Warning, this story may contain explicit descriptions of sexual acts between boys of various ages and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now.
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By Chris Carr
On Saturday Keone's mother refused to let him leave the house until he'd made a modest attempt at cleaning his room. He'd hung around his room until after noon, waiting for Jordie to call. Cornered, he threw most of his junk into the closet, and ran for the door. His mother hollered something about him taking out the trash as he left, but he never looked back. Keone was convinced he couldn't have tolerated sitting in his room, waiting, for another minute. Jordie's call couldn't have come any sooner for him.
Making the familiar trip in no time, he loped the stairs, two at a time, speeding to Jordie's apartment. Loud music poured from the apartment as he approached. Banging on the door, he waited, not sure he'd been heard. The door eventually flung open, Jordie standing there wrapped in nothing but a towel. Did I just gasp, Keone fretted?
Surprised at how fast the boy had arrived, Jordie teased, "Damn, kid, I was still talkin' to you on the phone. Let me go hang it up!"
"Aw, how you gonna play me, homes?"
"Com'on in, little man."
Stepping past the young man Keone quipped, "You gon' wear that, 'cause, you ask me, you a little overdressed for the occasion." Jordie said nothing, ushering the boy to a seat. Scanning the youth's scantily clad body Keone thought, damn, Jordie got it goin' on. For the instant that Jordie lingered, Keone found himself, once again, admiring another male's body. The boy's body was a study in male physique. And that chest! Those abs!
"I'll be with you in a couple of minutes, homes."
Keone sat down, surveying the apartment, appreciating the changes since last he'd been there. Black art graced the walls, and several Black magazines were spread across the coffee table. Picking one up, Keone beamed with pride as he viewed it. Noticing an entertainment center directly across from him, Keone rose, studying the booming stereo unit encased within. It was an older model unit, the sounds nonetheless superb. A CD tower stood next to the entertainment center, a wide variety of artists in it's many slots. Glancing at the titles he found an extensive range of artist from Prince to Beethoven and from OutKast to Kirk Franklin.
A picture album lay on a table beside the couch. Taking a seat, Keone picked it up, the pictures of a younger Jordie amusing him. Gazing at a pint sized Jordie, hair jeri curled, full locks of curly hair falling about his ears, he smiled. Flipping the page, he saw various pictures of the boy as a teen, some with his friends, several with girls. Here was one of him at his prom, adorned in a chintzy suit, a smiling girl beside him. Jordie the nigga, Keone beamed, gazing at the many pictures of the boy.
When Jordie returned, he'd dressed in an oversized shirt, some baggy jeans, and a pair of brown suede Lugz boots, the strings stylistically untied. Impressed with the boy's stylish attire, Keone looked at his own clothes, suddenly feeling inadequate.
"I was the bomb, huh?" Jordie bragged.
"Hell yeah," Keone rooted. Pointing to a picture he questioned, "Yo, Jordie who is this?"
Looking to see who Keone was indicating, Jordie answered,
"Oh, that's, DeVonte. We went to school together."
"And who's this?"
"That's Greg, he used to live next door to my folks."
"Yeah, they look cool, man. You still hang out with 'em?
"They in the pen, kid. Fools got caught selling drugs."
"Dangggg, that's messed up."
"Yeah, that's what happen when you think you can beat the system. That's why I'm always telling you to stay in school, shorty. Get a trade like I did, even if you have to go to one of them vocational schools you always seeing on TV."
"You ready to go?"
"Yeah, where we goin'?"
"To the mall, I gotta pay my pager bill."
Zipping along the freeway, Keone bobbed his head, spellbound by the sound system in Jordie's car.
"Damn, man. What you got in here?"
"Just a li'l sumpin, sumpin my boy La Mar hooked up for me."
"That shit is TIGHT, homeboy! And them speakers, they slammin', man!"
"Ain't nuthin, shorty."
"I like this, nigga! Yo, where you get them Locs?"
"These?" Jordie said, pulling his sunglasses off "I picked these up in the mall."
"Dang, nigga, can I check 'em out?"
"Yo, just be careful with them, a'ight?"
Handing the sunglasses to him, Jordie watched as he put them on. Pulling down the visor, Keone looked at himself in the mirror. The sunglasses perched on his small button nose delighted him. Dang, Jordie is the shit, he thought, coveting everything about the youth.
" 'Sright, don't mess with me!"
Keone bobbed his head to the music, dropping the sunglasses to the end of his nose. Throwing a gansta lean, he slumped down in the seat, his legs gapped open. The boy's ever-surprising ability to spontaneously clown around always delighted Jordie. He envied the way society allowed teens to be a child when necessary, having long past that age himself.
