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.
The author retains copyrights to the story.
http://www.pridesites.com/cdawg/C_City.htm Stop by, I'd love to hear from you!
By Chris Carr
©1999
"You ready?"
It was Malik again. As usual he was accompanied by his flunkies Markus, Twon and Daniel. Why does this keep happening to me, Keone fretted?
"Grab that punk ass nigga then y'all, since he cain't talk."
Instantly the three boys were upon him, his panicked heart thumping. Determined to do something different this time, Keone kicked the nearest boy in the groin. Doubling over, the boy yelped. Enraged, Malik stepped up to him and delivered a punch to his mouth, blood spurting out. Knife-boy did what he always did and laid his handmade knife at the boy's jugular. Immediately freezing, Keone watched as the boy he'd kicked jumped up and delivered another blow to his face. Holding him, the boy's snatched his briefs off, laughing at his sudden nudity.
"Told you this bitch was goin like this," Malik said, pointing at the boy's stiff dick. Grabbing it, he tugged on the foreskin emitting a groan of delight from the horrified boy.
"Hold dat bitch, y'all, I'ma turn his pussy out. He wan'it anyway."
Struggling, Keone's feet skittered across the floor, desperately trying to free himself. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Malik's humongous dick, pulsing, aiming and he started pleading with his captors.
"Com'on y'all, let me go! Don't do this, man! MALIK!!"
His pleas unheeded, he wiggled and writhed as he felt the boy's long dick inch up his virgin ass. Screaming, he heard Malik say,
"Look at dat bitches dick! Stand back y'all, I ram my dick all the way up this pussy, he gon' shoot all over you."
Screaming and contorting on the monstrous dick, Keone watched in horror as his dick leaped, spurting out ropes of hot boy cum all over the dorm floor.
Jerking up, Keone snapped his head about, his eyes bugged, panting, terrified. Looking at his clock he saw that it was 11:19. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he threw the covers back, and received another shock. His boxers were darkened about his waist with moisture.
"The fuck?"
Touching his hand to his groin, he quivered when it passed over his still spasming dick. Doubling over, he groaned, infused with sexual stimulation. Raising his hand to his nose he determined that the liquid his boxers were literally swimming in was his own cum. Pulling his boxers back, he gazed, dumbfounded at the mess. Cum was matted in his pubic hairs, running down his legs, and dripping from his foreskin. MOTHERFUCK! I've done it again! The reoccurring dream had tormented the boy ever since he'd returned home. This was the fifth time he'd had the dream in three weeks. Troubled, he stood, his only desire to be rid of the mess.
Turning on the shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. Despite his cum soaked boxers, he couldn't notice anything but the scar under his left eye. The dufus doctor at the infirmary had said his wounds wouldn't leave any scars, but he was wrong. The half inch scar under his eye was a glaring reminder of the horror he'd survived, a horror he'd spent most of his free time trying to forget. Enduring the horror of rape through his nightmare wasn't making it easy. Why would his mind conjure up memories of his gruesome time at Forester? And even worse, why would it create situations where he was being raped, and enjoying it? That's insane, he thought. His time at Forester was not something he wanted to relive.
After his encounter with Jerrell, he'd spent two more days in the infirmary, only to find that his case had radically changed. Apparently the police had become suspicious and searched Sean's place finding evidence that the man really was preying on young teenage boy's. They'd found Polaroid's taken of other boy's he'd met and been sexual with, some of them engaged in sex with him when the picture was taken. Sean frequently used drugs on his boys. Had Keone's agreed to taking his offer of drugs, his experience with the man would've been a lot different, he was told.
He frequently fucked young boys, especially 12 and 13 year olds, but he'd not been as successful getting that age as he was boys Keone's age. The pictures combined with additional evidence found in the man's house were enough to force the judge to reconsider his previous decision. Keone learned that Sean was going to be spending a long time locked up with sex offenders and perverts. He only hoped they would subject him to the same horror he'd been through, ten times over.
