Date: Sat, 22 May 2004 09:51:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Cafe Au Lait, 1-7

This is a work of fiction.

It features explicit descriptions of sex between men.

It is set in the past, so protect yourself.

If you are under eighteen or your locality prohibits
material of this sort, stop reading immediately and
get the heck out of here.

All rights reserved. Comments appreciated,
any_mouse2003@yahoo.com


Cafe au Lait

Men on the Moon

It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the
height of the decade which didn't actually end until
the oil crunch in 1973. I'll never forget the night
the whole party ended, and just as a matter of
personal bookmarks, it was when Tricky Dick Nixon came
on the tube and told us to drive 55 miles-an-hour to
save fuel.

I almost got killed the next morning trying to do it,
run down by angry white guys in big cars on the Dan
Ryan Expressway the next morning.

Then it was Disco, and that is about all I remember of
the fabulous 80's.

There were music festivals, and dope, and loud music
and I was going to be off to college soon. I was
interested in the concepts of the Age of Aquarius,
though I hadn't seen much of it in the mid-western
town I found myself stuck in.

It was a great time to be alive, but my toes were
tapping. I wanted to get on with life.

I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big
City. My family had moved because of my Dad's
reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old
brick city filled with the descendents of the hardy
block-headed Dutch who populated this part of the
state. It was staid and boring.

On the upside, it was easy to get alcohol. On the
downside there was nobody to drink it with. I had
passable fake ID and it was not hard to get a six pack
to drink in the field out in back of the house. And of
course there were the racks of Dad's home-made wine.

He fancied himself quite the vintner and had custom
labels made up and liked to give the stuff away when
he went out. When he decanted it from the barrel, he
used all manner of bottles and consequently there was
not particular rhyme or reason to it and it was easy
to take the odd bottle from the garage.

I was as excited as anyone that summer, following the
flight of the Eagle to the moon. They went in July of
that summer and on July 20 at 4:18 p.m. EDT, the Lunar
Module touched down on the Moon. At 10:56 p.m., Neil
Armstrong jumped off the Lunar Lander.

In between I lay in my bed and gazed out the window
where the moon hung silver in space.

I couldn't quite believe it. Interplanetary travel
seemed to be possible. I wondered everything was the
same way, possible. I was horny all the time. It did
not take much to tent my trousers.

I wondered about a lot of things. Women. They were
such impenetrable beings. I thought about the
airbrushed Playboy images as I stroked myself, and
thought about the strange fortress undergarments they
wore under the mini-skirts when they shot us a look in
High School. The all seemed to wear the same
foundation garments, of a sort. It was the mid-West
after all.

But the way they crossed their legs under the desks
and that resolute aspect of their crotches filled me
with wonder, and a certain amount of dread.

It wasn't like that with the guys. I used to love Phys
Ed, and the shower afterwards. I could see that I
stacked up pretty well with the other guys, and I
often found myself thinking of what it would be like
to see a guy as hard as I was.

I laid down on my bed and looked at the moon. I
thought of Playboy images with airbrushed pneumatic
women. But increasingly I found myself daydreaming
about hard penises. I had found a copy of the shocking
story of Fanny Hill in my father's remote library, in
with the magazines I liked to look at.

Fanny was poked and prodded by all manner of lusty
rakes. It was curious that I found myself wishing to
be on her end of things. I inserted a candle in my ass
one day, and pulled it in and out just like the fat
cocks that filled up Fielding's heroine.

I didn't understand why this felt so good, or why I
was so attracted to the idea of having it in me. It
just felt good, and seemed to touch something deep
inside me that tingled. God, it felt good. In fact,
when I stroked myself I clenched my tight ring around
the smooth intruder and when my balls boiled I shot
Technicolor plumes that arced from the tip of my cock
and hit me in the face.

This night, I looked at the moon and stroked my eager
cock, thinking of astronauts and hard dicks. Mine rose
to the occasion for the second time that day, spewing
hot milk on my hand. I shuddered with the release.

In the silvery light I licked the back of my right
hand, tasting my warm seed. It was slippery, with a
slightly sweet musky taste and a hint of something
else that made my throat tingle, seeming to close it
of its own volition.

It was powerful stuff.

I knew that.


The Men's Department

I was up late with everyone else the night man landed
on the moon and was tired when I drove my little red
VW to the Mall the next day.

The department store I had worked for back home had an
outlet here, and I was able to secure a job selling
clothes. They were stricter here in the smaller town,
more formal, but I got the same employee discount on
clothes and I enjoyed interacting with the customers.
I was a born salesman, and so long as I moved product,
the management left me alone.

This morning the Manager of the men's department
caught me early. I had a cigarette going in one of the
dressing rooms, so I tried to sidle away from him and
put it out. He was a nerdy type, a little old maid
guy. He grasped me on the upper arm to keep me fixed
in place.

"Listen," he said. "We have a new employee coming in
today."

"O.K." I said. "I can handle that."

"No." He scowled. "This is different. He is a Negro."

I gave him a puzzled look. I had worked with black
people all the time back home.

"Our first Negro," he said, as if I was supposed to
understand the enormity of it.

"O.K.," I said again. "I'll try to be nice."

He gave me one of those looks. "I just don't want any
problems that would reflect badly on the Men's
Department."

I promised him that I would be on my best behavior and
got back to stub out my cigarette before it fell out
of the ashtray and caused a fire. Now that would
reflect badly on the Men's Department, I thought.

I straightened up and killed time through the first
hour of opening. Sometimes, on sale days, things
started out with a rush. Sometimes the men's
department was as silent as a tomb. Today was one of
the latter, and it seemed like even if men where on
the Moon, it was going to be an endless summer.

