"  Michael said, and looked at him briefly before turning back to the
screen.  On screen the scene had changed again, and there were two guys
fully dressed sitting on a couch drinking beer and talking.  The sound
wasn't very clear, but it sounded like they were talking about going out and
finding some pussy.
	One finally said he had a phone number a buddy had given him and maybe they
should call it to see what happened.  They finally agreed, and the guy dug
his billfold out and took out a slip of paper and picked up the phone on the
end table next to the couch.
When a woman's voice answered his call, the screen split in half and we
could see the woman sitting there on a couch with another woman.
	After some small talk, the woman asked the guy where he'd gotten her
number.  He told her his buddy Jim had given it to him and told him if he
ever needed a fuck, to call her.  She didn't hang up, so we knew they were
going to get together.  The scene didn't take long to get them together.
The guys were standing in a hall suddenly, knocking on a door.  The both
were playing with their hardons in their pants, and the screen split again,
and inside the apartment, the two women were naked already, and the one who
had been talking on the phone, was eating the other woman's twat out.  When
they heard the knock on the door, they stopped, and went to answer the door
together.
	The guy next to us, put his hand on his knee, and whispered that they were
going to get really hot in a minute because he'd seen it before.  His hand
moved from his knee to Michael's thigh.  He looked down at Michael, and
smiled when Michael didn't push his hand off.  Michael leaned over and
whispered something to him, and the guy took his hand off his thigh and put
it into his own lap again.  For a while, he watched the action get started
on the screen.
	The two women were stripping off the guy's pants and sucking their cocks
for them.  Michael leaned over to David, and told him he'd told the guy we
would go with him for a hundred bucks.  David nodded.  The guy was still
thinking it over.
	He leaned over, and asked Michael if we could go to the toilet downstairs
for thirty dollars, because it was all he had on him.  We whispered about it
for a minute and then agreed.  He stood up and we followed a few paces
behind him.  He pushed back through the heavy curtain, and led us to a
stairwell that was nearly pitch black.  He started down like he'd done it on
a regular basis.  Michael and I had to feel our way down so we didn't trip.
At the bottom, there was a little more light coming from some small blue
bulbs that were spaced a yard apart up near the ceiling.  The guy opened a
door and went in.  When we got to the door, it was labled `Women'.  We
hesitated for a moment, and the guy opened the door again and told us it was
all right, because there were no women in the theater, and that we'd have
more privacy in the women's toilet than we would in the men's room.
	We followed him in, and inside, there was still more light coming from
regular light bulbs over head in metal baskets.  The guy was about thirty
years old, and dressed in a long black overcoat.  He went into a stall, and
took off his overcoat.  He hung it over the top of the partition separating
the stall from the next one.  Davy nudged Michael, and pointed to the hole
between the stalls, at dick height, and they both chuckled.  The guy dropped
his pants, and he wasn't wearing underwear.  His dick was hard and about
seven inches long and thick.  He unbuttoned his shirt, and his chest was
covered with a mat of dark hair.
	"Pay us first," Michael said, and the guy took out his billfold, and took
out a twenty and two fives.  He still had a dollar in the fold, and said he
had to keep that to get home on the subway.  He put his wallet away, and sat
back on the seat of the stool, and pushed his big dick forward.
	"Get on your knees, and both of you suck my dick."  We did as we were told,
and took turns going from top to bottom and back again to the top.  We also
took turns slipping his cock head into our mouths and sliding his shaft down
our throats.  He was soon moaning under our attention, and leaned back
pinching his hairy tits as hard as he could.
	"One of you suck my cock, and the other one come up here and bite my tits.
Michael continued to suck him, and Davy got up on his legs and bent over and
began biting the guy's nipples.
	"Harder boy.  I like it hard.  Make `em hurt.  Leave teeth marks for me to
remember you by."  He was breathing hard and gasping now and then as the
sensations we were causing in his body shook him to the core.  He began
grappling with Davy's pants, and soon had them down around his ankles.  Davy
was hard as a rock, and the guy bent over to the side and swallowed Davy's
cock to the hair line, and started sucking him madly.
	Michael stood up and dropped his pants, and the guy grabbed his raging
cock, and started going from Davy to Michael, sucking like a madman.  After
a few minutes of this, he moaned he wanted to fuck us.  Michael told him he
couldn't unless he paid the freight charge.
	He moaned again, and said he had to fuck us, but didn't have any more money
on him.  It seemed a stand off, so Michael asked him if he wanted to be
sucked to climax, and the guy nodded sadly.  Davy felt sorry for him, and
after Michael had sucked him for a while, and had his big cock glistening
with spit, Davy pushed Michael off the guy's dick and then straddled him and
sat back and down on his thick dick.
	The guy groaned his pleasure, and began to fuck Davy hard.  Michael stood
again, and started jerking his cock.  He stood slightly to the side, and
stroked his tool aiming it at the guy's face, which was twisted in pleasure
as he plowed Davy's asshole.  Davy started jacking his stiff cock, and it
wasn't long before he started spraying his spunk all over the door of the
stall.  Michael let fly and painted the guy's face with several ropes of cum
that dripped and slid down his nose and lips while the guy tried to lick it
off with his tongue extended as far as he could.