Chuckling he egged the boy on. "A'ight Keone, you da man!"
Keone continued his revelry, pleased with the older boy's compliment.
Turning to Jordie he asked, "Who you got your pager with, Jordie?"
"This store in the mall named, 'Beep This'. It's cool, but I'm thinking of getting one of those verbal message kind."
"I wish I had a pager."
"But what would you do with it?"
"For the Lay-dies, dude."
"Lay-dies? I ain't seen you with no 'Ladies'. "
"Yeah, but it don't hurt to be prepared."
Curious, Jordie probed further. "So what's up with that, Keone? Why you ain't hooked up with a little lady, yet?" Pensive, Keone said nothing, the sunglasses conveniently hiding his eyes.
"Just ain't found the right girl, yet."
Jordie found that interesting.
"You a picky nigga, huh?"
"I ain't picky" Keone snorted, "I'd just rather hang out with my peeps, Rashawn, and Russell
them. Shit, I'd rather be rolling with you and yo peeps, but you won't give a nigga a chance."
"You know I would if I could, but shit just keeps me running."
"Yeah, but you could hook me up, sometime. Why don't you give me the number to your pager?"
"You got it, shorty. Back up off me, now."
Arriving at the mall, they entered, chatting about Jordie's recent business venture. A computer programmer, Jordie was struggling to start his own Web design business. Between programming Web pages, managing various clients' computer systems, and working part time at the pool, the young man was quite busy.
"So what's a web site?" Keone inquired.
"It's a real cool way to showcase shit on the computer, man. I'll
have to show it to you one day."
"You got a computer?"
"Got to, kid. Next time you by my house, I'll show it to you."
"There's the shop right there, let's go."
Turning into a small outlet, the duo stepped up to the counter. Keone was a little astonished at how young the salesman was assisting them.
"Yes, may I help you?"
"Uh, yeah. I need to pay my pager bill, but before I do, I want to check out one of those verbal message pagers," Jordie instructed.
"Alright, right over here." The boy led them over to a display case filled with pagers. Pointing at a particular model Jordie inquired,
"How much is this one?"
Picking up the purple colored pager Jordie was directing him too, the boy stated, "$159."
"Damn!" Keone yelped.
"Ummm how 'bout this one?" Jordie said, ignoring Keone's reaction.
"Yeah, let me see that one."
Reaching in the showcase, the boy handed Jordie the pager.
"How many words can it receive?"
"It accepts up to 150 characters." Jordie pushed buttons on the pager, causing it to beep and display its factory installed message. Thrilled with the pager's capacity, he sought out more information.
"Where do the prices start on these kind of pagers?"
"Our lowest priced pager is $109."
Handing the pager back to the boy, Jordie declared, "Let me see that one."
Retrieving another pager, this one a basic black, the boy handed it to Jordie.
"How many characters can this one receive?"
"100." Pushing the buttons on this model, Jordie was satisfied it would meet his requirements.
"A'ight, lemme have this one."
Upon leaving the store Jordie proposed, "Keone, you want something to drink?"
"Yeah, that'll be cool."
Walking toward the food court, the boys continued chatting and checking out the sites.
"Uggggh!! You see that?" Keone blurted.
Veering to see what the boy was talking about, Jordie noticed a boy, about 2 years younger than Keone, but there wasn't anything noteworthy about him.
"Yeah, what about him?"
"He a fag, man!"
Jordie looked at the boy again, noting, "Little man don't even look like he know he funny, dude. How you come up with that?"
"Huh?" Keone mumbled, stumped.
"I mean, he don't even seem that way, dude, what makes you think he's gay?"
Desperately seeking to justify his claim, Keone cited, "You couldn't tell?"
"Well yeah, now that you pointed it out, but I just don't understand how you caught it so fast."
"Dude was obvious, man, with his fag ass!"
Grabbing their drinks, Jordie directed them to a table away from the ruckus of the other diners. Sitting down he turned to Keone.
"Keone, I know you not gay and everything, but it's not nice to call people fags."
"That's what he is."
Waiting for an older lady, laden with packages to pass, Jordie sipped on his soda.
"I know, shorty, but it's not nice," he continued. "How would you feel if a white dude called you a nigger?"
"I'd kick his pasty ass."
"Well it's just the same when you call a gay dude fag, Keone."
"No it ain't."
"Yes it is."
"No it ain't."