And it was not going to be one with surfboards, even
if that surf documentary came around again.

I could see taking off for something completely
different. I wanted to go.


Alexander the Great

The Negro my boss had warned me about arrived just
before lunch.

I don't know what I had been expecting. He had been so
concerned about the racial thing, I thought it might
be some dark skinned H. Rap Brown thug. I knew that
wasn't true. I had been working with the black guys on
the loading dock and in the parking shack since I was
fifteen and could get my papers.

I knew they were just people, and when the summer came
with all the riots I gained a deep respect for what
they had to deal with that I had no comprehension
about. So even if this person was a tough guy I was
confident I could get along with him.

I was selling a pair of jeans to a woman who had a
disinterested pimply kid in tow when I heard my name
being called. I completed the transaction, closed the
register, and slid the pants into a sack with the
Department Store logo on it and turned around.

My nerd manager had a tall young man with him. I took
an involuntary breath. His skin had the rich color of
caramel, just lighter than a the sweet rich cup of
coffee au lait with which I started my mornings. His
hair was a sort of light brunette in a million tight
curls, cut close on the sides and rising a little on
top. Style.

His eyes were the strangest shade of hazel and his
aristocratic nose had just a hint of African flare. I
was stunned. This was no Negro. This young man looked
like the pictures of Malcom X when he was still
Detroit Red.

"Bob," I want you to meet Alexander. He will be
joining the staff here today and I want you to show
him the ropes. How to open up and close out."

"I'd be happy to" I said, hoping I didn't look too
startled. "Nice to meet you, Alex."

He smiled and I saw radiant white teeth behind his
lips that were not much fuller than mine. Just rich
and sensuous.

"I prefer Alexander" he said softly "But just don't
call me late for dinner." He finished the joke with a
smile and I grinned right back.

"Alexander it is" I said. "Sorry."

The manager looked at us and pursed his lips. "I'll
handle the register here. Why don't you show him the
break room and where he can get some lunch if he is
hungry. We have a half hour for lunch here, no more,
and two fifteen minute breaks."

"We are very organized here" I said. "We run a tight
department."

The manager knew I was ribbing him but he let it go.
He was such a wimp. "Come on, Alexander. Let me show
you the ropes." He smiled and we walked off past the
display counters and the suit racks. I pointed to the
door between the slacks and sports coats. "Back there
are the dressing rooms. We are supposed to keep an eye
on them to make sure no one is doing any shoplifting
or tag-changing."

"Do you have much of that here?" asked Alexander in
that soft voice. His inflection rose on the word
"that."

"Nah," I said. "Mostly we have hard-working blockhead
Dutch in here. It is a boring clientele." I paused.
"I'm sorry, are you from around here? I didn't mean
anything by that."

"Goodness, no," he said firmly. "I am from Chicago.
They sent me here for the summer."

"Who did? The family?"

"Yeah," he responded with a sigh. "There were some
issues. We have kin here. I'll tell you about it
sometime, if you are interested."

I found that interesting. I wondered if he had to cool
off from something. But that could come in time. "Let
me show you the break room. It has the only Coke
machine on this side of the Mall." We took the
escalator down to the basement where we sold tools and
patio crap. I don't know why the heavy stuff was in
the basement, but I just work there.

We looked at the Coke machine and the ultra-modern
industrial microwave. "That thing will cook a hot dog
in about three seconds," I said. "And sometimes the
machine actually gets the ice right in the cup, unless
it turns it over and spills everything."

He laughed, a melodious sound like water flowing over
smooth stones.

"I've seen worse," he said, eyes twinkling. "Now why
don't you show me how to work."

We went back upstairs and relieved the Nerd at the
register. I showed him the buttons to mash for "no
sale" and how to do the credit vouchers and how to
place the card just so on the register plate so when
you pressed the handle the name and account number
came through on the carbon. I showed him the tally
sheet we each had to fill out for all the sales we
did, and how we would close it out at the end of the
day.

Since it was slow, we chatted through the afternoon. I
found out he was recently graduated, too. He was
headed for college, though his family wanted him to
attend a historically black school in Washington DC
rather than the University of Illinois.

"Why is that?" I asked. I was headed there myself. I
looked forward to the challenge of the big campus and
all the activity.

"They want me to be Black for a while, so that I don't
forget."

That stopped me dead. I didn't know what to say, and
preferred to say nothing rather than something that
might be inadvertently offensive. Thankfully a
44-short suit customer showed up and I taught
Alexander how to mark up the cut job instructions for
the tailor. That is the only part of the job that is
complicated. People come in such a variety of sizes.

Selling a suit is a big deal, with a lot of interplay
with the customer. I rang up the sale and then
measured the stocky mans coat, marking with chalk the
hump where the jacket had to be taken in at the
collar, and the rise and inseam on the trousers. I
always feel a little funny about that, particularly
when the guy is such a toad. Alexander seemed to think
it was amusing and grinned when I had completed the
process, filled out the tag and instructions, and
thanked the man for his business.

The chunky man ambled away and I turned and said
"What's so funny?"

"You are, Bob. I don't think you liked that man, and I
think you are afraid that I don't know I am a Negro."

"Shit, no, I didn't like him. He was a toad. But about
the other part, I don't want to hurt your feelings by
saying something stupid."

"Like whether I can get a sunburn?" He paused and
smiled. "I can, you know. And that is because white
men have been fucking the women in my family for three
hundred years."

I must have blushed. "It's O.K.," he said. "I didn't
say you fucked them."

