Date: Mon, 18 Feb 2002 08:46:05 -0700
From: Clone Buggs <cqsqfq@hotmail.com>
Subject: Across the Alley part 20

Across the Alley XX


	That cell door clanging shut sounded like the bell of doom to two young
boys from a far simpler place than the big city of KCMO as they seemed to
call the place.  The cops threw us in a cell with several  other young men,
at least two of whom were wearing makeup.  The others less fancily made up
in the cell, were giving the two painted boys a hard time.  The cops didn't
seem to care one way or the other, and after they dumped Steve and me
unceremoniously into the mix, they left us in the semi dark cell to our own
devices.
	A larger boy, who was probably in his early twenties, was smoking a
cigarette while laying on a bunk bed that was just a metal frame that was
suspended from the wall.  A thin mattress without any bed clothes was the
only thing between him and the wire springs.  A hole in one corner of the
cell was something they called the slop hole, and we were expected to piss
and dump there.  The opening reeked of raw sewage, since the only way to
flush its contents, was with a hose, which we were told they did in the
mornings when the trustees cleaned the cells.
	The smoking man, kept importuning the two painted boys to come and sit with
him on the bed.  Both boys looked frightened of him, and stayed huddled in a
corner next to each other.  There were four other guys standing around the
cell, or leaning against the walls.  They were all watching the smoker
warily.  Apparently they knew of his reputation.  Steve and I did not, and
found a spot together huddled like Mexicans on the floor with the cell bars
at our backs.
	The smoker began to make kissing noises at the two painted boys.  Someone
muttered a warning under his breath, and the smoker flipped his butt at the
speaker the sparks scattering like a tiny fireworks rocket.
	"Watch it man," the mutterer whined, and ducked the burning butt.
	"Fuck you pansy."  The smoker stood up and groped his cock through his
pants, walking toward the boy who had spoken.  "You want this shoved down
your throat?"
	"Get away from me."  The boy turned to avoid a direct confrontation,
showing the older boy his shoulder.  The bully punched him hard on the arm,
and the boy cried out in pain.
	"Then keep yer fuckin' mouth shut or it'll be you on that mattress with my
dick up your butt hole queer boy."  He sauntered over to the two painted
boys, and stood towering over them in the dimness of the cell.  You could
almost smell their fear of this guy.  He suddenly squatted down until he was
face to face with the two boys.  He reached out and lifted one boy's chin
and looked at his face.
	"You think you're a girly boy?"  The boy shook his head.  "You look like
girly.  You know what I do to girlys?"  The boy shook his head again, tears
glistening in his eyes.
	"Come over to the bed with me and I'll show you what I do to little girly
boys like you."  The boy sobbed, and pulled his face away from the hand
holding him.  The older man slapped the kid hard.  "Fuckin' pansy.  I hate
queers."  Steve and I watched silently while the older man turned his
attention to the second boy.
	"you want a swing on this don't cha bud."  He groped himself again.  He
stood up and pulled the second boy to a standing position.  He started
dragging him across the cell toward the bed.  The boy screamed in terror,
and resisted.  The other boys in the cell all turned their backs on the
scene.  Before I knew what was happening, Steve was standing up, and had
dragged me up to stand beside him.
	"Let him go," Steve's voice filled the cell with menace.  The older boy
stopped in his tracks.  He turned toward us staring trying to assess who had
the guts to order him to do anything.  He let the boy's arm go, and the kid
scuttled back to his friend in the corner where they both cowered.
	"You want my dick up your butt?"
	"No.  But neither did he," Steve said, indicating the boy he'd just
released.
	"Who the fuck are you to interfere with me?"  He punched his open hand with
a fist, and turned to face us squarely.  I was quaking in my boots.
	"Nobody.  I just don't like seein' somebody forced to do sompin' they don't
wanna do.  Thas all."  Steve looked around the room at the others.  They
were beginning to look with interest at what was happening.  He smiled at
them and got a few grimaces in return.
	"He's a queer.  I aim to get me a piece o' his asshole before the night's
over."
	"Not while I'm here you ain't."  Steve stepped forward, and pushed his
skinny chest out.  I looked at him, and then looked at the beefy ruffian we
were facing, and knew we were going to get the shit beaten out of us.
