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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All Got Our Demons


By Chris Carr

Copyright © November, 1999



"I said, $19.50, man," Tobias irked, pushing the ten dollar bill back. Confused, the man turned to speak to the woman with him, a child balanced on her hip. Prattling something in Spanish, he waved the bill in front of her, the baby reaching to grab at the flashy, green object.

Dejected, the woman reached in her bosom, fishing deep for another bill. Another child tugged at her dress tail, a fine sheen of encrusted snot beneath his nose. A third one stood idly sucking his thumb while two older ones regarded the whole scene quietly removed.

The man returned to the office window, his brow glowing with sweat from the heat and shoved a twenty dollar bill under the partition. Tobias snatched it up, turning to retrieve a key. Pushing it toward the haggled man he instructed,

"Room 117. Check out is at 12:00 noon. And don't be having nobody else in there wit' y'all, man."

Smiling, the man chortled, "No. Just me, and my family," his accent thick. Herding up his crew, he shuffled off, chattering in Spanish with his wife. Lulling back in his chair, Tobias mumbled,

"Get some contraceptives." Please let that be the last interruption for the day, he prayed. It was just too hot to be bothered.

Returning to his TV, he went through a quick inventory of things to do. Gotta call the ice man 'bout that fuckin' ice machine, he thought. Get some mo' toilet paper, and clean up 106. He wasn't looking forward to that, homeboy had run at least six girls through there last night.

His portly frame oozing trickles of sweat, he glanced over at the broken air conditioner. The repair man was supposed to have stopped by two days ago. In this heat, he didn't blame him, though. He'd be lucky to get the damn thing running by Tuesday.

He'd turned on the fan, but all it was doing was moving hot air. Swirling on its oscillator, it wheezed, dust mites trapped in its cage. Stop thinkin' 'bout it, he scolded, walking over to the fridge to get a beer.

Bending to peer out the window facing away from the courtyard, he gazed at the barren landscape. A two lane highway paralleled the old motel, its rusty sign near the thoroughfare announcing "Bisbee Roadside Motel." Beneath it were the neon letters 'no vacancy', conveniently connected to the office so he could turn the 'no' off and on. In all the time he'd been there, however, he'd never had to turn the 'no' on.

Two years. It was a record. The longest he'd ever stayed anywhere was 8 months and that was because he had steady pussy.

A car whizzed by, stirring up dust in its wake. Plopping down on the tattered old couch, Tobias stared at the TV, opening the beer. It fizzled, angry suds gushing from the pull tab, over his hands and onto his bare legs.

"Shit!" he yelped, spreading his legs to avoid the flow.

Raising the can to his mouth, he slurped the semi-cold brew. Flinging the bubbling liquid off his thighs, he settled back, determined to watch his game.

The announcer was spouting off a bunch of stats about one of the players, a mug shot of the youth plastered to the screen. His team was behind, 27-14 and he wasn't happy. Were they to loose, he was going to be out of 50 bucks! That's the one down side to gamblin', he thought, loosin'.

Sucking on his beer, he thought about Amber. Too bad she stayed so damn far, he'd really like a little trim. Exactly how long has it been, he pondered? Counting the days, he stopped when he got to 9. Too long.

A play rolling into motion, he leaned forward, hopeful. The quarterback fell into the pocket, the ball cocked high in his hand. Pumping once, twice, he scrambled, avoiding a rushing tackler. Poised again, he pointed the ball down field and fired.

Sailing through the air, the ball rose, on its appointed mission, then descended toward a waiting receiver. Leaping high into the air, the youth dove for the ball. Holding his breath, Tobias willed the player to catch it.

His hand clutching the beer can, his viewing was interrupted by the office buzzer. The picture temporarily scrambled by its insistent buzzing, he threw his hands up, aggravated.

"FUCK!" he yelled, slamming his beer can down.

Ignoring the buzzer, he stared at the screen, waiting to see if the instant replay would reveal what had happened.

"Ball is on the 20," the announcer was saying.

"YEAH!" Tobias cheered. "Show it again," he pleaded.

The Arizona offense gathering into their huddle, the picture switched, replaying the triumphant play. On bated breath, Tobias edged to the end of the couch, transfixed. The quarterback moved through the same series of runs, his arm cocking back and firing as before. The ball sailing again, Tobias grinned in glee.

Falling from the sky like a felled geese, it glided toward the waiting receivers' outstretched hands. Blinking, Tobias raised slightly, lending his effort to that of the straining player's.

"Com'on… com'on…"


"Aw shit!" he exploded, charging from his seat.

Stomping to the office window he bellowed,

"The fuck you want!"

His angry eyes glaring at the boy opposite the window, he paused, intrigued. This had to be the weirdest thing he'd ever seen.

Blue eyes blinked at him, a little taken aback. A combination of blonde, shoestring sized braids dropping about his face, each plait was secured by a clash of multicolored rubber bands.

"Yo, you da' manager?"

Staring into his sun tanned pubescent face, Tobias was sure his ears were playing ears on him.

"Who wants to know?" he contested.

"Me. Yeah, you hirin?"

"Man, you layin' on my buzzer, askin' fo a job?"

