Date: Wed, 8 Nov 2006 19:30:06 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: STREETS OF NEW YORK - 2

STREETS OF NEW YORK - 2

Copyright 2006 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Streets of New York" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to
the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

This story is indebted for both its inspiration and many of its ideas to
several books, especially Tyler Anbinder's FIVE POINTS, Jacob Riis's HOW
THE OTHER HALF LIVES, and Luc Sante's LOW LIFE.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 2

(Revisiting Chapter 1)

Back on Mulberry Street, the young men entered Tom's new domicile, Tom
snorting, "Home again...home again!"  Dross just snorted...  Noticing that
Slats had piled his earlier purchases on the table - and also put a set of
sheets, cases, and pillows on the bed - Tom grunted that he had all of the
comforts of home, save one.  "Wot's dat, boss?" Dross joked.  "Well, I'm
pretty much used to taking a bath every day, and it's not all because of
sports," Tom said.  "As you can see, Thomas, these palatial premises are
not exactly set up to make that easy," Dross retorted.  "There are a couple
of private baths in the neighborhood, but, frankly, they can be pretty
rough places and I don't particularly recommend them.  (Author's Note:
Public baths didn't come until after 1895 when needed legislation was
passed in Albany.)  Let me speak with Slats in the morning.  Maybe we can
come up with something.  Ok?"  "Ok, friend," Tom responded wearily.  "See
you then."  "Yeah, buddy, see you then," Dross murmured, turned, and
reluctantly headed down the stairs.

Not even having used the sheets, Tom sat naked on the edge of the bed,
looking intently at the dirty, pockmarked wall.  He rose slowly, scratched,
and turned off the lamp.  Collapsing onto the lumpy surface, he wondered
what in hell he had gotten himself into this time.

(Continuing Our Story - Symphony from a New World)

Coming to in the terrible racket that surrounded him, Tom Arnold must have
jumped three feet off the bed.  Groggily, he sat up, wondering where in
hell his bed sheets were...and why he was naked and sweating gumdrops...and
why there was a terrible pounding that made his head feel as if he were
inside a drum.  As his vision slowly cleared, he was able to make out a
lanky teen running around the room and pounding on everything - stove, ice
box, cabinets, floor, bed...and everything - with a long- handled metal
spoon.  "AARGGH!" he yelled, clearing his throat.  "STOP!"  "Oh, damn, it's
you, Dross," he groaned.  "What are you doing here in the middle of the
night?"

"In the middle of the night?" the object of his wrath burbled brightly.
"Oh, sweet prince, who has come down from on high to visit his subjects in
this, the deepest ring, I have news for you!  It's the middle of the
morning!  I've already conferred with your liege lord, Slats Monahan,
Knight of the Bath.  Your carriage waits without to take you to
breakfast...if you can get your lazy naked ass up off that cruddy mattress
and get yourself together!"

Still half asleep and grumbling, Tom slowly swung his legs off the side of
the bed, rose, stretched, and scratched as he yawned loudly.  Suddenly, he
became fully aware that his new chum was sitting on the table, watching his
every move with obvious appreciation.  "Sorry, Dross," he grunted, "I just
couldn't get it together last night.  Just threw the clothes off and
dropped...  I'm not exactly a 'morning person', but I'm usually not such a
slob either."  Noting that the white-haired one had nonchalantly saluted
him, he grabbed his discarded T-shirt and began rubbing some of the sweat
off his body.  Reaching into one of his armpits, he stopped, sniffed the
damp cloth, and let out a loud "Woof!  Gotta do something about that
doggie...soon!"

"Fear not, Sir Knight," his intrepid (and somewhat amused) companion
chortled.  "Lord Slats is even now conjuring up a solution to your bathing
problem, which he has promised to share with us on our return...if we ever
leave, that is!"  Dross provided some help by bringing a kettleful of water
in from the hall spigot.  Getting the message, Tom quickly completed his
morning toilet, insofar as possible, and presented himself to his buddy as
"Sir, ready for breakfast, sir!"

(Kartoffelpfannkuchen)

As the boys hurried down the outside steps of the tenement, Dross laughed
and said that this morning's breakfast would be "very interesting".  It
seems that his parents had given him firm orders to bring Tom to their
apartment for a late breakfast.  An older brother and sister would meet
him, but at another time.  (They were already working.  Dross's father was
home because he was recovering from an injury on the job.  Although he had
worked for this fine metalworking company for twenty-five years, he had
simply been let go.)  It wasn't far.  As soon as they walked northeast a
few blocks, they would be in the German district.  (The Mulberry Street
area was increasingly Italian, though the Irish still lived in the area and
owned much of the property.  Tony's apartment, for example, was only about
two blocks from Slats'.)

