Date: Fri, 18 Nov 2011 22:09:21 -0600 From: Martin Heidegger Subject: The Queer Road; "Levee IV" The Queer Road DISCLAIMER: These are fictional stories of teenaged boys and young men confused by their sexuality. There are graphic descriptions of sexual activity, mostly homosexual. If you are not allowed to view such material, stop now. Author retains copyright. Levee IV A car rounded the corner a half block away and slowly cruised by the dorm. I knew it was the one before he held up the six pack. He didn't look too bad, older but not much. I'd been waiting on the front steps. i stood and stepped toward the street. It was Memphis State in 1963, and I was just a freshman, no friends, no fraternity, no car. This guy had called the hall phone in the dorm and asked how big by dick was, and I'd asked him if he wanted it. Apparently, he did, because he was holding up the six pack I'd said was the price. A six pack for my dick. Shit! Didn't anyone else want my dick. He could have had it for nothing. Harold Pinter was the pharmacist at the Walgreens at Poplar Plaza, a mile from the University. He was just out of pharmacy school, painfully shy, and his face was pocked with acne. He was as lonely as I was. He got my dick, and I took his. Funny, ugliest guy in Memphis, but he had him a handsome, fair sized penis. It wasn't as exciting as Billy Ray's; a thick veiny horse cock. It was bigger than me, straight, circumcised, and had a nice big head. When I went down on him he nearly fainted from excitement. We drank the six pack, and another. I got back to the dorm at midnight. Harold became a useful friend, but not a satisfying romantic interest. The pharmacist sold all the beer at Walgreens. Whenever he was on I could count on my fake ID being good. If I didn't have the price of a six pack, Harold was good for it, though I'd need to come through in the dick department in the next few days. That was understood. Some nights it was just too damn lonely, and I called Harold. I had a date with a girl, the one in my French class. Her mother was a single nurse who moved close to Memphis State so her daughter could live at home and walk to school, so she didn't have a car either. Mom needed her car for work, so we walked to the bus stop and went to the movies. After, we made out on the porch of the garden apartment where they lived until mom flashed the porch light. Decent tits, got hot making out; promise of something better in the future. But, I lost her phone number and didn't call her. When I caught up with her after class, she was a bit cool. I got her number and called; zip. Saturday rolled around. Big hardon in bed. Room mate stayed in town for a change to work on a term paper, so I couldn't jack off. I got up, went to the bathroom and was going to pump it off on the stool, but decided I could do better. Showered and went to the library. Walking up to the step there was a guy in starched khakis talking to a girl. He laughed and leaned back; the fabric stretched over his dick and balls. Why did I see that? I passed and entered the library. A guy walked by in Levis; faded, and you could see his package hung on his left side. Crap, why was I seeing all this? I checked out the book I needed for my term paper and sat down to scan through it. My mind wandered. "Queers hang out on Court Square," I'd heard back at the dorm. So? Well. I stepped off the bus at noon; it had taken an hour from Memphis State. Shady, some scrubby gardens, a statue in the center, and mostly empty parking spaces around, Court Square is a block from the Mississippi River. I walked around it once. There was a guy sitting on a bench reading the paper. Was he a queer? I approached, no idea what I might do to find out. He was older, maybe thirty, dressed in khakis and a button down sport shirt. Was he there to meet someone? Me, perchance? I walked toward him, thinking I might sit on the bench across and see if there was conversation. "Hi!" I could chirp out. Maybe he'd say something profound. Movement behind him caught my eye. A guy walked across the square shaking his head. He was older than me, about 25. "Cop!" His lips said, silently. Terror! Cold sweat. Shit, this is not what I wanted. I swerved to the right and walked toward the public toilet. I needed to pee so I went in. On the bus coming downtown I'd thought about what my grandfather taught me about deer hunting. "Why go into the woods in the summer," I'd asked as we hiked into the woods, sweating in an Arkansas August. "Sneak up on him. Watch. Find out what's there, what he does. Where he goes. Then, when you're ready to pop him, you know.," he'd said. I'd felt like the predator on the bus. Now, I was fleeing the predator. The restroom reeked of urine, and sported a bunch of graffiti art. I stepped up to the urinal craning around to see if anyone was in the stalls; just curious. The cop was right behind me. He sidled up to the urinal and hauled it out. I didn't look. He shook it. Crap! He was baiting me. I knew his game. I'd been tipped. He couldn't arrest me for looking. Hell, he was the one flaunting himself. I looked. Decent dick, and half hard. This guy was having fun baiting queers. Maybe he'd gobbled a big one in high school like I had. I relaxed. I shook mine, letting him see it, then packed it in and left him there without saying a word. A bus pulled up and forty sailors from