"Sorry, bro. My bad. I'm just lookin' fo' some work. A nigga need some money, man."

"Say what?"

"Com'on, bro, help a nigga out."

"First of all, you ain't my bro! And second of all, where you get off callin' yo'self a nigga, saltine?"

"Aw, that's messed up. How you gon' play a nigga?"

"Man, you betta get the fuck outta my face!"

"Com'on, man. You gon' make me beg?"

"Listen, Vanilla White, I done told you, I ain't hirin'."

Distressed, the boy stared at Tobias, the slightest hint of tears welling up in his blue eyes. Licking his captivating rosy red lips, he petitioned,

"The man at the gas station said you was hirin'. I ain't got no place else to go, man, and I ain't ate in two days. Just let me work for a coupla' days, and I'll tip."

Stunned, Tobias observed the oddity staring at him.

"How old are you, boy?"

"You a god damn lie. 17. Shit, if you even 15. How old are you, sucka?"

The boy dropped his head, his dowdy braids falling about his downtrodden face.

"16," he muttered, shuffling his feet.

"I cain't help you, white bread," Tobias finally submitted.

Turning, he walked away from the window, leaving the boy. Plunking onto his couch again, he grumbled,

"Interruptin' my game." Lifting his beer can, he guzzled the last of his warm beer, a scowl on his face.






His team having lost, Tobias pulled a pair of baggy shorts on his plump ass and slipped his feet into a pair of sandals. He'd put off cleaning 106 as long as he could. All he needed was for Rita to stop by and find a mass of soiled sheets on a bed.

Slogging out the office, he stopped at the supply room and retrieved a fresh set of linen. A cigarette dangling from his mouth, he carried the coarse, freshly washed sheets to room 106. Digging in his pocket for the keys, he opened the door, taking another drag on his cig.

Blowing the acrid smoke out, he found himself face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Startled, he huffed,

"Boy, what you still doin' here?"
"You cain't let me do that?" the boy entreated, indicating the sheets in Tobias' hand.

"How many times I got to tell you, I ain't hirin'?"

"Twenty dollars a day. That's all, homey, pleeeez?"

"Man you don't give up, do you?"

"You ain't knownin', holmes. I just need a little srkilla to get ma' grub on, man."

"Srkilla… You have got to be kiddin. Where the hell you learn to talk like that?"

"Dunno," the kid said, hunching his shoulders.

"Man, I don't know if you checked the mirror lately, but…you know you white?"

"Just on the surface, brotha."

"No… You WHITE. And I done told you, you ain't my brotha."

Shaken, the boy dropped his head again. Tobias gazed at him, astonished. Although he was white as the day was long, his dress was glaringly urban. >From the gold chain about his fawn-like neck to the baggy jeans sagging off his slim, tender ass, he was working hard on his g. What is white bread's game, he pondered?

"What's yo' name?"


Laughing, Tobias, took another toke on his cigarette.

"Nah-gee? The fuck you think I am, a fuckin' idiot?" Naije, blinked, confused. "Boy, what's yo' real name?"

"That is my real name?"

"Yo' mother named you Nah-gee?"

"Don't know my mother. I named myself."

"Named yo'self? Man, what is yo' trip?"


"Damn, you stupid or something? You come waltizin' up here, yo' hair all twisted in some skanchy braids, eyes as blue as the Parker river, pants saggin' off yo' li'l, tired ass and tryin' to talk to me like you black or somethin. What the fuck is yo' trip?"

"Why everybody always trippin' over the way I talk? I can't help the way I talk."

"You tryin' to tell me you talk like that all the time?"


"Even when you with yo' little white bread friends?"

"I ain't got no white bread friends."

"All yo' friends is black?" Tobias insisted.


"Man, you have got to be the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

Naije, said nothing, waiting for Tobias to make a decision. Stubbing his cigarette out, Tobias regarded the boy a little longer, then walked into the room.

The stench of sex assaulting his nostrils, he regretted smoking his cig so fast. Discarded condom's lay scattered across the bed and about the floor. Cum stains were prevalent on the sheets along with other excretions, he dared not decipher.

The ash trays were brimming with ashes and Tobias knew, should he investigate, he'd detect weed in the residue. Dirty towels hung from the dripping sink, a few errant ones on the floor too. Picking one up, he sensed the substance before he saw it.

Running off the towel in gooey drops, cum plopped onto the floor.

"I hate when they do this," he grumbled, slinging the towel into the sink. He'd suspected his visitor from last night had more men in the room than just himself and the dripping towel proved it. A sick tradition, the horny patrons at roadside motels like The Bisbee, often did a 'cum run,' marking their territory with cum blasted towels.

The room was worse than he'd expected and he was loathed to clean it. Looking over his shoulder, he discovered Naije was still there. How the hell would he explain him to Rita? She barely had enough money to pay his salary, let alone a stray teenager.

Lighting up another cigarette, he posited,

"Where you gon' sleep?"

"You got a bed? I don't snore," Naije added, observing the anguished look on Tobias' face.