	He shoved his cock deep up into Davy's ass, and grunted his load into his
tight steamy tunnel.  We all relaxed with the cum, and gradually felt our
hardness softening.  The guy's dick slipped out of Davy's asshole, and they
all pulled on their clothes again.
	The guy asked where they lived, and Michael explained they were new to New
York, and hadn't found a place to stay yet.  They talked about it for a
while, and the guy invited them to stay in his loft for a week or so until
they could find something.  He promised to pay them for any sex, and they
could pay him for any food they ate, but the place to sleep would be free.
The guy was a painter, and was sort of well known in the art world.  When he
found out Davy was interested in writing, he traded his old portable
typewriter for another fuck one morning while Michael was out looking for an
apartment.
	It took them a week to track down a vacant apartment they thought they
could afford, and they shook hands with Robert, the artist, and moved into
their new place on Houston Street, across the street from Katz's Deli, with
the dried sausages hanging in the window with the sign that told passers by
to `Send a Salami to their boy in the Army.'
	The second morning they were in their own place, their car got towed away,
because they had overslept.  Michael decided they didn't need it any more,
and it was more trouble than it was worth.  The let it go, and set about
figuring out how they were going to earn a living in this huge city.  They
went to see Robert, and asked his opinion.  He suggested they start hanging
out on corners in certain areas of the Village.  He walked with them to show
them where, and it wasn't long before they each had a customer.
	Life on the Lower East Side was fun and exotic.  The delis and markets on
Essex Street made living cheap and easy.  Their rent was a hundred bucks a
month and the apartment was situated so they could each bring tricks back to
the pad if they needed to, and still have privacy if it was needed.
	Days, while Michael slept, Davy sat at the formica table in the kitchen,
and wrote stories.  He always asked Michael to read them, and Michael was
always honest about what he thought.  Mostly they all went into the trash
and were sent down the dumbwaiter to the basement every afternoon to be
dumped into the larger trash collection by the by the building's Super, an
old Puerto Rican man who spoke almost no English.
	Over the months they slowly furnished the apartment, and Robert gave them a
small painting for their living room wall as a gift.  One day, Michael read
the latest story Davy had written, over his first cup of coffee.  He read it
through and then looked into Davy's expectant face.
	"This is good Davy.  Let's ask Robert to read it and see what he thinks.
Later that night, Davy pulled the folded story out and pushed it across the
table in Robert's loft.  Over wine, he read it while the boys waited quietly
sipping their wine, trying to acquire the taste for it.
	Robert thought it was a hot story and suggested Davy try to publish it.
Davy had no idea how to go about getting it published, so Robert gathered
together several gay magazines, and told Davy to write to them and submit
the story for publication.  He told Davy how to format the type double
spaced on the page, and to put his name and address at the top so if they
liked it, they would know who had written it.  He also told him to include a
self addressed envelope and a stamp in case they didn't like it so they
would return the story to him.
	Davy followed the instructions and mailed off the story the next day.  He
waited anxiously for weeks, often waiting in the foyer of the apartment
house for the mailman to deliver his mail.  The day the letter arrived, Davy
had just turned eighteen the day before.  Inside the envelope, which he was
almost afraid to open, he found a letter form the editor of the magazine
that said the story would appear in the next issue, and that the magazine
had assigned him a nom de plume.  Michael didn't know what that meant, and
Robert finally was able to enlighten him.  He was going to be published
under an assumed name.
	When the magazine hit the newsstands, Michael had to buy the copy, because
Davy was too young to buy it for himself.  They searched the contents, and
Davy learned his nom de plume was Stony Austin.  But he was a published
author.  His head and heart swelled with pride at what he'd accomplished,
and he immediately mailed off another story to the same magazine editor. The
mail the next day was a large manila envelope addressed to Davy from the
magazine.  Inside, was a copy of the issue with his story, and a long
business sized envelope with a letter from the editor and a check for three
hundred dollars.
	He used the check to open a bank account, and decided he would put all of
his money earned from his writing there and never touch it until he was
ready to quit hustling his body for money.  That night, they celebrated with
a big meal in Little Italy, and a night of making love to each other.
	It was another six months before another magazine published another of
Davy's stories, but then almost immediately, the first magazine published
another one.  After that, he published at least one story a month, and often
had several in print at the same time.  He felt good about his writing, but
he noticed Michael was feeling less happy as time went on.
	One day he came in from shopping for food, and Michael, who had been
sleeping late from his night of hustling, was sitting at the kitchen table.
His arm was bound with a tie, and he'd just injected himself with something.
	"Michael What are you doing?"  Davy dropped the bag of groceries on the
counter and rushed to Michael.  His eyes were already rolling back in his
head, and his drooping head began to nod slightly on his limp neck.
	"Michael, Michael.  How long has this been going on?"  Michael was
oblivious to Davy, and floated away into his own world.  Davy sat beside him
hugging him closely, tears streaking his cheeks.

End