Millington Naval Air Station stepped off; most in civvies, but a dozen in their white sailor boy uniforms. I walked across the park as they milled about for a few minutes, some meeting friends and families and leaving in cars, others grouping up and heading down to the river view or back toward the shopping district. The bus left and in ten minutes the park was empty again. I walked down to the river. Sailors; that brought up all sorts of confusing associations. The Mississippi was low in a dry October, but still a half a mile wide. I watched a barge labor upstream, belching diesel smoke. Ten minutes passed. "You a sailor?" Someone behind me asked, I turned. He was in a white sailor suit, and alone. "No." "I didn't see you on the bus." He approached the rail and looked at the river, apparently for the first time. "Whoa! That's a big river." He was Vinnie, from Chicago, and in the Navy for only three months. He'd just finished Navy basic training at Great Lakes Naval Training Center and been transferred to tech school at Millington; learning to fix radar on carrier planes. This was his first day out of the watchful eye of a navy petty officer, and all the newbies had to wear their uniforms. After a month they could wear civvies. "Shit, two months living with 19 other guys. No place to jack off." "College isn't much better. I go to the library to beat my meat. Weekends are better, my roommate goes home." "I never appreciated having a room to my self until now. Any girls around?" "I haven't seen any." He starts out talking about beating off; promising. Taller than me, which put him at six one or two, he had an animated way of speaking, as if he was passionate about whatever the subject might be. And, he was craning around the whole time watching for something. "I gotta get my sister a birthday present. They said go to Goldsmiths, is that close?" "Few blocks." "Say, if you've got a car maybe you could drop me off." "No car." "How'd you get here?" He seemed annoyed I didn't have a car. "Bus." "Took the bus down here to look at the river?" That sounded like an interrogation. "Yeah. I'm going the movies in about an hour. Lawrence of Arabia is on." "So you didn't come down here just to pick up a sailor?" "Didn't know anything about any sailors until you came up." "Well, we were told to be careful." "Always good advice." "Looks like all the guys left already. Could you show me where Goldsmith's is?" "Sure, c'mon." We walked a half a dozen blocks to a big, nice department store He was from the south side of Chicago, and had never been anywhere else. Didn't see the need, is how he put it. He bought his sister a sweater and carried out a big Goldsmith's bag. "My friend Billy Ray Jenkins went to Great Lakes for basic in June, you know him? "That might be the guy they kicked out for being' a queer; caught him blown' a guy in the john one night. Kicked 'em both out." Shock! Lightning went through my spine. Billy Ray Jenkins blowing a guy in the john? No! Well, Billy Ray did like to suck dick; liked it as much as me, in fact. "Billy Ray wouldn't do that! He's as straight as they come," is what I said. "Well, maybe it was some other guy. That June class was gone before I got there. We just heard stories about what happens to queers." The theater was clear at the other end of Main street, a dozen blocks to the south. As we walked down there he kept craning about watching the groups of young men walking the same way. They were the Navy guys in civvies with a few scattered guys in the sailor suits; his peers. They were stopping in the shops and cafes, buying food and souvenirs, gradually accumulating shopping bags like Vinnie's, and talking and laughing, oblivious to us. We got our tickets and went into the theater, a large ornate big city theater for first run movies; high ceilings, balconies, fake balconies, statues, the whole high end movie experience. Vinnie first wanted to sit in the balcony, but when we got up there he must have seen something he didn't like because he turned around and led us back to the first floor, off to one side, toward the back. We scooted all the way to the end of the row. In the movie, about half way through, Lawrence has developed a fondness for a young Arab boy. They're running through the sand to detonate explosives under a Turkish train carrying troops. "Looks like our boy Lawrence is getting' him some Arab hiney," Vinnie leaned over and whispered into my ear. I'd been thinking about Lawrence holed up in one of those tents during a desert wind storm with that Arab boy naked and aroused. I had an erection. "I need to hit the head," he said. Vinnie squeezed by me and headed for the bathroom, I followed. It was the middle of the movie and the lobby was vacant. We went into the john, Vinnie craning around looking into the stalls. He unzipped in front of the urinal and flopped out a big circumcised cock, letting loose a full bladder. He paid no attention to me beside him, watching. He turned and looked down at my member, skin pulled back, keeping right up in the flow department, then looked away as if what he'd seen failed to register. Someone entered and went to a vacant urinal, then another. We left. "Guy in Chicago, sucked my dick one time at the movies," he whispered as we passed back through the lobby. "Really?" "Yeah. He was hot for it. I let him have it in the balcony." "D'you