Why, he didn't know, but taking another pull on his cigarette, he tossed the sheets to the boy. Naije, hustled into action, ecstatic. Tobias lingered, observing the boy. Naije buzzed around the room, ripping the dirty sheets off the bed, tossing them in a corner. Grabbing the clean linen, he wrestled them onto the bed, bunching the sheets beneath the top mattress in a disarrayed mangle.

"Where you learn to make beds?" Tobias accosted, pulling the sheets loose.

Straightening the tangled cloth, he smoothed them above the lumpy bed, puffing on his cigarette all the while. Smoke burning his eyes, he squinted, inhaling again on the blazing stick.

Tucking the sheets in nicely formed corners, he looked up at the boy, instructing,

"Get the shit straight first. Then make yo' box corners, like this," he said, gesturing at the folded corners. Ripping the sheets loose again, he stepped back.

Straightening them, Naije slaved over the corners, his slight hands shoving the sheets beneath the top mattress. It wasn't to his liking, but it would do, Tobias acquiesced.

Blowing another cloud of blue smoke, he gestured at the top blanket. Naije picked it up, throwing it on the sagging bed. Smoothing the wrinkles out, he picked up a pillow and quickly changed the cases. Satisfied the bed would do, Tobias headed back for the office.

"Need to have my head examined," he grumbled.






"Who do you believe in?

I put my faith in God

Blessed to still be breathin',

And even though it's hard,

That's who I believe in',

Befo' I'm leavin'

I'm askin the reason

Who do you believe in?

Put ma fait in God

Blessed to still be breathin',

And even though it's hard,

That's who I believe in'…."

His head bobbing to the riff, Naije chanted, his eyes glued to the TV. A pair of earphones perched atop his head, he was sprawled on Tobias' ratty couch, clad in nothing but his yellowed underwear. Effortlessly miming every word of the tune careening around his head, he pat his foot in beat to the rhythm. Of all the rappers he coveted, Tupac rated the highest.

Shuffling through his little motel apartment, Tobias scratched his head, barely awake. Opening the refrigerator, he stared at empty shelves, prompting him to wonder why he'd opened it in the first place. Naije's ravenous appetite had proved daunting. Glancing over at the boy, he snorted, his early morning sinus especially viscous.

"Boy, put some clothes on," he chided, smacking Naije behind his head.

Naije, sat up, looking at him startled. "You finally up?"

"Wouldn't have to sleep so late if yo' li'l pasty ass didn't toss and turn so much. The fuck was wrong with you last night?" Naije didn't answer.

It had been a whole week since Naije first appeared at the office window. Arriving at somewhat of a compromise, Tobias had offered to pay the boy five dollars a day plus room and board. Naije readily accepted, moving in (if you call a backpack and a pillow moving) that evening.

His first meal, he all but cleared Tobias' scant refrigerator out. By the time Rita came by that Friday with his check, they'd resorted to eating at the Rally burger up the road. Naije conveniently away that afternoon, he narrowly escaped explaining his presence to his boss.

Naije seemed to do a lot of disappearing. Tobias didn't care, the less he knew the better. Besides, he wasn't planning on keeping Scary White, much longer. He'd worked hard on carving himself a little private hideaway and the last thing he needed was baggage.

It was nice having a little help, though. Naije was so eager to please, he couldn't keep him from working. Promptly pouncing on vacated rooms, he tirelessly slaved, changing sheets and sweeping the floor for good measure. Tobias couldn't remember the last time he'd changed a cum encrusted bed and that was fine with him.

The long hot days wearing on, he'd sit in his office, casually observing the boy. A child at heart, Naije would play with the patrons kids, chasing them about the courtyard in glee. On other occasions, he'd play air basketball, feinting about the square, motioning as if he was Michael Jordan. Least he entertain himself, Tobias thought.

On Wednesday he glanced out office window, searching the courtyard for Naije, but the boy was nowhere to be found. Figuring his little stint with the stray youth was up, he dismissed the whole incident, returning to his TV. When the sun started to descend in the blazing Arizona sky, he trudged over to 112, resigning himself to cleaning dirty rooms again.

As he walked past the opened window, he heard the faint sound of a TV playing. Thought that sucka had checked out. Bending to peek beneath the tattered curtain, he spied Naije sprawled on the motel bed. Naked as the day was long, the boy was heartily stroking his stiff 6 inches.

"The fuck…" he grumbled, watching Naije palm his aching hardness. His lithe body gyrating and twisting on the bed, the boy was watching one of the porno films on the motel's TV circuit. Impatiently rubbing his stroking fist around his flared helmet, he grunted, his toes wiggling, a hot shower of pent up cum spewing across his quivering stomach.

"Horny ass white boy," Tobias dismissed, shuffling away.

Entering the office apartment a little later Naije, opened the refrigerator, grabbing a soda. His face glowing, he plopped down on the couch in front of the TV. What exactly he felt about his newfound knowledge, Tobias wasn't sure, but he didn't say anything.


Naije did little with his meager allotment. Wadding his daily five dollar bill into his pocket, he'd faithfully thank him and that would be the last he'd see of it Surmising he'd spent little of his earnings, Tobias estimated his savings at about $45, by now. Stockpilin' fo' the day he skip, he concluded.

