Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2006 10:17:20 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: STREETS OF NEW YORK - 10

STREETS OF NEW YORK - 10

Copyright 2006 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Streets of New York" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to
the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

This story is indebted for both its inspiration and many of its ideas to
several books, especially Tyler Anbinder's FIVE POINTS, Jacob Riis's HOW
THE OTHER HALF LIVES, and Luc Sante's LOW LIFE.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 10

(Revisiting Chapter 9)

Beginning in the twentieth round, Scully began to tire visibly.  In the
twenty-third, Tom unleashed a whirlwind of punches that staggered the
champion.  Bleeding and battered he retreated to a corner where a right
hand dropped him to his knees.  Gamely, he tried to rise, but a crushing
combination of blows pitched him forward on his face and chest.  Finally,
he was counted out.  As his friends rushed into the ring, Tom stood up
straight and looked at Grant Horn.  With a gesture of disgust, the gang
leader motioned for Tom and his people to leave - something that they did
neither silently nor humbly.

(Author's Note: Everything in this world seems to reflect cause-effect
rules.  Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to predict which will be
positive effects of any one cause and which will be negative.  In this
case, Tom and Dross's friends suffered no retaliation on the streets, but
his startling victory in the ring had a certain negative effect on Tom.
That is, his victory brought with it a certain feeling of invincibility, a
sense reflected in the part he was about to play on the gay scene and even
in other events of the final chapters of our story.  Read on.)

(Concluding Our Story - Princess This and Lady That)

Had it not been for two factors, Tom Arnold would have probably explored
his emerging homosexuality even more vigorously than he did: First, while
Dross accepted his homosexuality, he was far more reluctant than his lover
to show it outside of his relationship with Tom.  Secondly, the public face
of the homosexuality that was expressed in lower Manhattan during the 1890s
was far more effeminate than either Tom or Dross was comfortable with.  For
that matter, the majority of gays in the area probably felt much the same
way, but gay life had suddenly became more visible in the dance halls,
brothels, and docks, and in the crowded working class neighborhoods of the
Bowery and the Lower East Side.  Complex codes of dress, speech, and
gestures had developed that enabled them to recognize and communicate with
one another.  They had little desire to lose that visibility, that crack of
openness and recognition in a theretofore impenetrable culture.  Nor,
surely, did they wish to discourage the middle- class straight men and
women who came down to their neighborhoods for a bit of slumming, i.e., to
get a few cheap thrills from visiting the seamy side of urban life.  Thus,
for both psychological and sociological reasons, many gays - whom you would
probably not have otherwise recognized as such on the street - continued to
play the slutty woman.  Oh, yes, in what were known as the "fairy" resorts
of the area, it was strictly Princess this and Lady that!

In the early summer of 1894, Tom Arnold made several explorations of the
significant number of area bars, clubs, and other establishments that
catered to homosexuals, as well as to those who wished to "tut-tut", appear
shocked, and sometimes vent their moral outrage.  Unlike his earlier days
in the area, he made no effort to conceal his homosexuality.  Often, but
not always, he was accompanied by Dross.  True, he never arranged a "date"
when alone, though he did frequently share a drink with staff members, if
only to be able to talk with them.  Nor did he ever use all of the
"services" open to clients in gay-friendly bathhouses.

Without realizing quite where he was, he wandered one day into the strip
club where Bernie O'Donnell was employed.  Lawdy...lawdy...that redhead had
one fantastic body!  Further, the G-string that "covered" him as he sat in
the booth next to Tom didn't do a thing to lessen his high rating!  He was
doing well.  As a matter of fact, he was slated to be the manager of a new
bathhouse that the owner would be opening before the summer was out.
Offering his congratulations, he escaped.  This boy was simply too hot to
be around too long without being able to cool off in a pool...especially
when he was only wearing a G-string!

