Date: Sun, 19 Nov 2006 22:06:44 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: STREETS OF NEW YORK - 5

STREETS OF NEW YORK - 5

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 5

(Revisiting Chapter 4)

How could the remaining pair do anything less spectacular?  Morstein set
the stage: a celebrated fairy [gay] dance hall on the Lower East Side.
Music that presaged the tango filled the air.  One dancer, a tall, muscled,
patrician masterfully twirled a spectacular young redhead into his arms.
Feeling the Latin beat in his soul, the redheaded lad danced in the crook
of the patrician's right arm, holding his head back.  His right hand was
held low on his partner's left hip, close to an imaginary pocket, looking
for a payment for dancing with him. The man danced in a curving fashion
because the floor was small with round tables, so he danced around and
between them.  Sergei brought the dance to a stunning climax by
artistically raising one arm and lowering Bernie's back towards the floor
with the other.  The entire front of the redhead's body, now exposed,
seemed to burst into fire as his flesh gleamed in Morstein's flash.  The
other models rose to their feet in wild applause!

After Morstein had promised additional work with even more money, and Tom
had assured the models that he would be in touch in the near future, Tom
and Dross retired to the Mulberry Street apartment.  Though the photo shoot
had all rested on fantasy, they gloried in the fact that each was alive and
secure in the arms of the other.

(Continuing Our Story - Rabbi Schlomo Katz)

"I may have something for Morris Brodsky," Mr.  Wagner said as platters
filled with breakfast food passed around the table on one of the boys'
frequent visits.  "I recently discovered that a man who came over from
Germany on the same boat I did became a rabbi.  That was a little
surprising," he added, "because he was as wild a young man as I was!"  When
Mrs.  Wagner gave him the evil eye, he laughed and continued.  "Actually, I
was lucky.  I saw his picture in the paper.  You will imagine my pleasure
when I contacted him and found that he remembered me.  He has a lovely wife
- though he is not a completely happy man."  "Why is that, sir?" Tom
inquired, more out of courtesy than anything else.  Looking at the big
footballer with an indecipherable expression, Mr.  Wagner answered,
"Neither he nor his wife is completely happy because they have never been
blessed with a child."  "Maybe they HAVE been blessed," Dross mumbled, well
under his breath.  His mother made a "mad face" and play-batted him across
the ear.  "Enough of that!" she commanded and conversation continued.

"Tell me right out, Thomas," Mr.  Wagner continued as if nothing had
happened, "Would this child be an embarrassment to the good rabbi and his
wife?"  "I don't think so," Tom ventured cautiously.  "He's a quiet little
cuss, intelligent, and, given all that's happened to him, well-mannered and
affectionate.  He has, however, hit puberty...  rather recently, I think.
Will that be a problem?"  "I doubt it," Mr.  Wagner responded.  "Come, let
us speak further about this over coffee."

Following further discussion - with Dross's parents and between themselves
- the boys decided indirectly and very gently to broach the topic to
Morris.  At first, he seem shocked and even disoriented, retreating into a
protective shell.  Over a couple of weeks, however, he became less
resistant to the idea and even agreed to meet the rabbi and his wife over
at the Wagners.  From the moment that Mrs.  Katz bent down and said
something to him in a language that Tom didn't understand, he visibly
warmed to them.  Indeed, two weeks later, when asked, he happily accepted
them as his guardians.  On leaving Mulberry Street, however, he did wrap
his arms around Tom and whisper something in his ear that brought tears to
the athletes eyes.

(Interlude)

It was still June when Tom hurried down the stairwell and headed past the
Monahans' door towards the street.  He was about to sidestep a
blue-uniformed man who was speaking with Mr.  Monahan when his landlord
introduced him as Jerry McGuire, the local beat cop.  Tom grinned and shook
hands.  "Thanks, Mike," the rather portly cop panted.  "Come now, boyo.
Let me walk with you for a minute in this heat."

"Did I hear right that you did some grand photography for the new
Abercrombie store?"  "Yep," answered Tom, pleased that someone had thought
enough of it to mention it.  "Didjuh arrange to pay the city tax on
advertising revenue, boyo?"  "No, officer," Tom replied, "I didn't know
anything about that tax.  How do I handle it?"  "Well," McGuire puffed,"
you could go down to the Tax Bureau at City Hall.  The tax should cost you
around thirty-five dollars...unless you let it go until they contact you.
Then it'll take fifty dollars out of your pocket...with the penalty and
all."  Seeing the look of despair on Tom's face, he laughed and clapped him
on the shoulder.  "Naturally, Mr.  Arnold, there's another...simpler... and
cheaper way to take care of this obligation.  Since your landlord has
vouched for you as a hard worker and good citizen, I can accept a payment
of twenty dollars in full.  At the end of the shift, I pay the tax people,
and you're completely in the clear.  I'll give your receipt to Mike
Monahan.  One more advantage of living in this grand city, yes?"