Even that knowledge brought little consolation to him his first week at home, however. Though he'd fought hard to suppress his memories of Forester, he still couldn't evade the knowledge that he'd punked himself to another boy. Over and over his mind would replay him kneeling on the cold shower floor, readily sucking Jerrell's long dick, his own going off as the boy raped his throat. The more he replayed the image, the more he hated himself.
What kind of faggot am I? Goin all the way cross town to some strange man's house 'cause I wanted him to suck my dick! I let a fucking, child-molesting, pervert, feel all on me and suck my dick! And I came in his mouth, like some kind of faggot, too!
Repulsed, Keone determined things were going to be different. Surmising that he'd been reduced to sucking another boy's dick because he'd been weak, he purposed never to be that way again. Over the last three weeks, he'd distanced himself from all his old acquaintances and friends. He needed tough friends. Hard niggas that would have his back from now on. And most importantly, he determined that he had made himself weak because he'd jacked off too much. A man should be fucking, or nothing, he'd heard. As a result, he'd refrained from all masturbation, deciding that if it got bad enough, he'd find him a girl to fuck, the way a real man was supposed to do.
Which led to his nightmares. If he could just stop his stupid brain from replaying that sick faggot shit, and making him nut up over getting fucked, he'd have it all under control. Passing his finger over his scar, he changed his perspective on its implications. As opposed to it being a sign of his weakness, he decided it would be a reminder that he needed to be tough. Stepping into the shower, he fought the urge to stroke his hardening member, determined to be tough. Quickly cleaning up, he jumped out the shower intent on hooking up with some 'fo' real niggas.
"So you goin have a house full of wild ass kids Saturday, huh?"
"Don't start, Michael, I'm already having second thoughts about this."
Michael had stopped by to shoot the breeze, causing Jordie to take a break. A break he really needed.
"Oh oh, why?" Michael said, glancing up at Jordie.
"'Cause it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Eric wants to bring his friend Cordell, and Russell was talking 'bout bringing his friend Hasaan. And yesterday Rashawn said he was going to see if he could get Keone to come."
"Now there's a name I ain't heard in a long time," Michael said, taking a sip from his beer. "How's he doing?"
"Not too good, according to Rashawn. That fool been hooking up with them gangbangin niggas at Southwest."
Setting his beer down, Michael looked troubled.
"That ain't good, B."
"I know, but I cain't get him to talk to me," Jordie stewed, distraught.
"You been trying?"
"Yeah! I stopped by his house yesterday, but his moms said he was sleeping, and it was 8:00 in the evening."
"Wonder why he was sleepin so early?"
"You mean, so late! His moms said he'd been up all night. Guess the li'l nigga was all tired out."
"Why you think he hangin out with them guys?"
"I ain't sure, but I bet it's because he feeling all less-than 'bout goin to juvi. Especially seeing what he went there for."
"What you mean?"
"They say he was messing around with this older guy and beat 'em up."
"WHAT!!"
"Yeah, that's the word on the streets, but I don't know if that's true or not."
"Well, the word on the streets can get a little exaggerated at times. You think Keone would really mess around with another nigga?"
"Don't know, Michael. Youngbloods don't be thinkin' nothin' bout doin' it with a dude nowadays."
"Yeah, but in the hood?"
"It do sound pretty freaky, don't it?"
"Yeah, a li'l nigga in the hood ain't go be messin 'round with another nigga 'cept he li'l AC/DC, dude," Michael said, gesturing his hand back and forth, suggestively.
"Man listen to yo'self! You talkin 'bout Keone. L'il man just ain't like that."
"It all sound too strange to me, B."
"Yeah, that's why I think, too. Till I hear from him, I ain't believin' it," Jordie said, dismissing the rumor. "You coming Saturday, 'cause I could use the help?"
"Aw, Jordie! You want me over here with all them young, dumb, full of cum, wild ass boys?"
"We goin be watching the game, man. And they ain't wild."
"Aw com'on man, cain't you find somebody else?" Michael pleaded.
"You know I ain't got nobody else, B, you all I got."
His face contorted in frustration, Michael looked at Jordie, hoping for a way out.
Resigned, he groaned, " So what time you want me to be here?"
"Game starts at 2:00 so I guess you can get here 'bout 12:00 to help me set up," Jordie said, happy.