Crammed beneath him nightly on their narrow bed, Naije seemed pretty content, though. The boy's feathery breath caressing his face, Tobias would sometime gaze at him, intrigued despite his attempts to remain unattached.

He'd learned little about the boy's past and that suited him well. All he knew for certain was that Naije strove hard to look, act and be accepted as black. He knew all the hottest rap artist and could spout any given tune, verbatim. He coveted black athletes, incessantly watching every sport he could find. And true to his word, he spoke like an urban youth, all the time.

Naije was still like a sponge, however, soaking up everything he could about urban life. Constantly observing Tobias, he mimicked his every move, from his patented scowl, to his slow gansta shuffle.

"You ever banged?" he asked, one day.

"You mean gang bang?"


"Not really. Knew some niggas did, though."

"Yeah, who?"

"Rollin' 60's."

"From L.A., huh?"

"Right," Tobias replied, amazed. "How you know 'bout that?"

"I know 'bout all the gangs, man."

"You ever gang banged?"

"Naw. You ever seen a white boy in a gang?"


"No shit!"

"You ain't needin' be gettin' in no gang, though," Tobias mandated.

"I wasn't gon' get in no gang. I was just surprised you'd seen a white boy in a gang."

"They people just like everybody else. We just don't be lettin' them run things, that's all."

"Ya'll be bonin' the bitches hard, I bet." Recalling the boy, stroking his rigid digit, he chuckled, lighting up a cigarette.

"Yeah, we bone the bitches, shorty. How 'bout you, though, you do anything 'sides watch grease?"


"Jack off, fool."

"Damn, that's cool. Ima 'member that, 'watch grease.'"

Tobias chuckled again, exhaling a long curl of blue smoke. "I cain't figure you out," he stated. "Why you don't wanna just be what you is?"

"You mean white?"

"You still ain't checked the mirror lately, have you?" Naije stared at him, speechless, then grabbing his Walkman, slapped the earphones on his ears, and left.

When he was in the service, Tobias had seen a number of white boys. Traveling the world with them, the last thing he ever wanted was to be mistaken as an oreo. That Naije was so intent on appearing black was an enigma to him.





Somewhere about their third week together, Tobias noticed Naije talking to one of the patrons. A frail black boy, he stood almost 6 feet tall and looked to be 20 or so. Tobias knew right off that the boy was trouble. A nagging feeling that nothing good could come from Naije hooking up with him, he refrained from intervening, nevertheless.

When Naije ducked into the boy's room one afternoon, he held out as long as he could, determined to not get involved. Cursing himself, he eventually rose, crossing the courtyard towards the junkie's room. At the window, he peered beneath the curtains again, this time his mouth falling open in sheer alarm.

There on the bed was the lanky black boy, his legs spread, his long dick ensconced in Naije's sucking mouth. Slipping his ruby red lips down the boy's towering length, he hungrily slurped. Whereas the boy had removed everything save his dingy tank top T, Naije was naked as a jay bird. His hand between his legs, he was busily fisting his own hardness as he sucked.

Tobias gawked, dumbfounded, what he was seeing beyond comprehension. This punk skull dick? Bewildered, he observed the teen's expert technique. Licking and sucking around the youth's sensitive head, Naije diligently slaved to bring him off.

In minutes, the boy raised his hips off the bed, his dick hardening in Naije's talented mouth. Panicked, Tobias shook his head in dissent. Come up off it, he cringed, watching Naije nurse the boy's dangerously close pole. Preparing to break the door down, he finally exhaled as the boy pulled his dick from Naije's greedy mouth, seconds before he went off.

Naije rose up on his knees, fisting his wickedly hard boy dick over the boy, his eyes closed. Adding his potent volleys to that of the youth's, he writhed and shook, his narrow asscheeks squeezing and flexing with every squirt. His head flung back, his face was a study in erotic bliss.

Disturbed, Tobias left when he saw Naije jump up to dress. The rest of the day, he kept a close watch on the boy.

That evening, as they ate their little dinner, a hastily prepared can of beans and chili, Tobias eyed him suspiciously. Everything in him was screaming, say something, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Spooning a mouthful of chili, he could hardly believe the irony of it all.

Staring at the innocent seeming youth, hungrily gulping spoon after spoon of warmed over chili, Tobias found it hard to reconcile with the image he'd saw that afternoon. He shouldn't be slobbering all over junkie's dicks. Resolved to stay out of it, he said nothing.



A few days later, Tobias was due to run up to Wichum, for food and supplies. His car on the blink, he was relegated to riding the bus. Certain Naije would no doubt want to tag along, he was surprised when the boy flatly turned him down.

"What you up to?" he asked, suspicious.

"What you mean? I ain't up to nothin'."

Tobias actually considered canceling his trip, fearing for Naije's safety. The errant junky had long since checked out, but that brought little consolation. Nigga, leave that li'l boy to his bizness, he resigned.

Catching the bus around 10:00 a.m., he watched the motel disappear on the horizon, his brow furrowed in consternation. Shouldn't 've never let that boy stay wit' you, he grumbled. Picking up his book, he settled into his seat, the trip before him long.

Returning late that afternoon, he dragged into an empty courtyard, heavy laden with shopping bags. The hell was Naije?