Sadly, Tom rummaged around in his pants pocket until he found his money
clip and paid the man.  Twenty dollars just about wiped him out.  With a
wave and a grin, the cop continued on down the street.

(The New Wave)

For some time, Italian immigrants had been pouring into New York City.  In
truth, many residents were now referring to Mulberry Street and environs as
"Little Italy."  It was surely the dominant language heard as one fought
one's way through the crowds.  The tenement in which Tony Pietro lived was
relatively close by.  It was hotter than hell, but he had been worried
about Tony the last couple of times he had seen him.  Maybe this was as
good a time as any to stop by and, using the modeling as a pretext, get to
know him a little better and see if he could help as a friend.

The tenement was a real dive.  Checking with the super to get the Prieto's
flat number, he made his way up the crowded stairway.  The heat, noise, and
filth made it seem like a real zoo!  Just as he identified Tony's
apartment, he heard something crash against the back of the door, it
opened, and a dark, paunchy shape almost few out of the room and pushed its
way down the staircase.  The screaming - all in Italian - and the strange
smells were completely foreign to him.  Clearly, he was having some second
(and third?) thoughts about having chosen a good day!

He was about to follow the figure down the stairs when Tony, clad only in
an underwear shirt and a pair of torn shorts, came out of the door and
peered down the staircase.  (Tom couldn't help thinking that this guy was
really built.  Further, since the modeling had led him to getting rid of
most of the thick coat of body hair, his powerful muscles made quite a
statement.  Wow... I guess the story about relatives helping him to get an
apprenticeship in blacksmithing when he first left school was true.)  The
two young men saw each other at nearly the same instant.

"Sorry," Tom muttered, "Guess I didn't choose the best time.  It's just
that Morstein really liked you, and I wanted to get your ideas on the next
modeling session."  Hooking a heavy arm around his neck, Tony growled, "No
problem, big guy.  You're welcome anywhere I am anytime!  It's miserable
around here today, but come on in."  Seeing that Tom was just about
drowning in the sweat pouring off his body, the hunk roared in laughter and
pulled his guest through the door.

"Didja see that bastard going down the stairs?" a drunken, shrewish voice
grated, a voice evidently coming from a woman sitting at the table with her
back to the boys.  "Where'd the son of a bitch go - to the bar, I'll bet!"
Tom gulped.  Other than a handful of minor differences, the flat was a
duplicate of his own.  To be sure, there was no outside window, and five
pairs of young eyes followed his every move from the bed.  The children
seemed to be under the care of a slightly older sister, who couldn't have
been more than twelve herself.  Not counting Tony and the older sister, the
oldest was probably a nine year-old boy; the youngest, a mere baby who was
surely no more than a year old.  Each of them was filthy.  To complete the
picture, everything in the room was foul, including a floor littered with
trash and dirty clothes.  Suddenly, she sensed someone else was in the room
and turned around abruptly.  One arm almost knocking a jar off the table,
she whimpered, "Oh..."  Her eyes were barely focusing.  Tony took the
wide-mouthed jar that contained a red liquid off the table and capped it.
"I'll be back in just a little while, Ma, and then I'll fix a little supper
for everyone."  "Yes, Anthony," she whimpered vacantly.  "Be a good boy."

Reaching the roof, the boys crouched in the shade.  Tony set two glasses
that he had brought with him down and poured some of the red liquid into
each.  "Wine...my uncle makes it...pretty good," he announced.  Actually,
it was pretty good, though Tom was surely no wine connoisseur.  Tony turned
around a couple of times in confusion before collapsing onto the roof
beside his friend and loudly exhaling.  "Wow..." he muttered.  Tom was so
shell-shocked that he couldn't have uttered a word had his life depended on
it.  After perhaps a minute, Tony turned his face toward him and offered a
word of explanation: "My dad's first wife and all my brothers and sisters
died in a bad fire back home.  After we had been in New York for a little
while, dad married again.  The kids are all theirs, including two who died
very young.  My dad and new mom tried hard for a long time, but it finally
got to be too much."  A white-faced young athlete reached out a muscled
arm, hooked it around his buddy's neck, and gently drew his head and
shoulders down onto his chest.  Softly he kissed the back of his neck.
Tony lay sobbing in Tom's arms for the better part of an hour.