Slinging the dice against the bathroom wall, the banter grew excited.
"'Swhat I'm talkin 'bout, boy!"
"Nigga think he lucky tonight."
"Just pay me my shit, niggas," the first boy said, his hand out. Reaching in their pockets, the other boys paid up, vowing to win it back. Another game starting, the dice were thrown against the wall again.
Keone watched every move, intent on learning the foreign game. He'd tried a few hands but wasn't very good at it, not knowing how to 'trash talk' like the others. Reducing your opponent verbally was the greater part of the game, he'd observed. Leaning against the wall, he watched, inputting, learning. One of the other boys offered him a cigarette and he took it, determined to fit in. Puffing lightly on the tobacco he choked, invoking a round of laughs from the other boys.
"You ain't never smoked?" the oldest of the boys said. Keone shook his head no, still hacking.
You'll get the hang of it." Yeah, see, they got my back, Keone thought, pleased.
"See, what I tell you?" A voice to their right accused. The game pausing, every eye gazed at the source of the accusation, devouring her.
"Niggas is all talk, no game," the girl continued, smacking on a wad of gum, her skimpy clothing rousing desire in the boys.
"Ain't that the truth," another girl replied, stepping from the shadows.
"We wanna find some action tonight, we best to go to them other niggas," the first girl said, mocking. "You know, them punks hustling on the other side of the park!"
"We ready anytime you ready, bitch!" the boy's contended.
"'Bout time," the first girl said, waiting.
Pausing to regard Keone, the older boy offered,
"Yo' Keone, you the newest nigga of the group. Why don’t we let you break off a li'l piece?" Perplexed, Keone thought to make an excuse. Rethinking his position, however, he remembered his vow to not masturbate and decided if he really was going to honor that decision, he'd better get off, some time. Stubbing his partially smoked cigarette out, he threw his best roughneck impersonation the girl's way.
"Might as well," he leered, grabbing his dick through his low hung pants. "I just hope she can take all this," he added, inducing a cheer from the other boys as he led the girl off.
Circling the bathroom, they went to the opposite side, away from his 'friends'. Looking into the girl's exotic, Asian-like eyes, Keone tried to convince himself that she was hot. The cinnamon brown 15 year old should've sent his hormones skyrocketing. Her budding breast were squeezed into a skintight halter-top, the nipples evident through the fabric. Gazing at the way her hip hugging shorts crept between her legs, outlining the folds of her pussy, Keone expected a swift stirring in his loins. It never came.
Realizing she'd have to make the first move, the girl leaned against him, rubbing her groin against Keone's. Groping him, she kissed at his closed lips for a few seconds, extracting his dick in the process. His semi-hard dick in her hands, she kissed and suckled his neck seeking to get the boy hard. After a few minutes, however, she realized he was going to need a little help. Stooping before him, she stuck his dick between her full, sensuous lips. Gyrating his hips, Keone wondered what was wrong. This is a real girl on yo dick, he argued. Ain't no punk ass pervert, get that shit up!
The girl slurped and sucked his dick until it was hard enough to fuck. Keone peeled her shorts down, along with her panties, snagging them about her knees. Rubbing his dick across her pussy lips, he felt the moisture of her oozing pussy. Yeah, this is what I've been needing, he reasoned, pushing his dick into her quivering quim. His dick deep within her wet pussy, he concentrated on getting off. The sensation of her wet, slimy pussy, leaking all over his dick, was unappealing, however. As before, his erection started wilting the more she oozed.
Why girls got to be so messy? Keone griped, his dick drooping more. Sliding back and forth in her pussy, he coerced his dick into a decent erection, intent on just shooting his load and getting his dick out of the sticky goo as soon as possible. The girl writhed and moaned atop his dick, thrilled, but Keone couldn't get off. Grabbing her pert buns, he pulled her closer to him, gyrating his dick around her pussy, desperately desiring to get this over with. Holding her round ass in his hand, invoked a memory he fought to recall. Suddenly his mind was flooded with memories of naked boys standing under the shower nozzles, their taut, round asses flexing before him. His dick leaped hard in the girl's pussy, causing her to comment that his dick was feeling "gooood!" Frantic, Keone tried to redirect his thoughts back to the girl he was fucking, his dick withering again.