In a somewhat masochistic mood, Tom next stopped by the club when the two
cute fourteen-year-olds, Davy and Pat, worked as dancers.  Mischief in
their eyes, they didn't do a thing to correct the boss's misconception when
he took Tom to be a prospective client.  As a matter of fact, they grinned
lecherously when he encouraged him to take the boys upstairs into one of
the curtained booths where "he could check them out more fully."  Once
there, Tom couldn't avoid "having a little fun."  Whispering to the boys to
"keep it going," he pulled a ten-spot out of his wallet and placed it on
the table under a glass.  "I wonder if you boys would like to put on a
little skit for me," he asked loudly, sounding like a rube from somewhere
west of nowhere.  Sipping on the drink that he had been given before going
upstairs, he pointed conspicuously to their G- strings and winked.
Immediately, the G-strings came off and they began noisily to perform a
little skit in which one lad had caught the other stealing from him.
Ghe-odd, those kids were built!  Give 'em a year and they'd be as big as
Dross or he!  On the way out, he praised the boys with the boss, asking him
what it would cost to have them for a couple of hours - or, for that
matter, for a weekend he was planning up in Connecticut!  All things told,
his prices were pretty reasonable.  (The kids got to keep the ten-spot!)

Although he had mixed feelings, he probably most regretted not being able
simply to ask Dross to go to a weekend dance with him.  He did visit some
of the clubs that sponsored dances for same-sex couples, but he usually
ended up simply growling in frustration and pressuring Dross to join him.
At the same time, he sensed that openly attending a dance with another man
was even more dangerous than being seen in some of the establishments that
he had been visiting.  God knows, it could lead to some of the serious
consequences that had been escaped earlier on the wharf.  Doggedly, he
persisted until his love finally agreed to go with him to a costume ball at
Webster Hall on East 11th Street.  It was an experience that neither man
would ever forget.

The reader will remember Tom's joy in dancing with Colonel Marsden in
Connecticut, as well as his conclusion that "it was one of the most
romantic evenings he had ever spent" (see Chapter 7).  In truth, the
experience of holding "his" Dross in his arms as they danced around the
room provided a new high.  Yes, he had gloried in surrendering his smooth,
muscled body to the controlling and protecting arms of another male, an
older male - and he might well again.  Nevertheless, the feeling of his
beloved simply melting into his protective body during the dance was
incomparable and filled him with sensations that he could barely stand
without yelling for joy.  Naturally, the costumes made it a bit difficult
to enjoy the full experience of the other's body, but the boys more than
made up for that after returning home!  Even Dross had to admit that being
able simply to BE himself had been breathtaking - and that he would not go
so long before experiencing it again.

(Chutzpah)

Unfortunately, neither Tom's solitary explorations nor their attendance at
the costume ball had gone unnoticed.  Dross came home about two weeks later
to find a crumpled note on the table.  The note, ostensibly from a young
kid, asked Tom's help and gave him directions to a spot where they could
talk.  Their simple supper was cooked, served, and partially eaten, and
still Tom hadn't returned home.  Strangely, Slats Monahan was also missing.
Dross was somewhat concerned though this had happened once or twice before.
For the time being, it seemed best to stand fast and make sure that someone
remained at the flat.

In fact, Slats was not on Mulberry Street because he recognized the note
bearer.  It was a Goat Horn gang member whom he barely knew.  Given what
had happened, Slats found this to be pretty disturbing and followed the
teenager when he slipped out of the house.  Taking a circuitous route, the
boy approached the river before entering a saloon in one of the roughest,
most lawless parts of the city.  Other gang members, many of whom Slats
recognized, were also slipping into the ramshackle building.  The redhead
shuddered.  People still got shanghaied down here!  Spotting a partially
open window on the second floor, Slats managed to approach the building,
climb up at the rear where he less likely to be noticed, and work his way
inside.  He found himself in a dusty hallway, one side of which was lined
with doors.  "Probably led to prostitutes' cribs in earlier years," he
breathed to himself.  The other side of the hallway was open to the main
room of the tavern below.  A rickety railing separated hallway and room and
offered some protection from being seen.  Slats made himself as
inconspicuous as possible and peered down.