"The German district?" Tom asked in some confusion.  "Oh, sure," Dross
replied, "there are a lot of us over here who want to become Americans.  In
fact, nearly a quarter of the immigrants in the City are from Germany.
Maybe twenty percent are Irish.  The Russians, mainly Jewish, and the
Italians follow with a bit more than ten percent each.  Actually," he added
snickering, "that means that there are more Germans in the City than in any
German city with the exception of Berlin!"

"Wow!" Tom breathed.  "We don't hear much about that up at school or even
in North Jersey.  Do your family speak German at home?"  "You can guess,"
Dross replied.  "I speak the least, followed by my brother and sister who
have already left home.  My parents speak quite a bit, but everyone can
handle English and we try to use it at home.  I'd say my sister and I are
fluent in it.  I'm still completely comfortable in German, reading and
speaking, that is.  My writing is a little shaky, though we're lucky in
German.  If you can say it, you can spell it - which is sure a big
improvement over English!"  "Believe that!" Tom chortled.

They continued on their way, Tom completely amazed as he had been the day
before by the number of children who were uncurling themselves from sleep
in all sorts of locations and either heading off to work or drifting
aimlessly in the neighborhood. "Hey, we're already here!" Dross laughed and
bounded up the stairs.  Even stranger than the children, Tom was surprised
when five or six young men (and, in one case, young women) came out of
apartments that they passed on their way upstairs.  He would not forget to
ask Dross about this later.

Tom found Otto and Lena Wagner, Dross' parents, to be a delightful couple,
in their early forties, well read (even though Dross' father was a skilled
metalworker), lovers of good music, committed to education, and aware of
what was going on in their world, both in the City and beyond.  Though
everybody wanted to talk, Frau Wagner laid down the law as soon as
introductions had been completed.  Come to the table!  Eat before the food
gets cold!  Dross' father sidled up to them and, despite a dirty look given
him by his good wife, whispered that they would surely accept a taste of a
"real German beer" that he kept for "special occasions."  (In fact, he
divided one bottle between Dross and him, taking one bottle for himself.)
Though he had never had them before, Tom found the Kartoffelpfannkuchen
[Kar-TOF-ful-FAHN-kooch-un; potato pancakes] to be delicious.  He never did
decide whether he preferred to slather them with a rather tart red
berry-like jam, or sour cream, or butter, or simply with powdered sugar,
but there are worse problems in this world, yes?  He did manage to take one
of the nine-inch pancakes off the serving plate on three occasions when it
came around the table!  Together with a strange looking, but mild and
absolutely delicious sausage, they made a wonderful meal.  The coffee, by
the way, was superb.  Nevertheless, he had to admit that a sip of the
German beer was definitely the proper accompaniment.  On one occasion, he
took a sip, grinned quietly to himself, and looked up - only to see Herr
Wagner looking at him and grinning in agreement!

Tom definitely did not want to become a farmer and was quite willing to
share with the Wagners his feelings about education.  For him, it was a
pathway to making a life contribution more in line with his interests in
people.  The lad was quite interested in the comments of both Herr Wagner
and his son.  Otto Wagner said simply that he had always wanted to create
artistic objects in metal and that he was entirely happy with his life
choice.  If he could only get over the damage done to his hand when molten
metal splashed on him, he would gladly continue his work.  If not, he would
search for alternatives.  He was happy that his elder son was now serving
his apprenticeship in the same firm in which he had worked.  Nevertheless,
he had no problem with the fact that Dross was disinterested in fine
metalwork.  All he wanted was for his younger son to complete secondary
school in order to have the credentials needed to pursue that work in which
he did develop an interest.  He would feel that he had let everyone down if
Dross were forced to simply take a job as a common laborer - if that were
the last thing he really wanted.  Both he and Frau Wagner were happy the
two young men at the table were developing a friendship that might allow
Dross to see additional alternatives for his life.

There were tears in Dross' eyes when he said simply, "Thank you, Vati
[Daddy].  I didn't understand at 13 or 14, but I do now, and I am grateful.
Perhaps in some small way, I may still merit your approval and your love."
Tom knew something was going on, but this was neither the time nor the
place to sort it out.