"Com'on, baby, keep it up," the girl prodded. Grabbing her buns again, he rammed her against the wall. But it wasn't until he recalled Jerrell's dick, pulsing before his face that he went off.
His dick engorging in the girl's pussy, Keone groaned, the memory of Jerrell's spurting, dick probing his throat vivid. His head thrown back, Keone moaned and shook, caught in the throes of an orgasm not of his choosing.
His powerful orgasm subsiding, Keone snatched his dick out of the girl's drenched pussy, immediately jaunting into the nearby door of the boy's bathroom. His dick still hanging from his pants, he turned on the faucet and threw water on his slime covered dick, furiously trying to clean it up. Not until he'd thoroughly removed all of the remains of the girl's fluids did he stop rinsing his dick. Snatching a handful of paper towels, he dried himself, carefully inspecting his foreskin for any signs of the girl's juice. Closing his pants, he looked into the mirror, startled by the look of disgust on his face.
"Price check on a 22 ounce can of Prego spaghetti sauce, please."
Running to aisle 7, the handsome clerk picked up a can of the sauce, noting its price. Heading to the front, he sought out the checker that had requested the price check.
"$1.89, Regina."
"Thank you, Rashawn."
"No problem."
Returning to aisle 9, Rashawn resumed stocking cookies on the shelves. Tentatively, a boy approached him, quietly inquiring where the tampons were. Rashawn imagined he must've been getting them for his mom, because he couldn't imagine a boy this young buying them for his girl.
"Aisle 19."
Hesitating, the boy looked around, uncertain.
"You want me to show you?"
"Yeah," the boy answered, grateful.
Leading the boy through the store, Rashawn kept noticing the way he was looking at him. Dude must be sweet, he thought. Turning to the boy, Rashawn politely announced,
"They 'bout half-way down this aisle."
Gushing the boy replied, "Thanks."
"A'ight."
Returning to his aisle, Rashawn had to smile at the boy's obvious attraction to him. Kneeling he grabbed some more packages of cookies, adeptly tossing them onto the shelf.
"Do you know where the tampons are?"
Not loverboy again!
"Uh… Yes, like I said, they're on…Oh, you think you funny, huh?"
"No sir, I just need to know where the tampons are?"
Laughing, the youths greeted each other.
"'Sup, Jordie?"
"You got it, B"
"You saw that?"
"What?? Saw what?"
They laughed again.
"Wonder why niggas always jockin me?" Rashawn said, tossing more cookies onto the shelf.
"Guess you must be pretty good-looking, although I don't see what they seeing"
"That's alright, nigga. You ain't the one gotta see!"
"Guess that's right. You comin over Saturday?" Jordie inquired, picking up a package of cookies.
"Looks like I'm goin be free, B."
"Cool!"
"You speak to Keone yet?"
"I stopped by his house, but his moms said he was sleep."
"Sleep? What time did you stop by?"
" 'Bout 8:00."
"And that nigga was sleep?" Pausing to let a customer push her cart past them, Jordie continued,
"Yeah, I guess you'd be sleep at 8:00 if you'd been out all night, too."
"No shit?"
"Yeah, that's what his moms said. She said he be out most every night, now, hangin out at the park."
"That just ain't like Keone, man. He cain't be happy."
"Why you say that?"
"'Cause that just ain't him. He wanted to be different from them lug heads in the park. That's why he was tryin to get a job."
Smitten, Jordie turned his head.
"When's the last time you talked to him?"
"'Bout a week ago," Rashawn said, opening another box of cookies.
"You think he'll talk to you?"
Rashawn hunched his shoulders, tossing packages onto the shelf.
"Listen, Rashawn, if you can get him to talk to you, why don't you invite him to the party Saturday?"
"Ok, I'll stop by this afternoon."
"Thanks, B. Oh, and… Make sure you keep those tampons stocked!"
"G'won way from here, fool!"