The room was filled with Goat Horn gang members and quite a few of their
women.  There could easily have been 40 people.  A keg was already being
tapped and bottles of whiskey, some open, stood on the long bar.  It seemed
to Slats that people were really boozing it up.  Some time later - it could
have been 30 minutes; it could have been 45 - Grant Horn stood up on a
heavy wooden box and yelled for the gang's attention.  Spreading his arms
wide, he sounded something like a preacher as he yelled, "This is a victory
celebration!"  "YEAH-H-H!" the answering cry came from every throat.
"Tonight we win!  Tonight we have our revenge!  Tonight we clear some real
crap out of our city!"  he yelled.  "YEAH-H-H!" the answering cry poured
from well-lubricated throats, stirring up the dust and even freeing a few
cobwebs.  Slurring the words, he pontificated, "The guards will bring the
prisoner in to face justice!"  Slats remembered thinking that he sounded as
if he were as deep into the boilermakers as were his troops!

Naked, seemingly heavily drugged, his hands tied behind his back, confused
and stumbling, Tom was led into the room by two toughs.  Drugged or not,
secured or not, they held onto his muscular upper arms with a force that
dug into his smooth skin.  Roughly, they threw him down onto the floor in
front of the chief, who intoned, "Does anyone want to say something in
defense of this piece of shit?"  (Silence.)  "Very well.  Tom Arnold, you
are found guilty of sodomy and other high crimes against the good people of
New York.  You are sentenced to be buggered as you have buggered others!
Bring in the Goat Horn member who will execute this sentence!"  Slats held
his breath as an imposing figure masked and clad in black leather appeared.
"Oh, God," Slats mumbled to himself, "that's Tony!"  He was sure.  That
heavy muscular build, that swarthy skin, that enormous cock were a clear
giveaway.  He OUGHT to know!  He had tended him when he had been recovering
in Tom's apartment!  "Get the prisoner up on his knees," the chief ordered
the guards who had accompanied him into the room.  While he was pretty
unstable, they managed to get Tom on his knees, head down on his forearms,
butt high in the air.  Slats got one look at his vacant eyes as they forced
him into position.  "God," he breathed, "how much junk did they give him?"

"Do your duty!" the chief growled.  There was neither sound nor movement.
The chief repeated his order, this time with a threat in his voice.  Again,
nothing...  "Fuck him, Prieto!" the chief screamed.  Tearing the leather
mask from his face, Tony growled, "No way!  There's no way I'm going to
hurt one of the few good guys in this world!  No way!"  Turning to his
bullyboys, Horn snarled, "Take him down."  Tony was immediately clubbed to
the ground where he lay unconscious, blood pouring from his nose and
several cuts on his face and shoulders.  Walking over to him, the chief
stripped the leather from his body and repeatedly kicked him in the abdomen
and genitals with his heavy boots.  "Throw this crap out into the alley,"
he ordered, and Tony was dragged away.

"Tie this bastard up," the chief continued.  Quickly, Tom's ankles were
lashed to the bottom of two iron posts that supported the ceiling, after
which his wrists were lashed as high on the same columns as possible.  He
was effectively spread-eagled between the two posts, his legs and arms held
wide apart, his body tightly stretched, his head slumped onto his chest.
"Bring in the fairies!" the chief ordered.  A wave of laughter spread over
the crowd as two poor wretches from one of the gay clubs were dragged in.
Their wigs were awry; their mascara and lipstick were running; wide bands
of their dresses were wet from their groins to the floor.  They looked to
be scared to death, which they undoubtedly were.  "Do you fairies want to
live?" the chief growled.  "Yes, sir," a high, trembling voice answered.
"Then you know what you have to do.  Do it!" the chief barked.  Using their
fingers, lips, and tongues, as well as feathers from their costumes, the
poor creatures immediately began trying to sexually excite Tom.  Slats was
amazed that it wasn't long before they began to succeed!  Tom actually
seemed to be regaining some degree of consciousness, although it was
obvious that he had been severely beaten and was still under the influence
of the drugs.  As Tom's cock pulsed, stiffened, and thrust slightly
upwards, cheers rang out in the saloon.  Before long, Tom actually grunted
and thrust his head backwards.  "Harder!  Faster!" the chief yelled over
the shouts and cheers of his minions.  As the boy's long cock gradually
lengthened and stiffened, the "girls'" work became easier.  At long last,
they were able to grasp opposite sides of his penis with their lips and
work their way up the shaft towards the frenulum and the glans.  Every now
and again, one would stop and lick the long scrotum dangling between his
smooth, muscled thighs and suck on a heavy testicle.  Eventually, the
youth's penis pulsed, stiffened appreciatively, and begin to emit precum.
"Enough!" the chief ordered authoritatively.  Turning towards his guards,
he ordered, "Lock these...  people...in the storeroom and let them out in
the morning.  Warn them what to do if they don't want to die."  Sobbing in
relief, their hands spread dramatically on their breasts, the "girls" were
led away.