"Yes it is! Keone!" Keone turned to face Jordie, the boy had gotten his attention. Sitting his drink down, he stared at him, waiting to hear what had upset him so.
"Keone. It's not nice, man. I know, I gots a cousin that's gay, and he hooked me up on that stuff. You call a gay dude a fag, it's like a white person calling you nigga. I didn't think 'bout it either, till my cousin told me 'bout it, know what I'm sayin?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Promise you won't do it no more, a'ight?"
"All the time?" he whined.
"At least when you with me, a'ight?"
A mall custodian flitted around their table, mopping the floor, the two finishing their sodas in silence.
"You mean to tell me you see a fa a gay ass nigga, you don't call him a fag to yo' peeps?"
"No, I don't."
Keone looked away, thinking about what he'd said.
"You ready to go?"
"Yeah, if you are," Keone replied, saddened that their time together was nearly over.
Observing the change in Keone's demeanor, Jordie offered "Yo, shorty, you want to drop by my house?"
Brightening, Keone bubbled, "Fo sho!"
"Ok. Let's stop by the bank to cash your check, then we'll stop by
my house, a'ight?"
The hot southern California sun beaming on his head, Keone lazily hung his head out the window, wind from the fast moving car breezing across his face. Deep in thought, he watched as other fast moving, sleek cars whizzed by. Cars always fascinated the boy. Living in Southern Cal., he had the enviable advantage of indulging his hobby, happily perusing the thousands of cars trekking the city. Searching the vehicles zipping by, he looked for his favorite, the new Volkswagen Beetle. What he wouldn't give to have one in black. His search failing, he turned to Jordie, a question on his face.
"What's up, kid?" Jordie asked, noticing the boy's quizzical look.
"Man, the weirdest thing happened to me the other day."
"Yeah, what was that?"
"It's that crazy nigga La Vel."
Stopping for a red light Jordie looked at Keone.
"Why you call him crazy?"
"Cause he is!"
"What he do that was so crazy, Keone?"
"Well, first of all, that fool always walking 'round his house half naked."
"Yeah! His crusty ass be walking 'round with nothin on but this to'e up robe he got."
Speeding off, Jordie felt it best to turn the booming music down, Keone seemed disturbed.
"Worse part 'bout it is, he don't close that thing up!" Keone sputtered.
"So he just walks around with his shit hanging out?"
"Yeah! The other day I went over there, and he answers the door with his dick all hangin out!"
Jordie looked at Keone, the boy's face twisted in frustration, waiting.
"THEN, he wants me to look at this bitch flick he got. He always getting them films. Ugly ass bitches with big ol tiddies and shit."
"You don't like that?"
"Not them ugly ass women HE be having! That's all La Vel do, look at bitch flicks, fuck and do drugs."
Continuing, Keone complained, "Know what else he did?"
"Like I say, he always walking 'round with his dick hangin out and shit. So he puts on this bitch flick, and starts talking 'bout how it's makin him all hot, and shit."
Keone grew quiet, the noise of the car sailing along the highway the only sound for a few minutes. Finally he continued,
"Talking 'bout he all hot and shit, and then he pulls out his stanky dick and shows it to me, talking 'bout it's getting hard 'cause he watching them ugly ass bitches."
"Dont let it fade you, kid. He just tryin to see if he can rattle yo cage, that's all. "
"Yeah, but then he " Keone's face became hard as stone, sullen. Riding along, his eyes filled with the slightest hint of tears. Jordie became very concerned at that point.
Keone said nothing.
"Tell me what he did, Keone."
"He He grabbed his faunky dick and points it at me and said 'You like that, don't you?' "
"Aw shit, Keone, why'd he do that?"
"I don't know! He got all scared when I called him on it, though. Talking 'bout he was just messin around after that. He probably a faggot. Oh, sorry man."
Jordie was so distracted by what Keone was saying, cars were passing him, now.
"What were you guys doing before he did that?"
"Just looking at the film, man. Then he starts talking 'bout how hot he is, and shit, and takes his dick out. I looked at it a couple of times, and I guess he musta thought I was that way."
The boy's account of his incident with La Vel worried Jordie. Teenage boys in the inner city could become quite violent if they perceived you as 'funny'.
"What you gon' do?"
"I'ma kick his ass!"
"Yeah, that's just the stupid in you talking. You know La Vel hooked up with 89th Street, man. Them fools is crazy."
"I cain't just let him get away with it, though."
"I don't know why you hang out with them fools anyway. Ain't it some other guys your age you can run with?"
"Yeah, Rashawn, and Russell and them."
"Why don't you leave La Vel alone then?"