Entering the office apartment, he placed the bags on the counter, quickly searching the bathroom and bedroom. Snatching the refrigerator door opened, he fussed, "Cain't keep doin' this."

Transferring the contents of the first bag to the refrigerator, he tossed it aside, moving a few inches to retrieve another. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the courtyard. Standing, he glimpsed two boys, darting into room 111. Seconds later, he saw another youth dart across the courtyard, Naije in tow.

"Aw shit."

Staring out the office window, he went through a series of options. Store yo' groceries, one mind insisted. Yeah, fo'get that stupid little boy, another assented. Ignoring the other mind that screamed, 'help him,' he picked up a package Van De Kamp's fish sticks.

"Fish sticks. Ain't nobody wantin' that but that stupid white boy." Glowering at the courtyard again, he slammed the freezer door. "God Damn!" he fumed.


This the madness, I left L.A. fo', he raged, stomping across the courtyard. "Gon' kick his ass," he muttered, sidling beside the door. Pressing against the cold concrete, he held his breath, listening. A radio was playing loudly in the room. Above the angry rapper's litany, he heard an occasional laugh.

Sliding quietly along the wall, he froze in front of the door, a bloodcurdling scream ushering from the windows. More giggling, then slapping sounds.

"Dammmmnnn," Tobias groaned.

A door flung open, a wild eyed patron poking his head out at the scream. Raising his hand to his lips, Tobias made the shush sign. The patron ducked back inside, spooked.

Sticking his room key in the lock, Tobias took a deep breath, then hurled the door open. His gun raised high, he rushed into the room, pointing it at the first thing that moved. Sensing someone behind him, he twirled, bringing the butt of his gun down on the unsuspecting youth's head. There was a dull thud as it connected, followed by the louder thump of the boy hitting the ground.

"Let 'em go!" Tobias yelled, directing his gun at the other two boys.

Taking in the scene, he made a quick summary. A younger looking boy was straddle Naije's back, holding him down, while an older, fair skinned boy was mounting him. His dick wedged between the squirming teen's cheeks, his monstrous dick was searching for the mark when Tobias burst in the room. The third boy, had apparently been standing near the door, jerking his dick off as he watched. Guess he got a bang outta that, Tobias snickered.

"Get off 'em!" he roared, waving his gun.

The boys raised their hands, backing away from Naije, their dicks wagging in the wind. Bandannas hiding their faces, their eyes peered above the menacing cloth.

"Against the wall," Tobias ordered, stepping further into the room. The boys backed slowly against the wall, their hands still raised.

His gun trained on them, Tobias swept their pants up, digging through the pockets. Retrieving each of their wallets he tossed the pants over to them, one by one. Ordering first the older boy to get dressed, then the younger, he kept close watch on them. When they attempted to fetch their shirts and shoes, Tobias cocked the trigger.

"Leave 'em," he yelled, waving them toward the door with his gun. "And take this sorry assed, plunger pumper wit' you," he added, indicating the boy on the floor.

Each taking an arm, the boys dragged their unconscious cohort with them out the door, the boy's dick still dangling from his opened pants.

"Next time I catch 'round here, Ima bust a cap off in yo' ass," Tobias threatened, the boys scurrying away.

Waiting until they were gone, he glared at the heads, peeping around opened doors.

"Y'all get a good look?!" he blasted. Like choreographed dancers, doors slammed all around the courtyard, leaving him alone with Naije.

Closing the door, he faced the boy.

"The fuck you think you doin?" he glared, "You know them busta's was Hope street Crips? Could've got yo' pasty ass killed! 'Swrong wit you?"

"They… I…" At a loss for words, Naije paused, dropping his head. "I thought they was cool, Tob."

"They walkin' 'round with bandanas on and you thought they was cool."

"They didn't have no bandanas on, first time I saw them," Naije said, sitting up.

"What's wit you? Why you doin' stupid shit like this?" Naije studied his hands, silent. "You got to stop this shit. Ain't know reason fo' you to be tryin' to kill yo'self like this," Tobias stressed.

Registering the boy's naked state, he directed, "Man, put yo' clothes on." Naije quietly dressed, quizzically regarding Tobias as he did. Locking the room door, he and Tobias quietly walked across the courtyard, hidden eyes observing them behind curtained windows.

"You mad at me?" Naije asked, entering Tobias' apartment. Placing the remainder of his supplies away, Tobias replied,

"Why you think I'm mad at you?"


Opening a can of beer, Tobias slumped on the couch. His eyes trained on the boy, Naije looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Sipping a couple swigs of his brew, Tobias motioned for the boy to sit next to him.

"They hurt you?"

"No," Naije said, his head down.

"Don't lie to me, I heard you scream."

Naije gazed at Tobias' poster of Malcom X, silent. Tobias gulped another swallow, watching him, but said nothing. A car passed on the highway, raucous Latin music belching from its speakers as it passed. Hearing it, Tobias was reminded how far away from his roots he actually was. He hadn't asked, but suspected that, like him, the boy was on the run. All got our demons, he thought.


Naije finally turned and looked at Tobias.

"I'm ok," he muttered, his eyes moist.