"Harry, get over here," he yelled at one of his men.  "It's time for you to
do your work."  Slats couldn't see much different about "Harry" - other
than his size.  Sitting on a stool behind Tom, he went to work directly.
Taking a large quantity of lard from a metal bowl, he proceeded thoroughly
to lubricate Tom's anus, working the lard as far into the anal canal as he
could.  He then heavily lubricated one small hand plus the forearm nearly
up to the elbow.  Slowly, steadily, the wizened little man, who look
suspiciously like a leprechaun, began to work his hand up into the boy.  He
never seemed to push too hard, but he was obviously making progress.  Tom
gave a little cry on two occasions, but he seemed to be taking the assault
well, probably aided by his condition.  The youth grunted loudly as Harry's
hand penetrated the last defenses of his canal.  Saying that he was making
a fist, he kept moving inwards until Tom's eyes suddenly came wide open.
Emitting a wild wail, the youth began to push vigorously back on Harry's
hand and forearm.  "Go in deeper, stretch the muscles, HARDER!" the chief
yelled excitedly.  Slats noticed at this point that the chief was also hard
erect, as were most of the men in the saloon, including Slats!  Several of
their women had knelt in front of them, opened their trousers, and were
servicing them.

At long last, Harry's arm was into Tom nearly to the elbow and he was able
to get considerable movement as he stretched the boy's anal muscles up,
down, to the right, to the left, and around.  Cheers filled the room as he
slowly exited from the beautiful, if sadly used body that was again hanging
limply from its bonds.  The chief was about to thank him for his work when
the little man winked and held up his hands.  "There's more?" Horn
inquired?  "There's more, sir.  Just hold on," the leprechaun sniggered as
he lubricated BOTH hands and arms.  Holding his hands close together, he
slowly entered the lad until he had penetrated all defenses, clenched his
fists, and inserted his forearms well beyond the wrists.  Despite himself,
Tom began wildly thrusting back against the pressure, crying out in deep
sexual need, and begging piteously for release.  On the chief's gesture,
Harry slowly withdrew.

Tom continued to moan and cry out as his gaping hole and the raw pink flesh
of his inner body came into full view.  On his command, the boy's wrists
were cut lose and he was thrown against the end of a table.  "So it's
release you want, you bastard," Horn snarled as he grabbed Tom by the hips,
rammed an enormous cock into the boy, and viciously raped him until a
bloody froth escaped from his torn anus.  Achieving a violent orgasm, he
theatrically raised his arms in triumph to the cheers of those assembled.
"Listen to me, you lads and lasses," he screamed in ecstasy.  "It's not
enough for me alone to wipe out the insult to our group and to all good
men.  Every man jack among you needs do his duty."  With that he stood back
and watched in deep pleasure as a couple dozen of his men fucked the lad
senseless, one after another.

"What do we do with his mangey carcass?" the chief screamed as the last man
withdrew from the cavernous hole whose swollen flapping lips could not
contain the cum that had been inserted into it.  The cry began softly, as
if not wanting to disagree with whatever the chief wanted.  Nevertheless it
was caught up by more and more voices until the old saloon seemed to shake
with the ugly roar: "He should disappear!  DISAPPEAR!  DISAPPEAR!  KILL!
KILL!  KILL!"

Several of the boys already had their knives and blackjacks in hand as Horn
stood before them, his arms raised, almost leading their roars.  "What do
we do with his mangey carcass?" the chief called out a second time, lifting
Tom's head from the table by the hair.  Tears of despair poured down the
swollen, tortured face.