"But he got all that juice, man."
"Yeah, I know. But you make your own juice, Keone. You know, like you working now. And you get some good friends, and get into some good things. That's what I had to do. I had La Vel's when I was your age, too. I told you 'bout Greg, remember?"
"I just kept fools like Greg on a long leash, that's all. You know, speak to them when you have to, but gone 'bout yo business. Make your own juice, Keone."
"Guess so. I tired of them niggas always stressin me 'bout pussy anyway."
"Stressin you? How?"
"They be giving me a hard time and asking how come I ain't fuckin all the time like they do."
"Yeah, but it ain't like you never be boning, right."
"Yeah, when I feel like it."
"Then don't stress it. Different strokes for different folks."
"Yeah, but they won't leave me alone."
"What they want you to do?"
"I guess they want me to be running up in girls all the time like
"Yeah, and how you know they ain't lying 'bout how much they getting laid?"
" 'Cause, I be being there when they doin it."
"Well, I be in the park."
"The park? Y'all getting yo swerve on in the park?"
"Yeah. Why you trippin?"
" 'Cause that's just some bold shit."
"Yeah well, most the time we go up to the park, there's these street ho's up there and ."
"Not real ho's Jordie, dang, you sho is trippin. They girls, 'bout our age, man."
"Yeah, but like I was saying, they be up there all the time and my niggas be taking 'em behind the bathrooms and slammin 'em."
"Oh, y'all ain't jumpin them right out in the open, huh?"
"No! Oh! You thought we was fuckin right out on the basketball court or sumpin?"
"Yeah, that's how come I was buggin, man."
"No, we be takin 'em back behind the bathrooms. Cain't nobody see you back there."
"But they be doin it all the time, man. Hell, one of them be back there fuckin every night!"
"But you don't?"
"No. Ain't nobody need that much pussy!"
"Yeah, then how much do you do it, then?"
"I dunno. Maybe I dunno."
Needling the flustered boy, Jordie inquired,
"When was the last time you got you some pussy, nigga?"
Irritated, Keone stumbled.
"I dunno Let me see Guess it was, like, 'bout a month or two ago. I don't remember!" He snapped.
"It's alright, shorty. I ain't one of your horny friends."
"Yeah. I just get tired of it, man."
"Your friends can't let you be you, then you don't need to worry yourself over friends like that."
"Yeah, that's right, man. I'ma quit stressin over them fools. They all just a bunch of horny dogs, anyway, 'cept fo Rashawn."
"Yeah, why you say that?"
" 'Cause. Rashawn, he cool, man. He don't be trying to prove shit to them knuckleheads all the time."
"Maybe you should take a clue from Rashawn, then."
"Yeah I think you right. Thanks Jordie."
Staring out his window, Keone decided he needed to do something else besides pull on his dick, AGAIN. Walking over to the stereo, he found his favorite radio station and jacked the volume up sky high. Rappers bounded from the speakers, angrily chanting about their escapades in the hood. Keone bobbed his head to the sounds, hoping to distract himself. He'd gone to the pool two days in a row only to be flatly denied any work by Jordie. As a matter of fact, Jordie was acting kind of weird. He wouldn't let him in the facility, opting to talk to him at the door instead. He was distant too, almost like he didn't want Keone around. He merely told him, there was no work, and went back inside. Keone rode home both days in a funk. Had he done something to make Jordie mad? Would he loose his best friend as a result? WHY? And that was just added stress to the problems he already had.
His weekend had been a catastrophe. He'd stopped by the park after Jordie had dropped him off Saturday night. A group of boys were playing basketball and, noting that La Vel wasn't around, Keone had joined the game. Just when the game was getting good, La Vel showed up! Everything went downhill from there, La Vel having extra fun at Keone's expense. Every time he'd miss a basket La Vel would insult him, attacking his masculinity.
"I think Keone ain't getting enough pussy, y'all," he'd say. His concentration broken, Keone commenced to throwing up bricks.
"What's the matter, Keone? You ain't got sugar in your draws, is you?"
The other boys seemed amused by La Vel's taunts, egging him on. He tried hard to ignore the boys, but La Vel wouldn't let up. Keone eventually became enraged and lashed out at the him.
"You the one was trying to get me to suck yo' dick!" he yelled. A hush fell over the court as the boys turned to look at Keone. In the far distance, blocks away, he could hear the familiar pops of a gun, no doubt the final commentary on another violent confrontation. Keone thought it strange how acute his hearing had suddenly become. In addition to the gunshots, he could hear the solid thud of La Vel's approaching boots, and the anxious exhale of one of the nearby teens. Somewhere close there was the annoying sound of the basketball, bouncing unattended across the court. Turning, he confirmed that his ears had heard correctly, for La Vel indeed was, thundering toward him.