"It's complicated" I stammered.

"Yes, it is." he said gently. "For white people it is.
But relax. Don't for an instant think that we do not
know what is going on around us. When you are as light
as my family is, you get it from both sides. Not
white, and not black enough to be authentic. In New
Orleans, we were aristocracy. Up North we are just
colored folks that look too white."

"Is that what happened to get you exiled here for the
summer?"

"Something like that. Sometimes you get the double
whammy."

I didn't know what he meant by that, but he touched me
on the upper arm as I looked up to see a family
looking at the shirt counter. "Gotta go sell," I said,
grateful at the opportunity to avoid the sudden
honest. "Maybe we can catch a smoke in a while."

"I'd like that," he said. Then he smiled and I felt my
stomach tighten.

I was glad it was busy. Alexander made his first sale,
and I admired the elegance of the way he bagged the
shirts, the little flourish as he handed it over as
though it were a prize of great price and not just a
couple Arrow shirts. The late afternoon traffic stayed
pretty brisk and it was coming up on dinner when the
Nerd told me he would keep Alexander and show him how
to close out, since he came in late and I had opened
up. "OK," I said, though I wouldn't have minded
staying.

The Nerd said he would be writing a new work schedule
to accommodate Alexander's arrival and I said
goodnight to the Nerd and told Alexander that I looked
forward to working with him.

He extended his hand and I noticed for the first time
how slender and graceful his fingers were. I did not
clasp his palm in the death grip I usually use. His
touch was firm and his flesh supple and warm.
I walked out into the still-bright sun and found the
car.

The vinyl seats were hotter than shit, and I roared
home with the windows down, wishing the little car has
air conditioning. I took a swim and found a place in
the field out in back of the house to go drink a
couple semi-cold Pabst Blue Ribbons. I was daydreaming
out there as the shadows grew longer and night fell.

I was day-dreaming about Alexander's fingers. I
wondered if it were true, about the proportional
relationship between fingers and cock. And if all the
Caucasian blood had any effect on how big it was.

Shoot, I thought. I wonder if I am a fucking homo?

When I lay in my bed later, I got rock hard and images
of him flashed through my mind as I grunted and rubbed
my throbbing dick. When I came, I thought of him
shooting all over me. When I licked it up, I imagined
it was his.

Shoot, I am a fucking homo, I thought.

Now what the fuck do I do about that?


The Passion Pit

I woke the next morning with an erection. I blushed
when I thought about it and was running late and did
not get a chance to do anything about it but thrash in
the shower. In the water thrusting down from the
faucet I thought about what I had been thinking the
last time my dick had been this hard and came with a
shudder with the scalding water cascading down around
me.

I dressed in a hurry, chino slacks and a striped shirt
and rep tie. They liked us to look prep at the
Department Store, and I didn't mind. I thought I might
grow my hair out in the fall when I went to school.
But in the meantime I was happy to maintain a low
profile and slide through the summer.

Everyone else was long gone. The store didn't open
until 10:00, and they wanted us to open up by 9:45. I
had slept late. I poured some of the cold coffee back
in the top of the drip percolator and turned it on to
give it a kick.

Then I was out the door and buzzing in the little VW
down Westbrook Road to the Mall.

I made it pretty much on time and was at my place by
the register when the Nerd came by to check.

"I want you to push those new wheat-colored jeans," he
said. "And thank-you for your help with Alexander. I
think I will have to watch him, but he seems clever
and will do a fine job for us with adequate
supervision."

"I think you are absolutely right, Boss." He took it
as a sign of respect that I called him that. I don't
think he knew I was laughing at him, the pompous shit.
Alexander had more going on between his ears than he
ever would.

"I have made up a new schedule for you. For the next
week or two I am going to have you come in late and be
with him to close up at 9:00 each night." I could see
that he didn't trust the Negro to close up. But I
didn't mind. That meant I could sleep in till eleven
in the morning if I wanted to. It was a pity the only
thing mildly interesting to do in town was go to the
big double screen drive-in.

There was nobody to date and sitting alone in the car
drinking a purloined bottle of my father's homemade
wine was hardly my idea of a wild time. Still, it was
out of the house and the buzz was good. It didn't get
dark until then, and if I went to the theatre after we
closed it was still light enough that they were only
playing the dancing hotdogs trailer when I got there.

There were some truly awful movies out that summer.
But I must have seen "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance
Kid" about fifty times. I didn't mind seeing it over
and over and after a while I started to memorize the
lines and would recite them along with Robert Redford,
looking back at the Pinkertons chasing them down.

"Who are those guys?" I would say. When it was over I
let the rest of the crowd gather up their kids or put
their clothes back on, whichever category of people
they were. Then I would navigate sedately home,
lurching over the mounds of dirt that pointed the
noses of the cars up so they could see the screen
better, trying to avoid the poles where the speakers
hung down on the curly wires.

I had to wait patiently through the slow morning
traffic for Alexander to arrive. I decided that the
images I had of him were just private things. After
all, I had never had a black friend and with the
shortness of the season before we all moved on, it
didn't seem like this was anything more than a work
relationship. I was a little embarrassed by how I had
felt, thinking about the feel of him, when I jerked
off last night.

Private thoughts, private moment. Just be professional
and aloof. You can deal with the homo thing when you
get further from home.

That was pretty much how I felt, right up until
Alexander actually showed up for work.

He looked just as good as he had the day before. He
had a slim build that showed off his shoulders in his
Norfolk jacket with the little sewed belt in the back.
He had one of the big collar shirts and a wild floral
tie. He had slacks that were tight at the waist,
showing a suspicious bulge in the crotch and flared
nicely at the knee. There was a slight break to the at
the well-polished brown shoes. The whole thing was a
package of grace and elegance.