Before leaving, Tom was given a tour of that very pleasant apartment.  The
decent sized, well lighted front room provided a comfortable living room
and could sleep several people when necessary; the middle room was a fairly
large kitchen; the back room was dark, but there had been enough room to
wall off a small area for Dross' bedroom with a built-in bunk, clothes
space, and its own door into the kitchen.  The remainder was, of course,
the parents' bedroom.

It was a pleasant first visit.  The Wagners were good people, honest
people.  They had made it clear that Tom was welcome in their home.  That
small point of security meant a great deal in this time of constant change,
and he made a point of his gratitude to both Dross and his parents.

As they left the building, Tom asked why there had been a large number of
single adults leaving several apartments when they had arrived.  "Lodgers,"
Dross grunted.  Rents are brutal down here, and the immigrants have nowhere
else to go.  The poorer families - and that's most of them - have to tell
their kids to sleep somewhere else.  Their space and food are taken by
lodgers and/or boarders whose few coins make paying the rent possible.
Naturally, that keeps the rents high," he added with some bitterness in his
voice.  "And the children?" Tom asked.  "Some families try to keep in close
touch with them...but it's hard.  I'd say that most are lost to the
streets.  Dear God...five and six years old...  I hope you won't hate all
of us down here when I tell you that bodies of infants, children, and even
some teens and adults are found every day...in the river, wherever they
went to sleep...or were dumped.  Wherever..."

"I'm not a hater, Dross," Tom answered, "but I would like to see more of
the problems these children face."  "Then you may like the afternoon," Tom
replied.  "I've got to spend a few hours over at the school.  Last time
this year...  Record-keeping, winding up my responsibilities...  Tony
Prieto said that he'd be happy to introduce you to some kids he knows if,
that is, you aren't put off by the fact that they are a gang.  We could
meet for a little food at the end of the afternoon."  "Don't know how to
thank you, Dross!" Tom said.  "No kidding; I'm really grateful."

(The Underground)

Less than fifteen minutes later, Tom had joined Tony and they were headed
over towards the river.  As they approached a tenement that was well on its
way to collapsing, Tony stopped and looked at the footballer.  "So you want
to meet some of these kids, amico?  I hope you have a strong stomach...and
a big heart."  As they worked their way into the building, Tony said Tom to
stay close and watch where he put his feet.

Slowly working their way downwards amidst unstable stone and broken
timbers, they eventually worked their way into what seemed to be a large,
open area.  Tony finally shouted a greeting into the darkness.  As small
lights turned up all around them, Tony quietly noted that the small cavern
had resulted from an attempt to build a subway, some dozen years ago.
"Obviously," he snickered, "they didn't get it all filled in when they
stopped work."  Tom realized other reasons why he was snickering when he
saw the tiers of illuminated faces that peered down at them.  Over time,
the youngsters had tunneled into the surrounding walls and hollowed out
small places to build...nests.  In response to Tom's pointing at several
tall heaps of...junk (?), Tony said that they haunted ash heaps and garbage
dumps and other places where discarded items could be found.  What they
could salvage, they sold; what wasn't repairable they collected and resold
to industrial concerns.  Newspapers and other flotsam and jetsam of
"civilized" society were also collected and treated similarly.  "Actually,"
Tony added, "they earn and beg enough to allow them eat considerably better
than the broken families from which they come."

Suddenly, they realized that the youngsters were crowding around them and,
in some cases, reaching out to touch them.  All were unbelievably filthy
and smelled to high heaven.  True, the older boys and the early teens kept
their distance, but the younger boys appeared to want physical contact and
smiled shyly as they swirled around their guests.  After Tony had spoken at
some length with a sturdy thirteen or fourteen year- old, Tom was invited
to sit down with them around a small fire and have a cup of coffee.  The
conversation wasn't the easiest, for two of the little ones had obviously
decided that Tom's heavy chest and shoulders provided an excellent place to
play.  They made scarcely a sound, though every now and again they abruptly
stopped climbing and (from a distance of six or seven inches) looked deeply
into the collegian's eyes.  Sometimes they grinned; sometimes they reached
out and tentatively touched a nose or hair; most of the time, they simply
resumed their almost silent play.  Tom found it more than a little eerie.