"Fuck you, bitch!" he shouted, his eyes bugged. "You the one was all staring at my dick like you wanted to suck it or something. I was just trying to give you a chance to get what you wanted!"
A circle formed around the two boys, now face to face. Keone knew it probably would be in his best interest to back down, but his pride, coupled with his anger wouldn't let him. Stepping back La Vel beckoned with his hands, a mock gesture daring Keone to attack. Staring at the boy, he heard a dog barking, the sound traveling from across the huge park. Glaring at La Vel, plotting out his strategy, his attention was strangely to a small stain on La Vel's shirt, just above his left nipple. I'm really buggin', he thought, his scattered thoughts racing. Outnumbered, Keone opted to do nothing, settling for a contemptuous stare. La Vel pounced, his prey cornered.
"Yeah! Yeah! Now we see! This nigga ain't fuckin cause HE want dick!"
"Fuck you, La Vel!"
La Vel stepped back up to the boy, eyeing him angrily.
"Nigga, you trying to come fo me, actin all hard! You ain't shit. Where you from, nigga?!!"
Where you from? It was one of the deadliest challenges in the hood; a wrong answer could prove fatal. Knowing he couldn't claim any gang affiliation he held his peace.
"Yeah, like I was saying, BITCH! THIS IS 89th STREET HERE!" La Vel cried, throwing his gang's hand signs, as he circled Keone, hitching his sagging pants up. A small cheer rose from the other fellow gang members among the boys. Enraged, Keone glowered at him, cautious of escalating the confrontation any further.
"You best ta step off, fool!" La Vel admonished. Having heard the boy's war cry, Keone knew it would be suicide to provoke him, you never knew who was packing these days.
"Get the hell outta my park, bitch!"
Keone scowled at La Vel a few minutes, his fragile ego bruised. Looking around he noticed several of the boys throwing up their gang signs, defiantly daring him to do something. Relenting, he left, to their sneers, his only consolation being his solemn vow that he would, somehow, get La Vel back.
That had been three days ago and he couldn't get the confrontation off his mind.
Another artist blasted from the radio, snapping Keone back. Jordie's trippin, La Vel is a punk, and I ain't got no money! Flipping the stereo off, he walked to the couch, flouncing down, his thoughts overwhelming. Idly, he played with his foreskin, tugging it past the fat head of his dick. Almost instantly, his long dick filled, standing erect from his groin. Looking at it, he marveled that it could get hard again. He'd jacked off, two times in the last two hours already!
Fuck 'em all! He thought, casually stroking his dick. I don't need that stupid Jordie, anyway. Li'l penny ante shit. Bustin my ass, fo' what? $25! And that punk ass La Vel, he just betta be glad I ain't caught his ass alone.
His dick fully erect now, it was demanding attention. Extracting the foreskin, he gazed at the protruding head of his stiff member. Wonder what it'd feel like to ram this thing down La Vel's throat? No! Even better! Jordie's, with them big ass lips he got? Conjuring up the image of Jordie, clad in his bath towel, Keone felt his dick swell. Slipping the foreskin over the head a couple of times, Keone realized he needed to get off again. Remembering the magazine he'd picked up the other day, he rushed to his room.
Reaching between the mattresses, he pulled it out, flipping through the pages of naked, sexually stimulating boys. Eventually he arrived at the personal ads in the back. These punks is freaky, he thought, reviewing the copious offers to suck, fuck, and rim, whatever that was. Flipping the page, his eyes landed on an ad announcing,
"Black Son Wanted."
The ad went on to mention the poster was 29, Black, "very oral", and wanted a young stud to "fill his desires." Keone read the ad several times, trying to decide why he was even reading it in the first place. Wonder what it would feel like, a nigga suckin on yo' dick?
Looking down, Keone saw that he had somehow sat down on his bed, but he couldn't remember doing it. He also noticed his dick was brick hard again. Gripping it in his hand, he read the ad again, his dick swelling when he considered a brother slipping his big lips over his dick. An abrupt impulse seizing him, he picked up the phone, his fingers trembling, as he dialed. His heart was in his throat by the time the other end picked up. To his surprise it was a message, directing him to enter the mailbox number of the person he wished to contact. Picking up the magazine, he searched the ad for a number and punched in a series of digits he imagined was the code. A connection was made and a voice came on the phone...