"Hey!" he said. "I hear you are going to rescue me
from the Nerd from here out."

"I'll do what I can. That means I get eleven hours
today to get onto the new schedule. I think the Nerd
doesn't want to stay late."

"And he doesn't trust the Negro- right?"

"I'm sure that isn't it. You are just new."

"Uh-huh." He shook his head with a knowing look. I
think I blushed. I hate it when that happens.

"The Nerd says we are supposed to move the Wheat Jeans
today. Let's get the stacks sorted and get ready for
some selling."

"Yessir, Boss" he said. I gave him that look. "Don't
bullshit a bullshitter, Alexander."

"Yessir." Then he gave me that gleaming smile and hit
me on the shoulder and we started folding the jeans
and stacking them by size.

I felt relaxed again. This guy had a sense of humor
and his easy way with the jeans, the way he folded
them back into out-of-the-box condition, made things
go quickly. We yacked about a lot of stuff that day.
He didn't know much about the city, and though I
didn't know much more, I told him what I could. There
was not much of a black population in town, and they
seemed to keep pretty much to themselves. I told him
how far away the lake was, and which places sold beer
to the underaged with fake ID.

"Where do you go to drink?" he asked.

I told him about the field in back of my house. And
them I told him about the Drive-in."

"Oh," he said. "The Passion Pit."

"Not here," I said. "You would need a hot date for
that. I just like to go and drink in the car. No one
bothers you there, if you are quiet. The block-head
Dutch would never suspect there is anything going on
there except solid respectable people watching a
movie..."

"And young kids screwing their brains out!" he said,
laughing. "I know what it was like back home. I
thought it was funny, the way they would look at us
when we drove out to Glenn Ellyn and they thought we
had another five kids in the trunk."

"Did you?'

"Of course."

My ass was starting to drag around dinner time. The
nerd gave me an hour for a dinner break and I took it.
I had an idea. I drove home and got a gallon jug of
the homemade wine from the metal storage chest in the
garage and put it in the back of the VW. I stopped at
the Mickey-Dees on the way back and got a sack of
burgers that I shared with Alexander. We put them back
in one of the dressing rooms and munched them between
customers.

We got to the 8:30 slack time and started to do our
tallies. It had not been a bad day, and we had moved
some Wheat Jeans. The Nerd had been pleased before he
rushed out to have dinner at home with the wifey.

We held down the last half hour on our own. We dealt
with a crazy woman who had to have a pair of black
slacks for her husband and he was a 40-30. It's an odd
size. We had plenty of 40-34's, but she wanted them
right away and we had to look through everything. We
finally found one that was the right size but had a
mark on them. She wanted a discount and I patiently
explained we were not authorized to do that. She
sniffed and bought them anyway.

She wasn't happy, though, and let us know it the whole
time we made the sale. By the time she was gone and
the register tape was removed and folded with the
tally cards, the grillwork was coming down on the main
doors and the place was closed.

"Whew," I said. "I don't know why it always gets like
that at closing. Makes me all agitated."

"You handled it fine, Bob. But I would have just given
them to her. They don't have any inventory control
here. The Store would never have known."

I stood there, a little stunned. "I never thought of
that." Jeeze, he was right. And we wouldn't be minutes
late getting out of there.

He picked up his jacket and slipped it over his
shoulders. "Got any big plans tonight?" he asked. "I
am not looking forward to watching TV with my Aunt
until it is time to go to bed."

I smiled. This was fantastic. "Well, I thought I might
go down to the movies and catch Butch Cassidy again."

"Quite an original mind, Bob. I'm not much of a
western guy, but that is a very pretty movie. Mind if
I join you? I'll miss the bus, though, and you will
have to give me a lift home."

"I'd be happy to, Alexander. It will be fun to see it
with someone. The dancing hotdog reel for the snack
bar is worth the price of admission alone."

"You don't know the half of that," he said with a
smile. I didn't know precisely what he meant by that,
but I had a feeling I was going to find out.


Midnight Cowboys

We found the red VW out in the parking lot, back in
the rows where Management wanted the employees to
park. I loosened my tie, and then unwrapped it.

"Too hot for work clothes," I said. "I wish I had
brought something to change into."

Alexander looked at he and shrugged off his sport
jacket. We stood on both sides of the car, doors open,
letting the evening breeze blow the heat out of the
car. He folded the jacket neatly and removed his tie
and placed them in the backseat. He unbuttoned the
sleeves of his dress shirt and rolled them up twice
with careful precision. He unbuttoned his collar and
two more below it, tugging the shirt so it bloused and
hung as thought that was the way it was supposed to
look all the time.

"It's just a question of attitude," He smiled. He
pointed at the jug of home-made wine on the floor
behind the driver's seat. "What is that?"

"It's wine my old man makes. He does fifty gallons
every year. He puts it in any container he can, and he
never can keep it organized. It is like a big likker
lending library."

"Is it any good?"

"Well, it is California concentrate and Illinois
Concord grapes. It is a little sweet, but it seems to
work."

He looked a little doubtful. "We'll get ice and some
cups at the drive-in. Trust me, it will be fine."

I got the feeling that homemade wine in paper cups was
something he made a point of not doing. I completed my
comfort conversion by doing just what Alexander had
done. We climbed into the car and I turned the key,
fired up the little four-banger engine and turned on
the radio.

"Pick any station you want," I said. "Not that there
is much to pick from. You can get both kinds of mucis
here. Country and Western."