The lone cry of a coyote, echoing across the desert floor, Naije stared at the cracked ceiling. Hearing the creature howl always sent chills up his spine. Once, when he was around ten, he was skulking around an old deserted gas station, looking for shelter. A cold winter night, he hadn't eaten in days and was exhausted. Finding an old canvas, he curled up beneath it and was swiftly drifting off when he heard a sound.

Sitting up, he spotted a pair of eyes peeking into the garage door. Trembling, Naije held his breath, praying the animal wouldn't attack. The coyote sniffed around a little, finally wandering off. Jumping up after it left, Naije crept into the old station office and closed the door. Thankful his ignorance hadn't cost him his life, he huddled in a corner, eventually falling into a fretful sleep.

Another unnerving bay ringing out, he turned to look at Tobias. His eyes closed, he lay on his back, his stout chest softly rising and falling. Observing his exposed nipples, Naije wondered at their unusually large dimensions. From the first time Tobias stripped his shirt off, he'd been drawn to them. Like twin Hershey kisses, they speared from his chest, almost two inches in diameter.

"You sleep?" he whispered.
"No," Tobias grumbled.

"You hate me?"

"Why you keep askin' dumb questions?"

"Just answer me. You hate me?"

"No, now go to sleep."

Turning to face him, Naije gazed at his strong, ethnic features. His hair plaited in thick cornrows, it suggested the typical street gangster. A scowl continually etched on his face, Tobias was a force to be reckoned with. From the first time he'd snarled at him through the office window, Naije understood he didn't take any shit. Three weeks was a long time for him to stay put. He'd rarely spent more than two weeks at any given location, but there was something else behind that scowl. Something Naije latched onto, refusing to let go.

Blinking in the darkness, his baby blues regarded the boy, remembering the thought that first entered his mind upon viewing Tobias' round face. Ice Cube, he registered. Tobias looks like Ice Cube, the rapper.

Like the rapper, the youth styled a close trimmed beard that ran from his sideburns and up into a ring of hair around his thick, succulent lips. At times, he'd stroke it, complaining it itched.

"Why don't you just shave it off?" Naije questioned.

"Cain't. Get them bumps all on my face."

Strong arms, rippling with sensuous muscles, a tattoo of a skull and cross emblazoned over his right shoulder. A smooth, caramel colored body that bordered on obesity, but was tight, his hard demeanor alluring. Round, full pecs, each stamped with those chewable darts of chocolate. A slightly rounding stomach that seemed almost paternal, stout stocky legs and large flat feet, that slapped when he padded across the hard bare floor.

Naije was always conscious of his appearance. His face gaunt at times, haggard by his rapid lifestyle, he would stare at it in some barren gas station mirror. His eyes… his cobalt blue, dreamy eyes. That was what most people were always drawn to. Whether it was an old lady, dragging a box down the street, or the infrequent admirer, gazing into them as he manipulated their hardened girth, he knew they were his finest asset.

That he couldn't style his hair in a wave or 'fro like the boys he yearned after was the drawback. His fine, flaxen hair refusing to lay against his head as he wished, he opted to twist it into thin, flowing braids. It was when he'd gone long periods of time, wandering the arid desert countryside, he hated it the most. Turning into some sort of dingy grayish yellow mess, his beloved braids would become frizzy, some actually unraveling.

It was after many unsuccessful attempts he finally learned how to twist his hair into the desired affect. Determined, he'd petition every black youth he met to help him. Becoming offended, most of the boys would tell him to fuck off. On one of his frequent stops, a boy agreed to give him pointers following a steamy romp.

Having him sit between his knees, he pulled the boy's long, golden hair between his fingers, twining it into intricate strands.
"Why you want yo' hair like this so bad?" the boy asked, Naije watching his technique in a hand mirror.

"It's really dope," Naije exuded.

"Shit, I had blond hair like this, I'd be stylin' that shit!"

He was styling it though, Naije contested. Observing himself in the mirror, he smiled broadly, his dream finally a reality.

Fortunately, he wasn't one of those people that burned, no sooner sunlight struck them. Years spent, out on the Arizona desert had browned his skin nicely, concealing his fair complexion. A small button nose smack the middle of his face, he could almost pass for a black boy, especially if you added his full, sensuous red lips.

His distinctive urban attire rounding the effect out, he was as close to his coveted ethnicity obtainable. The only disadvantage was the constant haggling he got from the people he most wanted to be like.

"You ain't black," was his never ending burden. His walk, his speech, his dress, it didn't matter, all the boys saw was a little white boy, 'perpetratin''.

"You saw me with Devon?" he whispered in the darkness.

"That skinny assed crack head?"


"Yeah," Tobias acknowledged.

His eyes blinking in the dim light, Tobias reached for his pack of cigarettes. Plucking one in his mouth, he lit up, puffing a cloud of smoke into the sky. Returning to his lumpy pillow, he stared at the ceiling the calming effect of the nicotine, coursing through his body.

"And you didn't throw me out?" Naije continued.

"What fo'?"

"'Cause that's faggot."

"Each 'is own," Tobias said, blowing another cloud.