	"Steve," I whispered.  "He'll beat the crap out of us, and then do what he
wants anyway.  Leave him alone."
	"Not while there's more of us than him he won't." He indicated the rest of
the boys in the cell with his hand without taking his eyes off the bully.
	The bully let his eyes roam around the cell, and something made him sense
his advantage was gone.  His size and age had intimidated them, but the
skinny boy standing up to him had altered the balance of power.  He could
see the others would join in if there was a fight.  He stood to lose if he
persisted.  He rolled his shoulders and swung his head on his neck, and
sneered that he'd catch us outside somewhere and then we'd see who was in
charge.
	He swaggered back to the bed, and laid down on his back.  He took a
cigarette pack out of his rolled up sleeve, and pounced one out which he
took between his lips.  He lit it with a match, and muttered something about
goddamn queers.  The cell settled down and soon, I found myself drifting off
to sleep.
	Morning consisted of getting awakened by a black trustee yelling at us to
get up off the floor so he could clean the cell and flush the slops.  He
hardly waited a second before he directed the stream of forceful water
across the floor wetting everyone pretty much from the knees down.  He
finally moved on to another cell, nearly filled with black men.  I hadn't
seen them the night before, because they had been quiet, and there was so
little light.
	A cop strolled through and looked at the cell we were in.  He rapped on the
bars a time or two with his billy, and then unlocked the door.  As he pulled
it open, he said we could pick up our stuff and get the hell out of his
jail.  Everybody, including the bully bolted for the exit as he said this.
I heard him yell over the din of our clambering feet on the concrete floors
that he didn't want to see any of us queers back in his cells again or we
wouldn't get off so easy.
	Steve and I retrieved our knapsacks, and headed out the door.  We were both
starving, having run out of food our second day in the boxcar.  On the
street, we examined our bags for what money we had, and found it was gone.
	"Fuckin' cops."  Steve threw his bag down on the street, and turned to go
back inside.  I grabbed his arm, and stopped him.  He struggled for a
moment, but then realized it was useless.  We shouldered our bags, and
wandered off down the street wondering where we'd find something to eat.
	Across the intersection, we could see a park with people strolling under
the tall trees the like of which neither of us had ever seen.  We headed
there, and found a place on the grass in the shade.  The muggy atmosphere
was new to us two desert boys as well, and we were both soon drenched in
sweat.
	"Hey, you better get off that grass `for a cop sees you.  Can't you see the
sign?"  We opened our eyes, and saw the two painted boys standing on the
path looking at us,  They had tried to clean the make-up off, but vestiges
of it were still to be seen around their jaw lines and nostrils.  Their
faces looked raw from scrubbing.
	"Come on off the grass."  Steve and I stood up and shouldered our packs,
and stepped off the grass.  The taller of the two boys, motioned us to
follow them.  The four of us walked out of the park toward a massive
building in the distance.  I could hear trains chuffing and backing in the
yards somewhere beyond it.
	"What's this place?"  I asked as the two boys led the way toward the big
building.  Yellow cabs were taking on passengers with luggage, and what
seemed like hundreds of people were scurrying into and out of the building.
	"The train station," the tall one said.  "We can get somethin' to eat
here."
	"Cain't," said Steve.  "Ain't got a red cent.  The fuckin' cops robbed us.
We had nearly a hunnert dollars between us."  He nodded at me, which I
confirmed with my own nod.
	"Well, we ain't got none neither, but we'll get some right quick.  Jess you
wait a bit."  Inside the gloomy monster of a depot, the crowds were swarming
like a beehive.  The two painted boys who hadn't introduced themselves yet,
told us to wait by a news stand near a hall way that led to the gents' room.
  They looked around for cops, and when they felt the coast was clear, they
faded down the hall and disappeared into the men's room.  They were gone
about ten minutes, and then reappeared from the dark hall.
	They each had a dollar in their fist, and the shorter one was wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand.  "Come on," the taller boy said.  "This
will get us something to eat.  I got a date later today, and I'll make
somethin' for us to eat on later."  He led the way into a diner in the
depot, and we sat in a booth still covered with dirty plates from the
previous occupants.  They  had left a thirty cent tip under a plate, and the
smaller kid slipped it out and into his shirt pocket like a magic trick.
	"Hey," Steve said.  "Put it back."