Marky, the thirteen or fourteen year-old, finally looked at Tom and said,
somewhat defiantly, that Tony had asked him to share his biggest problems.
There were evidently two: 1) They had to pay gangs for permission to
"collect stuff" in their territories and, if they ever made a little money,
the cops inevitably appeared, their hands out for part of it.  2) With some
embarrassment, Marky admitted that he (and the other "leaders") really
liked the "little guys."  Sometimes they felt pretty bad that their life, a
goodly part of which was spent underground, tended to make
everybody...quiet and, maybe, a little sad.  Tony had evidently told him
that he was a "big football star."  If he ever wanted to come around and
"do something for the little guys," he was welcome.  Realizing that he had
been given a great honor - the honor of trust - Tom gravely held out his
hand, thanked him, and said that he intended to accept the invitation.  As
the two young men departed, they were conscious of a low, but warm buzzing
all around them.

"Gangs and cops," Tony mumbled on their way back to Mulberry Street.  "Not
our finest hour..."  He was considerably more positive, however, when they
met up with Dross and Slats.  As a matter of fact, he dragged everyone to a
street vendor who was selling something called "pizza pie."  Tom was
convinced that the "slice" that he had for supper had to be the most
delicious food that he had ever consumed!

(The Slipper Bath Tub)

Even before Tony had to leave, it was obvious that Slats was bursting his
buttons over some tidbit of news.  In fact, little bits of the story were
coming out like hornets from a disturbed nest!  It seems that he and his
father had located a galvanized bath tub that Tom could keep in his flat.
Further, this was not the simple small round tub in which generations of
Americans had scrubbed themselves clean on Saturday night.  Rather, it was
a very fancy tub in the shape of a slipper, i.e., taller in back than in
front.  Naturally, it was not enormous, for one had to heat the water for a
bath on one's own stove!  Therein lay an important part of the story.  The
Monahans knew that two of the apartment dwellers on Tom's floor had
children.  As single parents, money was always a problem.  For a few coins,
they would heat water anytime that Tom wished to bathe.  Combined with the
water that he could heat, there would be enough to do considerably more
than coat the bottom of the tub!  With loud shouts the three young men
virtually ran up four flights of stairs, burst into Tom's apartment, and
danced around excitedly for a few minutes until Slats had to rejoin his
family for dinner.

Tom stood in the middle of the room, delightedly eyeing the tub.  "Man,
Dross, you don't know how good that looks to me!  I have never felt so
cruddy in my life!"  Dross simply grinned, exclaiming that Slats and he had
thought he would be pleased if everything worked out right.  "Tell you
what," he laughed, "the first bath is on me!  You get some water heating on
this stove, and I'll ask your two neighbors to begin their part of the
job."  "You're on!" Tom yelled.

Within less than an hour, the five large pots of steaming water were being
poured into the tub.  Dross had brought in a seventh pot full of cold water
to adjust the temperature.  As the white-haired one brought in the last two
pots, Tom was already shedding his clothes.  (For all the attention paid
him, Dross could have been his younger brother or a teammate.)  Kneeling
down beside the tub, the big collegian gingerly stuck a hand in to check
the temperature.  "Yow!" he howled.  "Let's have a little of that cold
water, Dross!"  A minute more saw him slowly lowering himself into the
still steaming water.  "Oh-h-h-h G-o-d-d-d, that feels good..." he sighed
as his whole muscular body relaxed.

After a moment, Dross chuckled, dumped some hot water onto his head, and
began lathering up his hair.  "As I said, kind sir, this one's on me," he
chortled.  Tom tried to say something, but Dross just worked a little soap
into his mouth...which put a stopper on that!  After his hair had been
rinsed with more of the reserved hot water, Tom sighed deeply and just
seemed to completely let himself go.  "Lean forward!" Dross commanded.  "A
little further...the back of this damned tub's in the way!  That's it."
Slowly, Dross's soapy fingers worked their way into the collegian's back
muscles...from the top of his spine down to where the crack began.  His
flaring lats got a special work out.  "Lie back, To-mas.  Thatta boy!"
With that, Dross took a cloth soaked in some hot water still on the stove
and spread the cloth over Tom's face.  (The solid footballer just groaned
and lay his head back as far as it would go.)  Methodically, Dross's
fingers dug into Tom's shoulder and arm muscles and into his strong pecs,
traced his abs and tarried over his navel.  Heavily lathering his hands, he
then spread a big hand over Tom's lower stomach and gently massaged the
nearly flat, albeit muscled plain with a circular motion, eventually
changing hands...and directions.