Alexander laughed. "Yeah, I get WLS from home at night
when they clear the crap off the air at sundown and go
clear-channel. It makes me homesick."

It was not far from sundown now. I was suddenly aware
of how close we were in the VW. The failing light
bathed his fair skin and brought out light highlights
in his tight curly hair. I reached down to the great
shift and brushed his arm as he was reaching for the
buttons on the radio.

The touch was electric. For me anyway, he seemed
unconcerned. I wondered if I would have the nerve to
do anything.

I had a crush on a kid in my band class in junior high
school. His name was Joe. It was an old fashioned
name, and he wore straight-leg corduroy pants, lace-up
shoes and a cardigan sweater with plaid shirts in the
winter. His skin was sallow and smooth, like a girl.
He had big expressive eyes and a sort of sadness about
him that I found touching.

The other kids made fun of him because he was slight
in build and called him queer. For some reason that
excited me, and I looked at him as he sawed away on
his violin. His Dad had been a football player, or
that was the word, and maybe it his gentle manner came
as a reaction to that.

I never had gym class with him. I schemed sometimes on
how I could let him know that I liked him, maybe an
anonymous note that said I might be wearing some
article of clothing, maybe a tie or something, and see
if we could start a secret friendship.

I would jerk off, thinking about him, wondering if his
dick was long and thin, whether he would moan like one
of the girls, and if I could moan like that, too.

I always chickened out, thought and never did
anything. By the time we got to high school I was
hanging around with the other jocks and my infatuation
with the slight boy with the delicate manner had
passed.

Or so I thought. Now here I was sitting with a
beautiful young black man. I wondered if I would
chicken out this time, too. He was so cool looking.
And suppose I was wrong? Suppose he was just a nice
guy and I didn't understand.

Then the word would get out that I was a homo and the
rest of the summer would be spent with icy coldness
from my folks and total isolation at work and it would
drag on forever.

I decided it was better to just play it straight and
put the homo business aside. It was such a hassle.
That would be easier. I could wait to explore this at
college, when I was on my own for real. I sighed,
pleased that the decision had been made.

"What's up Bob?" asked Alexander. "Something on your
mind?"

I turned and looked at him. Damn, he was good looking.
"Nah, I just have some things going on with my folks.
I can't wait to get going for college."

"Yeah," he said. "I'm eager to get on with it, too. I
have to make up my mind about Howard or the University
of Illinois."

"It would be cool to see you on campus," I said. He
smiled and we started talking about the movies.

We were rolling down 31st Street toward the
expressway. "It is a western theme," I said. " A
double feature with True Grit and Butch Cassidy."

"Maybe you better take me home now," said Alexander.
"I'm not sure I can do two westerns in a row." I
slowed as we neared the Expressway Twin Drive-In.

"Well, there is Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider on the
other screen."

"Let's do that," he said. "Though I hate to pull you
away from the horses."

"Pull away, Man," I said. "I have seen Redford enough.
Let's check out Jon Voight. I haven't seen that one."

I turned into the entrance lanes and pulled to the
right side. There was a line of ticket booths, set up
like toll-gates on the turnpike. The two on the right
side served Screen Two, where Midnight Cowboy was
going to show.

There were more cars in the Screen One Lot, which was
on the other side of the Snack Bar that served both
from its position smack in the middle of the compound.


The teen-ager in the booth gave a cursory look in the
back seat to make sure there was no one huddled there
and I gave him three bucks for the admission. I put it
in first and drove slowly along the perimeter road,
looking down the lanes.

"Where do you want to park?" I asked.

"Not in the middle. Let's get over to the side where
we can drink in private."

"Sounds good. Let me pull up near the Snack Bar and we
can get ice and some cups." I pulled up in the back
row next to the entrance and we got out and walked in
through the glass door. There were two girls working
the counter and some kids running around with a
harried-looking couple getting a cardboard platter of
hot-dogs. Alexander rolled his eyes at me, as if to
say "how pathetic."

"We have to get something to eat with a drink or they
won't give us the cups," I said in an aside. "I get
the Sprite and pour it out and rinse the ice in the
water fountain."

Alexander nodded. When the couple got out of the way I
ordered a hot dog and a big Sprite, plenty of ice.

"Make it two," said Alexander. I could tell the girl
was checking him out. He was a pretty exotic looking
guy in this blockhead Dutch town. I envied him that.

We walked out of the Snack Bar, drank some of the
Sprite and poured the rest out. The cool sweet liquid
tasted good. I swirled water from the cooler over the
ice and cupped my fingers over the top of the cup as I
poured it out. He did the same and we climbed back in
the Beetle. I drove slowly over the inclines until we
were on the far left side of the parking area, well
away from the knot of cars in the middle and not on
the way to the Snack Bar or the bathroom.

I shut the car off, rolled the window up enough to
hook the big gray metal speaker into the driver's
side. The speaker was big enough to intrude a little
into the space in the tiny driver's side and I had to
squirm a little to get comfortable. I brushed
Alexander's shirt.

"I love the car," I said. "But it is a little small.
Could you reach the wine in the back?"

"Sure. But I don't mind the size of the car. At least
you have one." He turned and reached between the seat.
I looked down the past the unbuttoned shirt and got a
glimpse of smooth hairless honey-colored chest and a
nipple that was a dark bud. I smelled him, too,
something beyond the faint scent of his aftershave.
Something rich and tinged with sweat and something
else.

He unscrewed the metal cap on the bottle and I
produced my cup from between my legs. He filled it
half up and then he did the same for his. We settled
in, and unwrapped our hot dogs.