	"Why?" the kid looked at him like he was crazy.
	"Cause it ain't yours."  Steve tapped on the table next to the plate.  "You
ain't gonna get nowheres in life if you steal other people's stuff."  The
kid picked the change out of his pocket, and slipped it back under the
plate.
	At that moment, a young waitress appeared beside us, and given that we only
had the two dollar, recommended the grilled cheese sandwiches which were
forty cents each.  We ordered that, and asked for water to drink.  She
smiled and after retrieving the change from under the plate, took off with
the order.
	"Now see there," the kid said.  "If I still had that thirty cent, we coulda
had us a coke apiece.  `stead, we gotta drink water."
	"'Ats alright.  Water's good fer ya.  My name's Steve, and this here's
Dave."  He reached across the table and offered his hand to the younger kid
first.  He shook it and said his name was Jessie.  The other boy, was Frank.
  I laughed and asked them if their last name was James.  They didn't get
the joke.
	An old man came by pushing a cart, and cleared our table of the dirty
dishes.  He wiped the table down with a dirty looking rag, and leered at the
four of us before moving on to the next dirty table.
	"So how'd you boys get yer hands on two dollars so quick?"  Frank ducked
his head, and put a finger over his lips to shush Steve.
	"I'll tell you after we eat.  I can't tell you here.  Somebody might hear."
  The food came, and we all opened the toasted sandwiches and poured large
amounts of Ketchup on the melted cheese.  Those sandwiches washed down with
iced water tasted like the food of the gods to our hungry stomachs.
Afterward, we headed across the street to the war memorial, which was a tall
column rising into the muggy air, set on top of a pretty good hill.  From
there we could see a good deal of Kansas city, and the Missouri river off in
the distance.  James said the niggers caught huge catfish fifty or a hunnert
pounds down where the meat packing plant dumped their trimmings into the
river.  I found it hard to believe fish that big could inhabit the river,
and told him so.  We argued about it for a bit, while we watched the day
slowly turning late.
	Frank explained to Steve and me how he and Jessie had mad the two dollars
we'd eaten on.  Steve didn't believe it but he offered to show us one at a
time, because he said it was too dangerous if we all went into the men's
room together.  Steve and he went first.  They were gone for about thirty
minutes, before Jessie and I saw them run out of the depot and head for
where we were on the hill.
	They both had three dollars apiece when they reached us.  Steve was
laughing as he showed me the money he'd made.  "Come on with me Dave, and
I'll show you how.  It's easy."
	"Better let Jessie show him Steve.  The cops think you been in and out
o'the toilet too much, you'll find yerself back in jail."
	"Come on Jessie.  I want to learn what you do fer this money."  We started
down the hill, and were soon in the men's room.  An ancient black man was
sitting on a stool asleep near the entrance.  He was dressed in dark pants
and a white jacket with a red bow tie on his neck.  Next to him was a pile
of clean towels, and a little wicker basket, half full of dimes and nickels
and the occasional quarter.  At first I thought this was where the boys had
gotten their money, it would be easy pickings with the old man sleeping like
that.  But that was not what Jessie showed me.  At the back of the line of
ten or so toilet stalls, Jessie ushered us both into the last stall.  He sat
down on the toilet, with his clothes on and told me in a whisper to just
watch and listen.
	It didn't take long before the door to the next stall opened and closed.
Jessie slipped off the stool, and I noticed for the first time, and large
round hole had been cut into the partition of wood that separated the two
stalls.  He looked through the hole for a minute, then grinned at me in the
dim light.  He leaned into the hole, and whispered something.  After a
moment, a dollar bill came through the hole, followed shortly by a long
white cock, stiff as a board.  Jessie went to work on the dick, and the guy
on the other side of the partition, was quietly grunting and moaning in no
time.  Soon enough he squirted his load into Jessie's mouth and the boy
swallowed it down.  My dick got hard watching this scene.  The man pulled
his cock through the hole, and I heard him zip up and then leave.
	"Your turn," Jessie whispered.  "Jess ask `em fer a dollar to suck he's
dick."  He stood to watch me at work, and I sat on the stool this time and
waited.  It only took about five minutes of waiting, with me groping my
hardness the whole time.  The stall door creaked open, and I leaned over and
peeked through the hole.  I sat back up, and looked at Jessie.  He looked at
me and I shrugged.  He leaned over and whispered I should just tell him I'd
suck him off for a dollar.