Oh my head! My aching head! Sitting up, Keone grabbed his throbbing head, rubbing his thundering temples. Damn, that cheap shit them fools be guzzling sho' leave yo' head fucked up in the morning. Looking at his clock Keone saw that it was nearly 2:00 p.m. Staggering out of bed, he walked to the bathroom, his bladder begging for release. Raising the toilet seat, he pulled out his dick, letting fly a stream of yellow piss.
"Ahhh" he moaned, relieved to empty his bladder.
Flushing the toilet, he staggered to the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes were puffy, and his hair was a fuzzy, dry mess. His mouth dry, he smacked his lips, thirsty. What a price to pay for friendship, he thought, heading for the kitchen. You wouldn't have to pay such a big price if you'd stop trippin 'bout fucking pussy, he maintained.
Opening the fridge, he searched for something to drink. Grabbing the water picture, he turned it up, swallowing a big swig of the cold liquid. Seconds after the water landed in his stomach, however, he felt it coming back up. Slamming the water picture down, he ran for the bathroom, arriving at the toilet seconds before he started heaving. Holding onto the tank, he suffered through an interval of violent retching, his stomach eventually dry heaving. Slumping to the floor, he waited, hoping the worst was over. His head throbbing again, he toiled to remember what had happened last night that had him so sick this morning? Massaging his temples, he slowly started to recall bits and pieces.
After his unpleasant fuck with Charron, he'd returned to his "buddies" only to find the girl complaining that he wasn't that good of a fuck.
"His dick kept goin down," she complained, smacking on her gum. This was all he needed. Some of the guys started ribbing him about his problems with "keepin' it up." When another girl showed up, eager to fuck, Keone wandered off to where some of the other boys were sitting around throwing down beers. Knowing he'd never successfully pull off another fuck session, he readily took a beer when offered him. Three beers later, he was plastered. He vaguely remembered the boys laughing at his inebriated state, but couldn't remember too much more. Standing, Keone steadied himself, grabbing the doorjamb. His appetite lost, he returned to his bed and soon found himself sleep again.
A persistent bamming on his back door finally roused him around 3:30. Dragging himself out of bed, he went to the door, peeking through the window to see who it was.
"Yo! Keone, open the door, nigga!" If it had been anyone other than Rashawn, he'd have blown him off. Opening the door, he implored,
"Can you stop bangin on my door, please?"
"Wouldn't been bangin if you would return a niggas calls sometimes. Where you been?"
"Yo, Rashawn, tone it down a little. I got a headache."
"Ok, but what's wrong wit' you?"
"Just got a hangover, I think," Keone said, rubbing his temples.
"You was drinkin'!" Rashawn hooted.
"Oww! Quit yelling!"
"Oh. Sorry, dog."
Closing the door, Keone shuffled over to the table and slumped in a chair.
"Want me to give you somethin' for that?" Rashawn inquired.
"Give me somethin? Like what?"
"You got some tomato juice?"
"Tomato juice?"
"Yeah. You got some, I can fix you up this drink that'll help you."
"My moms might have some in the fridge," Keone muttered motioning to the refrigerator. Rashawn opened the door and searched for a can.
"You want your headache to get better, you should go stand under some hot water," he informed, his head still stuck in the refrigerator.
"What's that gon' to do?"
"I ain't sure," he said, closing the door, "But my uncle does it all the time when he's got a hangover. You got some Tabasco?"
"Uh… Yeah, in the cabinet. What you doin'?"
"Fixin' this hangover cure he showed me."
Rinsing a glass off, Rashawn opened the can of V-8, pouring it in the glass. Dashing a healthy helping of Tabasco in the juice, he offered it to Keone. Staring at the concoction, Keone glanced up at Rashawn, wary.
"It supposed to work," the boy commented, shrugging his shoulders. Tentatively Keone lifted the glass, placing in to his lips.
"Drink it all down in one shot, B," Rashawn instructed. Holding his breath, Keone swallowed, wincing at the piquant flavor of the juice. Feeling the liquid slide down his throat he prayed it wouldn't come right back up. Gagging the unsavory solution down, Keone waited a minute to see if he could hold it.
"That shit was nasty," he cringed.
"Give it a few minutes, it should make your headache better."