An owl hooting in the distance, Naije lay on his side, watching Tobias smoke. The heat was relentless and, to compensate, they both slept in the nude. From day one, Tobias made no real beef about Naije sleeping beneath him. Like an angry bob cat, the boy tossed and turned, ripping covers off them several times during the night. Tobias never complained, gently pushing the boy away when he crawled atop him.

"Why you let me stay with you?"

"You was looking pitiful."

"But a li'l white boy?"

"Make no difference to me what color you was. Yo' ass was to' up."

Finishing his cigarette, Tobias stubbed the butt out in the bedside ash tray. Fluffing his pillow, he turned onto his side, facing away from Naije. Naije stared at his broad back, a birthmark the shape of a carrot, just under his left shoulder blade. Reaching out, he gently caressed it, awestruck. Tracing gingerly around its edges, he followed the contour of the youth's back, up and over his shoulder blade.

When he caressed the youth's stout neck, Tobias called out,

"Nigga, what you doin'?" Naije ignored him, reversing direction, his hand gliding down the center of Tobias' back. Tensing up, Tobias pulled the covers up over his shoulders. Naije scuttled across the bed, snuggling close behind him. Enfolding his arms about the boy's chest, he gently lay his head against Tobias' back.

Laying like that for an extended time, Naije squeezed the boy slightly, his hand traveling across his stomach. Stroking it softly, he continued further down. As he neared the boy's private area, Tobias gripped his hand in a vice grip, calmly stating,

"You don't wanna do that, homey."

Naije pulled away, returning towards the boy's jewels. "I said, you don't wanna do that homey," Tobias repeated, gripping his hand again.

"Why, Tob? Why can't I?" Tobias said nothing, releasing his hand after a prolonged period.

Snuggling closer to the youth, Naije pressed his lips against his upper back. Laying additional tender kisses across his back, he traveled down, caressing Tobias' shoulders and upper back as he traveled. Squirming slightly beneath his ministrations, Tobias kept his back turned, silent.

Naije worked the entire of Tobias' back, softly pecking each inch in loving caresses. Working back up to his neck, he heard Tobias gently sigh, when he latched onto the boy's neck. Suckling and sucking, he pulled the soft skin into his mouth, raising a welt in its wake.

Insistently pulling on Tobias' upturned body, he urged him onto his back. Pecking lightly up his neck, he laid a tender caress on Tobias' bristly beard, his hand returning the boy's stomach. Nibbling his tender earlobe, he moved his hand further down again.

"What you doin'?" Tobias resisted. "Don't do this, Naije," he pleaded, the boy's hand nearing his package.

Naije lapped at his ear, dabbling his tongue in the boy's sensitive orifice, his hand groping Tobias' wickedly hard girth. Tobias twitched, his most private possession in the confines of another's hand.

"Nai-je…," he whispered, closing his eyes.

Enclosing the youth's imposing organ in his slender hand, Naije tenderly caressed it. "Ahhh," Tobias, hissed, his dick standing between his legs. Naije stared at it in the darkness, passing his hand up and down it's length.

He'd seen Tobias' ample size many times, but never as it was now. Springing madly up from his slightly jarred legs, it stood an easy 8 inches tall. His battering ram designed for fucking, the head was wide, a ridged flare encircling its circumference. Like an early morning mushroom, it crowned his pulsing dick, shining in the scant moonlight.

A lanky length of powerful man meat throbbing beneath this knob-like helmet, Naije slid his hand up its girth, extracting a pearl drop of precum from the boy's pulsing pole. Tobias squeezed his eyes shut, hissing softly into the night air. As Naije spread the clear liquid around the top of his spear, Tobias whispered,

"Don't do this, nigga."

Naije continued fingering his hard inches, his sweet, crimson lips osculating closer and closer to Tobias' mouth. Edging slowly astride the youth, he kissed higher.. higher…

Moaning deeply, Tobias flung his arms about the boy, the instant their lips connected. Holding the teen in a vice grip, he glared at the boy, rolling him onto his back. Suddenly, he was smothering him, his hands pawing at Naije's tender cherry nipples, his tongue probing the deepest recesses of his mouth.

Whimpering, Naije felt his dick leap between his legs. Ramming his hand under the boy's pinioned head, Tobias tenderly held it as he mauled the boy's puppy face. Naije squirmed beneath him, wildly embracing the solid youth.

Massaging his rippling back muscles, he twisted his head about, affectionately savoring the passionate kiss Tobias was delivering. Breathless, he was at once barren the instant Tobias released him. Pecking him madly on his cheeks, he watched as the youth straddled him, enfolding his arms around his slight frame.

The sheer force of Tobias' passion proved almost frightening. Had he not spent his entire life in pursuit of his kind, Naije would have been unnerved. Instead, he was enraptured, surrendering himself freely to the youth's advances.

Tossing him about the bed like a rag doll, Tobias raked over his body. Nuzzling his fawn like neck, he snarled, cocking the boy's head askew to better access it. Nipping and suckling his tender skin, his rough beard scraped across it.

Snatching Naije by his hair, Tobias wrestled the boy's head in the opposite direction. His eyes flashing in the darkness, he lowered and kissed the boy's ravenous mouth again. Naije whimpered, the kiss sublime.