At that point, Horn called a temporary halt as he saw that two or three of
the most senior members of the gang insisted on speaking with him.  After
huddling with them, he returned to his spot before the restive members.
"Jackie and Scars tell me that we shouldn't make the same mistake that Baby
Face here made by stirring up a nest of hornets.  We don't need the
bleedin' reformers and every paper in the city out to make a nickle down on
us.  We've made our point.  WE'VE WON!" he screamed in defiance.  "Paulie
and Pisser, take this piece of shit over to the main part of town and dump
it on a sidewalk.  No one will ever be able to tie him to us and yet
everyone will see that you don't fuck around with the Goat Horn Boys!
Better a half-live message than a dead albatross that they could hang
'round our necks!  Believe that the boys downtown won't do a damned thing.
They want this slime out of town just as much as we do!

When he later testified in court, Slats Monahan learned that the door to a
deserted store on the Bowery had suddenly opened and a naked body - bloody,
torn, and barely conscious - had been thrown out onto the crowded pavement.
No one saw the perpetrators. The pedestrians who had scattered to avoid the
hurtling body clearly didn't want to be involved.  No one made a move to
help him until a little guy knelt down beside him on the sidewalk.
Cradling his head, he looked up, beseeching someone in the crowd to help
him.  Finally, a giant hulk of a blacksmith - not too long off the boat by
his appearances - picked him up in his arms like a little child and carried
him in the direction of a hospital.

Within hours, a large part of lower Manhattan was buzzing.  "They had the
chutzpah [pronounced HOOTS-pah; gall] simply to dump him on the street?  Oy
vay!"  "But, honey, he helped me keep the boy in school!"  "He never put us
newsies down.  He actually came to see us at the house!"  "Gays need to
stick together.  An attack on one of us . . ."  "I just got a letter from
my cousin in Nebraska.  He's living on a big farm...  with horses!  If Tom
Arnold hadn't gotten that kid on the Orphan Train . . ."  Colonel Marsden
put his phone back on the stand.  He had just called the editor of one of
the great newspapers of the city.  Words such as "obscene," "absurd,"
unacceptable," and "criminal" were among the gentlest he had used.  Dross
looked out of the window of his parents' apartment.  "Dad, there are angry
people starting to march towards City Hall.  Gunther said that they were
going to speak with Teddy Roosevelt who is on the Board of Police
Commissioners.  Let's join them!  This is OUR city, too!"

Angry crowds besieged City Hall and the Tammany headquarters with demands
that the gangs be reined in and the assailants of Tom Arnold be punished.
In particular, citizen after citizen came forward with charges against the
Goat Horn gang.  On the verge of losing control of the city to a wave of
reform, which they did later in 1894, the city officials were in no
position to ignore their demands.  Several members of the gang went "up the
river" on long sentences, and the Goat Horn Boys' reign of terror was
permanently broken.

(Retrospective)

Rearranging himself on the couch besides his love, Dross asked, "Was it
really worth it, Tom?"  "Hey, man, the big footballer replied, "I found
you.  That would have made it worthwhile no matter WHAT happened!"  "No,
come on, that's not what I'm askin'!"  Dross groaned, "You could have gone
back to school for your senior year, graduated with honors in both your
studies and sport and not have had to put up with guys on drugs, the Goat
Horn crowd, or thousands of little kids with no hope."  "Yeah, I s'pose,"
Tom mumbled, "but what good would a degree in political science and social
work have been without being down there?  Won't we have more chances to
make a difference when we go back to the city?"  "If we ever get back down
there," Dross said with a frustrated voice.  "I think my getting a
scholarship to your college was great, but it's kinda made me a stone
around your neck."  "That you'll never be, Heinie!  In the first place, you
already know that Columbia will accept you with open arms if you want to
transfer.  In the second, you know that when I graduate, I could either
take my masters degree here or coach football for a couple of years while
you finish up.  Rather than narrowing my life, Dross, you just make it
richer!"  "Richer" it was, for both young men devoted productive lifetimes
to reform in New York City, especially among the young.

Dross answered by simply rolling over on top of Tom and beginning to pump
his groin into him.  "Oh, yeah," Tom answered.  "Oh, yeah!  The streets can
wait until tomorrow.  We've got each other tonight!"


                              			THE END