Tom felt a slight breath of air at almost the same time that he felt Tony
stirring against him.  As he sat back on his haunches and wiped his face
off with his hands, the boy muttered, "Jeez, I guess I needed that, but now
I need to get downstairs and make a little dinner.  Please, Tom, stay with
me...at least for a little while."  "I'm not going anywhere, you big lug,"
Tom growled.  One floor above the Prietos', they stopped and Tony
introduced his friend to his Aunt Rosa.  As Tony spoke in low tones with
his aunt over by the stove, Tom quickly saw that the apartment was no
larger than the others, though it was neat and very clean.  The walls had
even been whitewashed.  They left momentarily, carrying fresh containers of
wine and olive oil, a full head of garlic, and a long loaf of Italian
bread.  As she opened the door for them to leave, she kissed her nephew and
smiled up at Tom, saying that he had to return.

Returning to his apartment, the boys discovered that some of the mess had
been picked up, and that water was on the stove for the pasta.  His mother
even managed to walk over to him, welcome him to their home, and apologize,
saying that she hadn't been feeling very well lately.  As she returned to
the children, Tom joined Tony at the table.  He was going to put 14 finely
chopped cloves of garlic into that pasta dish - and the remaining three
were minced for the bread?  Holy hell - there'd be no kissing tonight!  His
sister - the fourteen year-old - smiled prettily at Tom, added the minced
garlic to a small quantity of butter, spread it on the split halves of the
bread, and prepared to pop them into the oven.  As Tom cooked the
fettucelle, he gently fried the finely chopped garlic in the olive oil,
with a dash of salt.  As Gina removed the garlic bread from the small oven,
Tony's mother came over and placed her hand on his heavy forearm.  "I used
the dishes that my mother gave me, Anthony.  Oh, it smells so good!"  Tony
smiled down at her, saying simply, "Thanks, Ma.  It won't be as good as
your cooking, but I hope it's decent."  The simple dinner of pasta with
garlic and oil, garlic bread, and wine almost convinced Tom that he should
turn Italian!

After promising Tony that they'd talk about the forthcoming photo shoot in
the near future, Tom left the Prietos' around nine o'clock.  As he
expected, Dross was waiting for him...ready for action.  The German lad
berated his friend for a good twenty minutes about why he wouldn't kiss
him.  Finally, Tom gave up and vigorously "sucked face."  Dross turned
slightly green (not all that attractive with his white hair!), but finally
guffawed and good-naturedly joked about where Tom had been for dinner!

By eleven, they were pretty well talked out and slid into bed.  Quietly,
they faced each other and began kissing and licking the hard, young bodies
about which they had been dreaming all day.  Dross was a little surprised
when Tom asked him to fuck him, for it didn't happen all that often.  God,
he enjoyed it when his love wanted it!  Had it gone on any longer, he would
probably have driven Tom down through the bed and onto the floor!  Both
young men had a warm sense of tremendous satisfaction when Dross finally
dropped down beside his mate and lifted Tom's muscled arm over his chest.
"Oh, yeah, lover...oh, yeah..." the white-haired one murmured.

"I've got a bone to pick with you, Dross!" Tom said abruptly...and as
clearly and emphatically as ever he had spoken.  "It can't wait til
morning, lover?" responded his mate sleepily.  "Nope!" Tom said sharply.
"Well, then, tell me about it," the white-haired one purred, resting his
knee lightly against Tom's genitals and sucking gently on his Adam's apple.
"Oh, man, you're hopeless...you Heinie!" Tom exploded.  "Why is it that I
can't get mad with you for a minute?"  "Dunno..." Dross murmured, already
half- asleep.  "Maybe it's because I have such a sparkling
personality...and a long, hard cock that turns you on!"  "Hopeless!
Hopeless!  Hopeless!" Tom grumbled.  "Come on, lover," Dross cajoled, "tell
me what's wrong.  I'm real...real sleepy."

"Ok," Tom said, definitely settling down to it.  "You know I adore you and
that I love your whole family.  Right?"  "Right," Dross repeated softly.
"Me, too."  "Then, lover," Tom continued, "what's the problem between you
and your dad?  And why the hell does he kinda spit when he says the word,
'Dross'?"

The fact that his lover's body suddenly went as stiff as a board told Tom
that he had been correct.  "You know I've had a little German," Tom
continued, "but it doesn't help me much.  I doubt that your dad is
referring to you as a 'thrush' - maybe a vulture, but no songbird!  Also, I
can't see what 'choking' has to do with anything.  So what's up?"

"You sure you want to get into this, Tom?" Dross asked in a tone that said
he was working damned hard to control his emotions.  Tom barked, "I'll
stand beside you in anything, Erich Wagner."  Somewhat melodramatically, he
added, "Your burdens are my burdens; your joys are my joys.  That's just
the way it is - you're my life.  So shoot!"