"Ok, Tom, there's not much room for this, but I want you to scrooch down in
the water and lift your legs straight up into the air.  For the powerful
athlete, this was obviously nothing more than another exercise.  As he lay
just above the water line, essentially on his shoulders and back, he thrust
his legs into the air, allowing his feet, calves, and thighs to be lathered
and massaged.  In order to reduce the pressure on his friend's back, he
then had Tom sit up just a bit in the tub, while keeping his knees bent.
Sensually, he lathered the insides of his heavy thighs until he reached the
bottom of his long scrotum.  When a whispered question was answered by a
slight positive nod of Tom's still cloth-covered head - Dross continued to
lather the large eggs, the long sack, and the great tube of flesh.  The
young German-American made no special effort to masturbate him, though by
the time he was through and Tom stood in the tub to be rinsed with the last
of the reserved hot water, his proud shaft was fully erect and pulsing as
it reddened.

Gently, Dross helped the wobbly athlete to clamber out of the tub and then
stood beside him drying him off.  At first, Tom wearily reached for the
towel, but when Dross put his arm around his shoulders, reminding him that
"this one is on me," he seemed to welcome his friend's ministrations.  When
dried, Dross led him over to the bed and helped him to climb in between the
sheets.

Suddenly, a hand snapped out from beneath the covers and latched onto
Dross's wrist.  "Dross, please don't go," Tom choked out.  "I don't want to
go, Tom; I damned well don't want to go," Dross said shakily as he sat down
on the edge of the bed.  Breathing heavily, Tom fought to control his voice
as he said, "Dross, I've never done anything like this, and I don't know
beans about any of it.  I just know that I want you to stay... and, if you
want, show me how you feel...and let me show you how I feel.  Please..."

Without saying another word, Dross quickly stripped and slipped into the
bed beside his friend.  Turning towards Tom, he grinned, let out a happy
"Yeah!", and put his hand around the back of the athlete's heavy neck.  His
voice very unsure, Tom asked haltingly if Dross would give him a little
back rub.  "Sure thing, buddy.  Over on your stomach!" Dross chortled, a
smile in his voice.  Starting at the back of Tom's neck and exerting only
the lightest of pressure, he then allowed the tips of his fingers to play
over every square inch of his buddy's back.  Oh, how wrong those were who
called the English "Narrow Backs"!  Scarcely a minute had passed before the
athlete gave a low moan and whispered, "Oh, man, that feels so great!"
Saying not a word, the white- haired one simply continued...down into the
small of his back and up onto his muscular buttocks.  Swallowing
convulsively, Tom breathed, "Oh God, Dross, that's unbelievable."  Exerting
a little more pressure, Dross began using his fingers lightly to massage
the athlete's cheeks, pressing gently into the tops...and the sides...and
then down the slope and onto his uppermost thighs.  Groaning, Tom
instinctively spread his legs just a little wider, allowing his friend to
gently rub the back of his scrotum and softly manipulate his powerful
balls.  Dross snickered, thinking that the heat waves coming off Tom's
genitals would have warmed the entire tenement in January!

"Turn over, Tom...quickly now...onto your back!" Dross suddenly commanded.
He wouldn't give his friend time to think about it...or, possibly, get
embarrassed.  In the dim light of the room, Dross could see a magnificent
pillar of shining flesh rising directly towards the ceiling.  Without
pause, he took the warm column into his mouth, tonguing and sucking as he
dropped towards Tom's body.  He never stopped until the young athlete's
cock was deep in his throat, a throat whose muscles welcomed and caressed
it.  As Dross cupped his balls, the young man lasted less than two minutes!

As two beautiful young men lay giggling and kissing in each other's arms,
Tom shivered with the feelings that were coursing through his body.  He had
stayed in control of his "lower nature" for so long.  Had everyone around
him deceived him?  Were these feelings really evil?  He nibbled on Dross's
ear.  Was it wrong always to want this white- haired prince at his side?
Was it evil to want to take the young man and cover his muscled chest with
kisses...and more?  Oh, yes, so much more - and all night!  The truth of
the matter, of course, was that what the bath didn't drain from the
dark-haired Apollo, the back rub surely did.  In turn, had the back rub
missed anything, the orgasm would surely have exhausted it!  Within minutes
the two young lovers were asleep in each other's arms.  That's one of the
good things about beginnings, yes?  There's always tomorrow!


To Be Continued