It was not full dark yet, but the projector started
and the screen was bathed with pale images of coming
attractions. There were three or four of them, but I
was fascinated by the way Alexander was eating his hot
dog. He brought the bun to his lips and opened wide,
seeming to tease the frankfurter with his tongue, and
then gently and delicately severing it with his pearly
teeth.

I gave shivered a little. It was so erotic. I ate mine
without the same grace, but the symbolism was clear. I
looked down at the cup between my legs, finished the
dog in a couple gulps. I crumpled up the wrapper and
tossed it in the back seat.

"Easy, Bob. You gotta make things last" he said. He
resumed his consumption of the hotdog and licked his
lips. I sipped the wine as the dancing hot dogs
appeared on the screen. The speaker crackled and
buzzed, since this segment was shown over and over
again. Alexander took a sip of wine, grimaced, and
then said "Well, the price is right."

"Aw, c'mon. It's not that bad. It will grow on you,
promise."

The dancing hot dogs finished counting down the ten
minutes to the feature film, and the wine began to
spread a warm glow through my middle. I thought the
dancing dogs looked just like thin erect cocks in warm
little jackets. I didn't say anything. I wondered what
Alexander was thinking.

"Have you seen this before?" he asked. "I enjoyed it."

"I heard it was kinda dark," I said. "I mean, you
know, depressing."

"Stop it. Don't be so sensitive. It is a real story
from the big city. Jon Voight is just like one of the
blockheads from here who gets to the big city and has
to do what he has to do. Ratso is the Dustin Hoffman
character. He teaches Jon the ropes."

The theme music and the credits started. "Everybody's
Talkin' `bout me..." sang Nillson. I liked the song. So
far nobody did talk about me, but maybe that was going
to change if I jung around with Alexander.

Alexander completed the line: "Can't hear a word they
say!" He smiled."Do you smoke pot?"

"I'd like to," I said. "I tried it before we moved
here and it felt pretty good. I think it was, anyway.
We were pretty drunk." Alexander squirmed around in
his seat and produced his wallet. He extracted a thin
hand-rolled cigarette.

"I only brought a little with me from Chicago, so I
only get to smoke one a day. I might be able to find
more, but it will take a while to make connections."

He punched in the lighter on the dash. When it popped
out it bathed his face in red. He applied it to the
end of the joint and inhaled deeply. "You ever had a
Chicago Shotgun?" he asked.

"A what?" I asked apprehensively.

"Don't worry. Here, let me show you." He took the
joint from his lips and inserted the lit end into his
mouth. The butt end protruded from his lips and he
leaned over to me. I was startled and drew back in
surprise. He touched my shoulder and brought my face
close to his. He began to blow through the joint and
an intense plume of smoke came out. I got the point
and leaned in close and began to inhale.

Our lips were so close it was almost a kiss. and the
smoke as cool and rich and thick. I sucked it down
deep into my lungs. When I had a full breath he
stopped and delicately removed the joint from his
mouth. "Now that is a shotgun" he said with a smile.

I was stunned at the intimacy of the ritual. I wanted
to do that again. I wanted to see those lips that
close. I exhaled slowly, the sweet smoke leaving me
giddy.

"That was fantastic! Can I do it for you?"

He smiled and passed me the joint. I inserted it in my
mouth as he had, backwards, and leaned close to him. I
looked him deep in the eyes and began to blow air into
the joint as if I was whistling. A thin rope of smoke
came from the butt and he gulped it in eagerly, our
lips nearly touching. When he was full I leaned back,
and realized my hand had brushed his thigh. I looked
down and in the dim light of the screen I thought I
saw there was a bulge in his crotch.

Alexander let the smoke trickle from his mouth. "Yeah,
that feels good. Relaxing."

We passed he joint back and forth until it was too
small to pass. Alexander inhaled deeply and popped the
roach in his mouth.

He gestured to me to lean over toward him and I did.
He closed his eyes and began to exhale the last cloud
from his lungs and I drank it in, getting closer and
closer. Close enough to kiss him.

The sweet smoke from his sweet lips was overpowering.

His eyes opened, and then he pressed his lips against
mine and blew out the last.

He pulled away and breathed in deeply.

"So what do you think about the Chicago shotgun?"

My head felt pleasantly expanded and all my nerves
tingled. "I like it a lot," I said. "I'd like to do it
again."

Double Feature

We sipped some wine and let the buzz take hold. I was
sitting next to this handsome man and I needed to do
something, but I didn't know what. He had as much as
kissed me and I had desperately wanted to kiss him
back. It seemed like now or never. I thought of an
excuse to brush his leg, or something, but with the
single joint gone I was not going to get another
chance for a shotgun unless I tried it with a Marlboro
and that sounded gross.

Ratso was trying to convince Jon to do something in
Times Square. I felt dreamy from the marijuana and
relaxed from the wine. "So why was it that your family
made you come here for the summer, Alexander?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, it is a bit of a story. But
I can make it simple. They did not like my choice of
girlfriend." He looked back a the screen where Jon
Voight was wearing a little cowboy hat pushed back on
his blonde hair. Dustin Hoffman looked like a junkie

My stomach knotted at the words. I had been on the
verge of a huge mistake. God, I felt like such an
idiot. The closeness had only been a way to smoke the
pot. I could have been a complete fool.

I didn't say anything, and took a sip of wine. I tried
to sound sympathetic, though my stomach felt like I
had been kicked. "Was it a white girl?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah, the problem was that she was
a white guy."

I spit out some wine. "What?"