Pausing for but an instant, Dross said calmly, "Very well.  My father, whom
I love above all men in this word save one, finds me to be the greatest
disappointment in his life.  Oh, he's not about to cross out my name in the
family bible - or tell others that he has no son.  He's a man of reason.
Nevertheless, he believes as deeply as he believes he exists that
homosexuality is wrong...morally wrong.  He also believes that the
practicing homosexual is destined to spend eternity in the deepest part of
hell.  At the same time, he loves me...deeply...as I love him.  The wall
between us tears the heart out of him whenever he sees me - even though he
would not think of telling me to leave my home and never return.  He
wouldn't even deny me you.  After all, he's a man of reason...and love."

"What does 'Dross' mean, lover?" Tom asked, a note of fear creeping into
his voice.  "What was my dad's trade?" Dross asked, his chin beginning to
quiver slightly.  "Well, he worked in fine metals, didn't he?" came the
response.  "Yep," Dross continued, not able to stop now.  "Have you ever
seen the process where metals are melted?  If so, describe what you see in
the white-hot cauldron," commanded Dross, his voice tight and harsh.
"Let's see.  There's the molten metal and a thin layer of impurities that
have floated to the surface."  "Yep," the white-haired boy ventured,
"that's what they call the dross - the scum, the impurities that must be
burned off."  With that, he choked and stopped.  "Why did he do that, Tom?
I was his to mold into the most beautiful metalwork of all - and he sees me
as scum!  Can love create a chasm that can't be crossed and then rip the
heart out of those who are forced to attempt it?"

Tom took the man he would always love into his arms and simply held him
tightly to his body.  "I saw steel being made once...and it wasn't half as
beautiful as you!" he whispered.  Suddenly, in the early hours of the
morning, all hell seemed to bust out!  Whistles and bells started to sound
from several directions.  Both boys were forced to wake
up...completely...suddenly.  "Hold on, Tom.  I'll go up on the roof and try
to see what's going on.  Better get dressed."  Rushing back moments later,
Dross breathlessly exclaimed, "Looks bad!  You have anything important that
you want to take with you?  It could spread this way!"  When Tom nodded in
the negative, Dross rushed him out of the tenement and into the street.  To
the northwest and not too far distant, they could see massive flames
shooting into the air.  The sound of the steel-rimmed wheels of fire
equipment seemed to be converging from several directions.  In the light
breeze that was tending their way, they could smell smoke...and trouble!

Running full out, it only took them a short time to reach the fire.
Everything was in chaos!  It appeared that fire was already devouring the
first structure, had engulfed the second, and was threatening nearby
structures.  The street was filled with arriving horse-drawn pumpers, fire
hose, and ladders; the air, with shouts of human beings in fear and pain.
"Take care!" Dross growled - and well he might, for the street was already
slick with water, the droppings of the Fire Department horses, and flotsam
and jetsam drifting down from the devouring flames.  The wet street
reflected a scene straight out of Hell itself!

"Oh, my God!" moaned Tom.  "That tenement...on the right...  Tony lives
there!  Stepping in front of a fireman who was hurrying by, Tom asked if
people had escaped from the buildings.  "Dunno," the man shouted.  "It's a
bad one!  That tenement on the right just exploded.  We're concentrating on
keeping the fire from spreading.  Some people got out...I don't know how
many.  Maybe you can check over by that ambulance."  He pointed to a
covered horse-drawn vehicle with a big red cross and the letters "FDNYC"
[Fire Department of New York City] on the side that had been drawn up
partially on the sidewalk.

As the boys headed towards the ambulance, screams and shouts were heard
above the din.  Police started to clear the area as it seemed that the
front wall of the Prietos' tenement might collapse.  Reaching the vehicle,
Tom noticed only five people - including his friend.  Tony was sitting on
the curb, seemingly in shock.  Naked other than for a fireman's shirt
wrapped around his middle and a white bandage covering his forehead, his
body was covered with filth.  The uncovered head of his massive cock pushed
out from under the shirt.  The thick hair on one side of his head seemed
singed.  Seeing the boys, he rose, gratefully fell into his friends' hugs,
and broke into tears.  "Nobody..." he sobbed..."nobody..."  Leaning his
trembling body into Tom, he bawled, "They're all gone!  Hundreds of
people...neighbors...lodgers...kids...my family...all gone!"

After Tony had been further checked by the medical staff and it appeared
that the fire was indeed being brought under control, the two boys
half-carried, half-dragged him back to Mulberry Street.  Arriving at Tom's
flat, they threw off their smoke-fouled clothing and lay their friend
between them on the bed.  All Tom remembered was a heavy arm flung across
his back and the mumbled, wondering words, "Oh, man...  I've never had
friends like you guys."


To Be Continued