do him?" "Naw! What, you think I'm a queer?" "Don't know nothing' about queers." "What, you never had your dick sucked?" "It's been sucked." We got back to our seats just as the intermission began and everyone got up and went to the back where we'd just been. We stayed put. Vinnie stretched with a big yawn, back arched over the seat, legs tensed up and straight. The sailor boy suit stretched over a hard dick and he made sure I saw it. "You know a place we could go?" He asked, confident we were alone as the whole theater had emptied out to get popcorn at the break. He was somehow sure I was along for this ride, which I was. "My roommate is at the room, and Memphis State is an hour each way by bus, and I don't know any place else." He seemed displeased by that. The lights blinked and the theater filled back up. The movie started. In a little bit he took my hand and pulled it under the Goldsmith's bag resting on his lap to rest on a big bulge in his sailor pants; a fine cock. I let my hand rest there, passive. I wasn't going to jack a guy off in the movies, and for sure I wasn't going to go down on him, no matter how much I might want to. The movie went on to completion, and Vinnie didn't. "Gotta be back at the bus in an hour," he said as we left the theater. It was dark now. We walked back along Main street, the other sailors in bunches with their shopping bags strung along the street in front and behind us. "Look, if someone comes up to us someone I know from the base, tell 'em your my cousin." "Right," I said, annoyed to be with someone ashamed to be with me. I was considering calling a cab and going straight home, but I didn't have the fare. "What's down there?" "That's Beale Street, where the black guys go." "Plenty of black dudes in Chicago, let's go have a look." He took my arm and reversed course heading perpendicular to Main street as we went down Beale. It was no big deal then, the clubs were further down and the pawn shops and clothing stores held little interest. In two blocks we turned back toward Court street, parallel with Main. Now we were away from the other sailors. "What's up there?" He asked, pointing north toward Court Street, impatient now. "Don't know." We walked several blocks, each time we crossed a street he looked back up to Main, which was better lit and had the stores and restaurants. The street we were on was darker and the stores mostly closed. We came to an alley with a dead end, he grabbed my arm and pushed me in. In ten steps we encountered a dumpster and he stepped behind it, pulling me. Then he looked back behind us, nothing. He fished his hand into his pants and pulled out that big dick, plump but still hanging. "Here, get this," he said as he grabbed my hand and put it on his dick. Warm, plump like a fat sausage, it felt good. Involuntarily my hand slid along the shaft and encountered his dick knob, which was tense and slick with dick snot. It got hard in my hand and jutted out from his white canvass pants. I felt the hand on my shoulder, I kneeled. No need to draw this out, someone might come along. No need to stand on formality, I hardly knew the guy, but sometimes ships passing in the night'85 well. My lips touched it, he pushed. I sheltered the head past my teeth with my lips, then clamped down on the shaft and let it slide in. He sighed and I put my arms around the backs of his thighs and felt him relax, as 8 weeks of tension began to release. We were a team now, no posturing, no games, no denial. This was a suck off and we both wanted the same thing, and we wanted it as fast as we could get it. Dick slid all the way into my throat, and I savored the taste, the warmth, the stretching of my mouth by a big hard dick. He began to pump, reminding me this was not the time to linger. I caressed his tight butt cheeks, feeling the muscles tighten as he pumped into my mouth, anchoring myself to receive it by pulling closer. My breath was a rasp as cock closed off my throat then allowed it to open as it withdrew to slide in again, no doubt enjoying the friction of my tongue along the sensitive underside of the head. He pumped faster and I stayed right on reciprocating his motion so we were pumping into each other. I tasted salty cum. "Unhh!' He grabbed the back of my head and pumped harder, abusing my lips. I felt the spurt of semen on the back of my tongue. He was rigid as I continued to suck, getting spurt after spurt of semen. I'd taken Billy Ray a half a dozen times, and Harold twice, but nothing ever like this sailor. Salty, slimy jism was filling my mouth and spilling out over my lips. I swallowed, taking the dick all the way into my throat for the first time. My nose was in his pubic hairs. I swallowed again, not to take down the cum, but the get the dick, all of it, down into me. Again I swallowed, and realized I was suffocating. I let it out and gasped a great wheeze of air. "Yeah," he said, looking down into my eyes for the first time as I kneeled there, softening dick still in my mouth. "What was your name?" "Jimmy," I said, standing, wiping jiz from my chin. "Well Jimmy, I might be back next weekend. But now I gotta go." He pulled his dick back into his sailor pants, looked both ways down the alley and sprinted away, leaving me standing there with semen on my clothes and in my hair. He left his Goldsmith's bag with his sister's sweater in it.