He reached over and put a hand on my thigh. "Yes, you
head me right. I got beat up at school because some of
the brothers called me Queer and I told them to go
stuff themselves. I tried to keep them from finding
out why but Daddy got on his high horse and went to
school and the counselor told them the word was that I
was a pansy. A fruit. They decided to get me out of
there so I wouldn't get hurt."

"Jeeze," I said lamely. "That is terrible."

"Oh, there is worse I suppose." I touched the back of
his hand, stroking it gently. "It must be terrible to
be treated that way." I thought back and wondered if I
had just looked on when Joe was teased in junior high
School. Let him be made fun of when I really liked
him. I felt awful. "Have you always liked boys? When
did you know?"

"I've always known I was different. I always was
comfortable with the women in the family, and I liked
the girls at school. I just wasn't attracted to them.
As soon as I started to mature I knew what I wanted,
and it was other boys. When did you know?"

I was stunned. "Well, I'm not sure I do know."

"Oh, come on. You are as queer as I am. I could tell
the moment we met. Us queers can tell."

I sat quietly. "I have been trying to figure it out.
Lately I have been thinking of men when I jerk off.
And when I met you...I don't know. I thought you were
very attractive. Does that make me queer?"

"Well, you asked me to the Drive-in Movie where we
could be alone," he finished for me. He raised his
glass to me and took a drink. "So what do you want to
do about it? Here we are."

"I don't know," I stammered. Alexander laughed and
leaned over and kissed me full on the lips, lingering.

"Now you know," he said. And then he kissed me again,
and I felt my lips open and my tongue touched his. It
was like velvet, and the taste was sweet from the wine
and rich with the marijuana. I felt his arms come
around me and I leaned into him and I could feel
something like a freight train in my head.

And it literally was a freight train, since the tracks
ran not far from this side of the theater. But when
the ground shuddered I could not tell if it was from
the movement of the train on the tracks or my heart
thudding against my ribcage. God it felt good! My
mouth was open wide to him as his tongue probed my
teeth and my palate. I sucked at his tongue, trying to
capture it and hold it. I twisted in his embrace so
that I faced upward to him. My arms clung to him for
support and I felt I was falling upward into his eyes.


I don't know how long we made out but Nillson was
singing "Everybody's talking at me" again and the
movie must have ended. Alexander looked up and said
the dancing hot-dogs were on the screen again. I
squirmed around, still leaning against him. The arc
lights had come on at the base of the screen to show
people the way to the snack bar. I screwed up my eyes
against the sudden brightness.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked.

"I think we are just fine right here," he said. I
heard the sound of a zipper opening and I shivered. He
pulled open the front of his trousers and skinned them
down with his white briefs. He reached for my hand and
drew it toward him. I could see him in the darkness,
dark flesh much darker than his skin.

It was the first erect cock I had ever seen, other
than old Faithful. It was long and narrow, curving
slightly up the right. He was uncircumcised, the tip
of it just protruding from the foreskin. Something on
the tip glimmered. I gently placed my palm on the side
of it, toward the base, and slowly wrapped my fingers
around it as if I were griping a bat. He squirmed. I
took the pressure off my grip and ran my hand gently
upward. He had to be nearly eight inches in length,
but his cock was as slim and expressive as his
fingers.

The story seemed to be true. I continued to gently, so
gently, run my hand up and then down the length of his
cock. I leaned over and kissed him again, and then
looked down at the precious dark lance protruding from
my hand.

"You need to put that sweet mouth of yours on that,
you know" he said softly. "If you are going to be
queer you may as well be a cocksucker."

"I'd love to suck your cock, Alexander,' I said
reverently. The words hung in the air like balloons.
"I'm going to suck your cock." I was amazed by the
sound of it, the words spoken for real.

Bob, I thought to myself, tonight you are a
cocksucker. Then I shivered and began to lower my face
toward his lap.

Easy Rider

After the dancing hotdogs were gone the arclights went
out and the speaker cracked with the noise of big
motorcycles. My tongue was licking the tip of
Alexander's cock. I could not tell the color now, but
from the glimpse I had before the second feature
started it seemed to have collected all the melanin
from his golden body and concentrated into a stiff
black pole.

I held it by the base and swirled my tongue around it.
There was not much taste to the slippery fluid that
had collected on the piss slit, but I lapped it up and
then French-kissed it to make sure I had gotten it
all.

Then I worked my tongue around the flesh that
surrounded his heart-shaped knob and took him in my
mouth where I could work my tongue on the velvety
shaft.

"That's good, Bob. No teeth, gentle is good for now."
He seemed willing to let me go at my own pace and I
felt empowered by my submission to his manhood. I was
sucking a black man's cock and it was wonderful. The
pot and the wine enhanced my desire and I ran my
tongue down the side of his elegant cock and down to
the nest of wiry hairs that covered his balls.

The smell bathed my enhanced senses and I licked his
sack and teased the orbs within. "Suck them, Bob, suck
my balls," said Alexander.

I sucked one into my eager mouth. The tender teste
floated softly within the wiry covering of the silky
flesh. The smell of him was making me wild. I opened
my mouth wide managed to get both precious balls in my
mouth. I ran my tongue between them, separating them
into my cheeks. I felt his shaft rub my cheek in the
darkness and the roar from the speaker matched the
squirming of his hips.

I felt transported. Alexander's slim fingers caressed
my hair, pressing me down into him. I sucked his
balls, my mouth gaping and aching with the effort not
to let my teeth interrupt his pleasure.