"And what's this you was talkin' 'bout takin' a shower?"
"My uncle be standin' under a hot shower for like a long time when he get a hangover. The bathroom be all steamed up, but when he come out, but he says he feels better."
His head still throbbing, Keone wasn’t adverse to the boy's suggestion. It was having to do it with him there that concerned him. Gazing at the caramel complexioned boy's face, he felt a stir in his groin that frustrated him. Sadly realizing that, despite his efforts, his body seemed to have a mind of it's own, the last thing he wanted to risk was being nude with the boy in the house; even if he was in the shower.
"You don't have to, you don't want too," Rashawn said, nonplused. Another wave of pain banging about his head, Keone cautiously relented. With concern he inquired,
"What you gon' do?"
Completely unaware of the boy's anxiety, Rashawn replied, "I could cook you up this breakfast my uncle be makin'?" Standing quickly before his hardon became noticeable, Keone didn't refuse the boy's offer, retiring the bathroom in hopes of improving his aching head.
Standing beneath the stinging hot water, Keone fought back the stabbing hot flashes radiating from his midsection, determined to not punk himself like before. Steam filling the bathroom, he stood quietly under the nozzle, willing his dick to not harden.
Rashawn's concoction had provided a degree relief and for some reason, the longer he stood under the hot water, the better his pounding head felt. Sticking his head under the nozzle, Keone sighed, the cascading water relieving his headache more.
"You got a little skillet?" he heard Rashawn holler. The boy's voice startled him so, he almost peed on himself. Shaken, Keone told him where his mom kept the pans, his eyes subtly peeking at the boy through the translucent shower doors.
Rashawn closed the door, leaving him with his tormenting thoughts. Turning his back to the flow, his mind summoned up the image of Rashawn, bare balls naked at the pool. Remembering the enticing length of the boy's dick, he felt his dick hardening. The door opened again, forcing Keone to jerk his hardon toward the wall, terrified.
"Your moms got any vitamins?" Rashawn yelled over the rush of the water. Disturbed, Keone wondered if this was all a ruse for Rashawn to sneak peeks at his body. Instructing him that his mom kept the vitamins in the medicine cabinet, he waited for what seemed like an eternity as the boy moved things around on the shelves searching.
"Got it," Rashawn finally said, slamming the door.
Fully agitated now, Keone stood dismayed under the water. For some weird reason, he seemed to always be in the presence of teenage boys that thought nothing of being nude. This baffled him. His first inclination when naked with another boy was to cover up. That wasn't so with La Vel, nor the boy's showering at Forester either. Why did he get so uptight when he was naked with another boy then?
Frustrated, Keone turned the water off and stepped out the shower. Drying off, he darted out the bathroom and into his room, frantically watching for Rashawn. Retrieving a fresh pair of boxers, he heard Rashawn calling him from the kitchen.
"Better get in here fast, before this food get cold," he advised.
The mouth-watering aroma of the food causing his stomach to rumble, Keone abandoned further dressing, dashing into the kitchen. When he felt the cool sensation of the kitchen tiles beneath his feet, however, he became anxious, suddenly aware that he wasn't wearing anything but his boxers.
"Feelin' better?" Rashawn inquired.
Perplexed, Keone mumbled, "Yeah, thanks B."
"Ain't nothin'. Wait'll you try this breakfast," he said, motioning Keone to the table. Setting the plate before him, Rashawn pulled up a chair, eagerly awaiting the boy's reaction. Scooping up a forkful of the eggs, Keone tasted.
"This is good!" he proclaimed, scooping up more. Rashawn sat back, satisfied.
Keone gulped the food down, another thought plaguing him. If a nigga could cook this good, didn't it mean he was a fag? Gazing at Rashawn, he searched for some kind of clue to support his theory. Observing the boy's perplexed look on his face, Rashawn questioned,
"What?"
Keone looked away, shaking his head. "Nothin'," he dismissed.
"Yes it is. The food taste bad?" Rashawn pressed.
"Naw, it was real good, man."
"Then what is it?"
Gazing at the boy, Keone finally volunteered, "It don't bother you to be 'round a nigga and he naked?"