	"It's a priest," I whispered back.  Jessie squatted down and peeked through
the hole quickly, then stood up again and whispered in my ear.
	"Might be a priest," he hissed, but he's a jackin' a big ol' hard-on over
there."
	I leaned over again and looked through the hole.  Sure enough, the priest
had his robes lifted and had his hand wrapped around a huge red thumping
cock.  I whispered I'd suck him for a dollar, and he wasted no time,
slipping the dollar through the hole, followed by his huge piece of meat.  I
tucked the dollar in my shirt pocket, and went to work earning it.  Before
the man in black creamed my tonsils, I'd blown a load in my pants as well.
	When he finished, he pulled his still stiff cock out of the hole, and I
peeked through again.  I could see him using toilet paper to wipe himself
clean.  When he finished, he leaned down to the hole, and whispered through
to me.
	"What `ud you charge me to come on by my house and let me fuck you
tonight?" I grunted at the thought, but had no idea what to say.  I leaned
over to Jessie, and whispered the question.
	"Tell him five dollar."  I thought quickly, and then leaned into the hole
and whispered I'd take ten dollars.  For a moment, there was no response,
but then a piece of paper came through the hole, and then I heard him leave.
  I couldn't read the note in the dim light, so I stuffed it into my shirt
pocket, and we waited a few more minutes.  We each got another cock to suck,
in turn, and then there was a dry spell.  I was itching to read the note, so
I whispered that I was going outside.  Jessie whispered he wanted one more,
and was staying.
	I unlocked the door of the stall, and peeked out.  The old black man was
awake, and his eyes riveted me like lightening in a storm goes to the
nearest rod.  I tried to be casual as I washed my hands in a sink.  I didn't
have any change to give him for a towel, so I dried my hands on my shirt
tail, and then stuffed it back into my pants.  He was making a tsk tsk sound
as I strolled past him into the dark hallway.
	Back up at the war memorial, Steve and Frank were lieing on the stone bench
that curved around the site, head to head, talking.  I sat down on the bench
at Steve's feet, and pulled out my two dollars and my note.
	I handed Steve the two bucks for safe keeping, and opened the tightly
folded note and read it aloud.  "Nine PM tonight at Passeo and thirteenth
street."
	"Whassat?"  Steve grabbed the note out of my hand.
	"I got a date for later just like Frank."  Steve looked at the note.  Then
looked at Frank with his eyebrows raised.  Frank sat up and pulled his note
out and showed it to Steve.  His was a hotel on sixth street room nineteen
for after dinner.
	"The guys what want a fuck, make dates.  My trick will pay me five dollar
to let him pork my butt.  You boys ever let some man fuck you `afore?"  We
both nodded.
	"Mine's gonna pay me ten dollars, and he's a priest with a collar an
everything."
	"Yeah, I seen him `afore.  I ain't never had him for a date, but I know a
guy what did, and he says he's got a big ol' dick on `em. and he likes to
fuck hard."
	"That scare you?" Steve looked at me with a hand on my shoulder.
	"Nah.  I sucked him off in there, and he ain't as big as Karl was.  I kin
take it."  At that moment, Jessie came sprinting out of the depot. and hot
on his heels, were two cops in uniform.  They were too far away to hear
anything, but Frank ducked his head, and yelled at us to follow him as he
started running for a stand of trees down the back of the hill.  Jessie was
dodging traffic on the wide street below us, and I could hear the shrill
whistles of the cops blowing their tin whistles at him as they ran.
	I stopped running at the end of the arc of the stone bench, and watched as
Jessie ran like the wind up the hill toward the memorial.  Before he reached
the top, he veered off to the right, away from the memorial, and I saw him
disappear into a crowd of people getting off a bus that had just pulled up.
By the time the two winded cops reached the crest of the hill, Jessie was
long gone from view.  I smiled at how easy it was going to be to make money
in KCMO.
	Later, we went to a black rib joint in what Frank and Jessie called colored
town, and we each had a plate full of barbecue ribs and a beer, which
another older patron bought for us after we gave him the money.  Life was
going to be fine in Kansas city.

End