The voices from the speaker blurred in my eagerness to
serve him. His voice blended with that of the movie. I
was sucking young Jack and violent Dennis as I sucked
Alexander. I left his balls with a slurp and licked
upward, worshiping his shaft. When I reached the top I
plunged down on him till the throbbing tip lodged in
the back of my throat. I felt my gag reflex begin and
Alexander cupped my ears.

"Not yet, Bob, you'll take all of me, oh yes you will.
But you can't take me deep at that angle. You'll have
to be on your knees in front of me!"

I squirmed around and gripped the base of his cock and
began to vigorously plunge my soft palate over his
silky hardness. My mouth was getting sore from holding
it so wide open but now I could focus and found a
little rhythm that seemed to please him. The sweet
liquor of his seed was beginning to flow, slippery on
my tongue and the rich smell drove us wild.

I thought what it must look like to look down from
above, to see me bobbing on that magnificent spear.

I heard him moan and I heard Jack yelling something at
Peter about Dennis and then Alexander's hands pressed
against my ears and froze me in my downward movement.
"Damn!" he said. "Your gonna take a load!"

His words made my tongue, the only thing he had not
frozen in place with the firm pressure of his hands.

It might have been the buck of his hips, or maybe it
was the backfire of a Harley from the speaker, but he
came in my mouth then, a mixture of sound and passion.
Jets hit the back of my throat, warm and salty. A hint
of chlorine. Acrid and sweet at the same time.

It was almost more than I could take all at once, but
I nursed on him as he held my head in place. His semen
leaked from my mouth but I greedily captured it
between my lips and my hand, and kept sucking until he
was dry and clean.

"Ooh, Baby" he said as I suckled on him. "You are
going to be one fine cocksucker."

It thrilled me to hear him say that and I was hard as
a rock. He stroked my hair as I imprisoned his
softening shaft in my mouth.

"You keep that up I might get hard again.'

I thought that sounded just fine.

Knights in White Satin

I finally sat up, blinking. The Red Necks were chasing
down Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper and I was a
cocksucker.

I sought Alexander's lips with mine and he kissed me
gently, our tongues meeting and sharing the residue of
him that lingered on my teeth. I took a sip of wine
from his cup. Mine was knocked over on the floor.
"Do you want me to do you?" he asked with a smile. I
reached over and felt my aching cock. The fabric of my
slacks was slick with pre-cum I had been leaking while
I suckled on him.

His touch was electric. "I'll come in a second," I
said. I felt very strange. I thought that once I came
I would be overcome with the significance of the
moment, the strange new reality I had gobbled myself
into.

I had the otherworldly feeling that I was not Bob,
suburban teen anymore. I had walked through a door I
had always known was there, but now I was on the other
side. I was a queer cocksucker. I was still weak with
desire and I did not want that to change. I wanted his
lips on me, and I wanted more. I wanted him to make me
completely his, complete the transformation.

"I want more, Alexander. I want to fuck."

"Well, we could try it here, but we will be the only
ones left in the Drive-in."

"We have the rest of the summer," I said with wonder.

"Yes we do." I liked the sound of the "we." I was part
of something with him. "but we will have to find a
place to hang out with some privacy." He was very
practical.

"I think I have one. My folks have a cabin in
Michigan. It is on a little lake. I bet we can get
there."

"Sounds good to me. I'd like that a lot." The  credits
were rolling on the film and brake lights were coming
on from the cars clustered in the middle of the
parking area.

"So I guess I'll run you home and see you tomorrow at
the mall." He leaned over and kissed me. "I want to
sleep with you, Bob. We need to do that. Soon."

"Me too" I said. I untangled myself and popped the
trunk-lid with the little handle under the dash-board.
I put the speaker back on the post with the spiral
cord hanging down. I got out and put the bottle of
wine in an old cardboard box I kept there to keep it
from rolling around. I was still hard and I would have
to avoid talking to my parents when I got in and not
let them see the stains on my pants. I got back in and
closed the door.

He smiled at me in the bright glow of the arclights
that said the show was over. He touched my thigh,
caressing it. I knew this show wasn't over. It was
only beginning.

I drove back up 32nd street past the Mall and another
couple miles to the in-close suburb where the black
community was clustered. The trees were full and the
bungalows were old but well-kept. There was no ghetto
in this town, except possibly the mental one that
keeps us all imprisoned in our boxes. I was still
grappling with being outside of my box, a little giddy
at the prospect of having made a small logical step
and seeing where would take me.

"It is this one up here, on the left." I pulled across
the oncoming lane and stopped at the curb in front. A
single light burned downstairs behind a substantial
porch. I was glad there was no one rocking on the
chair there to greet us.

"I'd like to ask you in," said Alexander earnestly.
"But it is late."

"Do you mean that?" I asked. "Are you saying you want
to be public?" the thought was a revelation.

"Public about what? We are just friends and you are
showing me the ropes. What else would anyone think?
And who cares anyway?"

I was quiet, wondering about having Alexander meet my
parents.

"Just relax, Bob. All you did was natural. Pure
nature." He leaned over and kissed me again, quickly,
and was gone into the house. I gunned the engine a
little, let out the clutch and drove home where the
houses were more modern and the lawns a little larger.


There was no one awake to greet me except the dog, and
she though she sniffed me with a quizzical nose, she
was not that interested.

When I got into bed I thought of Alexander's cock in
my mouth and I had no more to do than touch myself and
I came in great wave of semen that pooled on my belly,
filling up my navel and running off to the side. I
scooped it up and licked it off my fingers, marveling
in the difference in taste between us.

I slept and when the light was coming up and after the
folks were stirred and cars started to take them to
their jobs, I drifted off again. You know what I
dreamt. A night spent on white satin, with caramel
skin against mine.