The question was so unexpected, Rashawn was taken aback. Processing his thoughts, he finally submitted,
"You didn't like 'cause I came in the bathroom?"
"I just cain't figure out niggas all cool 'bout being naked 'round each other," Keone snorted.
"I don't think nothin' 'bout it. You ain't got nothin' I ain't seen."
Well, you've got a point there, Keone thought.
"But ain't that fag, man?"
"Just 'cause a nigga get naked 'round me?" Rashawn insisted.
"Yeah."
Processing again, Rashawn said, "Must be a lotta fags in the NFL, then dog. Niggas be walkin' 'round with they shit hangin' out all the time when you see them interviews in the showers."
Cain't argue with that, Keone reasoned.
"But that's different," he presented, nonetheless. "They cain't help that."
"So was you tryin' to get naked 'cause you wanted us to do somethin'?" Rashawn alleged.
"Hell no, nigga! Why you say that?"
Rashawn hunched his shoulders. "Ain't no different than what they be doin' in the NFL, then."
His logic was impeccable. Guys do undress in front of other guys all the time and there was nothing to it. So why did it make him so uncomfortable?
"Yeah, guess you right," Keone agreed. "But, it don't freak you out to get naked 'round another dude?"
"Like I said, anotha nigga ain't got nothin' I ain't got."
"Yeah."
"All there is to it. Try that vitamin, now." Rashawn said, the conversation over for him. Popping the pill in his mouth, Keone looked at Rashawn through the bottom of his upturned glass and smiled. Of all the knuckleheads he'd had to deal with recently, Rashawn truly was the coolest.
Darkness settling over the city, Keone grappled over his decision to hang out with the gang at the park. So what, you had a good time with Rashawn today, that don't mean nothin, he argued. Remember what you said 'bout being weak? Rashawn ain't Southwest, or 89th street. You got to be tough, nigga, else you'll be punkin yo'self to somebody again.
Divided, he reminisced over the wonderful afternoon he'd had with Rashawn. The two had spent the rest of the day playing CDs, laughing and talking. Turns out Rashawn liked a lot of the same TV shows he liked, including "I love Lucy." Rashawn could really sing, too. Keone was rather surprised when the boy belted out 'Retha's 'Till you come back to me', in perfect harmony. Keone liked to sing when he was alone, too, and considered himself a fair songster, but Rashawn could really blow. And though he'd never let anyone else know, he was very impressed with the boy's knowledge of music, and the large selection of various artists he had. He couldn't wait for him to return with some of his unique CD's.
What are you saying? Keone gasped. This shit is whack! What about the way you was looking at Rashawn's ass? See, that's what I'm talking 'bout. That's how come you keep having them sick ass dreams! You want Rashawn fucking yo' ass?!! Naw, B, I cain't go out like that! Later for Rashawn.
Quickly the boy jumped up, dressing in the trademark street-gang sagging pants, determined to leave before his confused thoughts vacillated back. Feelings like those he'd had with Rashawn were inexcusable and dangerous. And although he couldn't explain his actions, he rationalized them necessary to avoid the mistakes from his past. Dressed, he ducked out the back door, his mother weary from her efforts to coral the wayward boy, saying nothing.
Walking briskly, it wasn't long before he arrived at the park. As usual, the delinquents were engaged in a game of dice, trash talk abounding. Don't these niggas ever do anything else? Joining them, Keone stood quietly watching. Looking around he watched as some of the boys guzzled forties, staggering about and rallying about pussy. Others were passing some bud, each boy taking a toke on the bitter smelling joint. It was all status quo causing Keone to re-examine his decision. This just wasn't his game. He couldn't stomach another hangover and he deplored niggas that smoked bud. And the way these niggas just whiled the day away, do nothing really irked him. Unless he was willing to get involved in the drug trade, the very thing he'd vowed to never do, there was no way to make money hanging with these thugs.
The banter getting a little raucous, Keone watched as a couple of the boy's started fighting over the game. Aw shit, here they go doing all that fightin again, he lamented. The disagreement escalated exponentially out of hand in a matter minutes and Keone watched terrified as one of the boys suddenly pointed a gun…