Pulling his face prone, Tobias aimed his throbbing python at the teen's waiting mouth. Grabbing a fistful of hair in his impatient hand, he worked the boy's gaping mouth down his menacing length. Naije swallowed happily, his face elongating as he slacked his jaw to accept it. His eyes piercing the darkness, he stared into Tobias' angry eyes.

Yanking the boy's head back and forth, Tobias screwed his working mouth up and down his aching inches.

"Suck that shit, bitch," he snarled, his eyes boring into Naije's innocent peepers. Whipping his tongue lewdly around the youth's flared head, Naije elicited a stolen cry of elation from him.

Tiring of the boy's mouth, Tobias straddled him again, rubbing his stiff erection against the boy's smaller hardness. Humping him roughly, he snatched the boy's hair again, pulling him the opposite way. His head pinned to the bed, Naije mewled as his man kissed him again. Sucking at his swabbing tongue, he grunted beneath the youth's rutting body.

Tobias released him long enough to snap a jimmy on, then raising his legs high, he loomed above him again.

"This what you want?" he snarled, rubbing his dick across the boy's tender bud. Naije moaned, his eyes flitting in the dark.

"This what you want?" Tobias lashed, grinding his girth against the boy's tight hole. "This what you want, bitch, huh, this what you want?"

Thrusting forward, he stabbed his ramrod into the boy's upturned hole. Naije cried out into the darkness, his howl echoing across the desert floor. Reaching up to snare his wide splayed feet, he pulled them toward his delicate face, widening the gap between his legs. Bearing down, Tobias twisted his girth into the boy, ripping another wail from his throat.

Naije held his dainty feet wide, presenting his wide split asshole to the invading dagger. Shaking his head from side to side, he reveled in the agony, rocketing from his invaded slot. Mercilessly driving his full 8 inches down the boy's gullet, Tobias flounced on top of him, rutting fiercely. Grabbing his head again, he rammed his tongue down the boy's throat, completely subduing him.

His hips rising and falling like a piston, he fucked the boy savagely, driving every inch of his ferocious length deep inside him. Enraptured, Naije wiggled his lanky toes, gazing into Tobias' flaming eyes. Riding the boy's plummeting plunger, he thrilled at how thoroughly it filled him. His asshole spread to its max, he felt it eagerly tugging around Tobias' downthrusting spear.

Slamming repeatedly into him, Tobias delivered that he craved the most — thick, ass ravaging, black dick.
"Oh Toby, fuck me!" he yelped, wrapping his strong, gracile legs about the youth's thrusting hips.

"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" Tobias grunted, his fierce eyes holding Naije's. Reduced to a pile of quivering flesh, Naije reached his arms across the bed, grasping clumps of mangled sheet in each fist.

Snatching his head into the crook of his shoulder, Tobias lighted upon the boy's neck, gnarling it with his teeth. Gnashing viciously at the boy's flesh, he moaned sorrowfully, his hips pumping mightily.

"Shit," he screeched, his head thrown back, his dick firing. Ripped from his thrusting groin like a bullet from a gun, he felt the month's aggression dash against the waiting condom.

Watching his man release, Naije felt his own dick leap between them, emptying copious threads of desire across his belly and Tobias'. Tobias looked into his eyes as they ejected, a look of wonder behind his gaze. Bending low to kiss him, he tenderly swabbed his tongue around the boy's opened orifice.

Long after their release was depleted, the youth's held their kiss. Tongues darting from one mouth to the other, they swapped salivation, still joined erotically at Naije's opened hole. Finally releasing him, Tobias growled,

"That what you wanted?" Naije gazed into his eyes, his asshole still sensing Tobias' rigid girth and smiled. Pulling the youth to him, he raised to tenderly kiss him. Tobias obliged him, pecking repeatedly until they tired again.

Extracting his still stiff tower, Tobias rolled off the boy, flopping onto his back again. His dick throbbing above his groin, the condom teemed with torrents of captured cum. Eventually getting up, Tobias trounced into the bathroom and flushed the dripping condom. Jumping in the shower, he was cleaning up when Naije joined him for another round.








Still a little sore from the pounding Tobias had given him, Naije winced slightly every time he bent to tuck the sheet beneath the bed. Their torrid session lasting way over into the night, Naije had never been reamed so.

Chanting along with the rapper, streaming from his earphones, he puffed on one of Tobias' cigarettes. Spiriting one away at various times, he'd sneak it into a room to avoid Tobias' rage. The one time the youth caught him smoking, he'd whacked him upside the head so hard, he saw stars.

"Gimme that!" he ranted, snatching the smoking tobacco away from him. From then on, Naije was careful to never let Tobias catch him.

For the last two days, Tobias had been acting a little weird. A little grumpier than usual, he snapped at him about everything. On yesterday when he'd broke out in song with another of his favorite rappers, Tobias flew into a fit of rage, snatching his earphones off and demanding he "shut the fuck up!"

At night, he clung to his side of the bed, so guarded, Naije dared not touch him. Though he'd seen it a thousand times, it was no easier to endure this time. If anything, it was harder, given the rapturous lovemaking they'd enjoyed.

Vocalizing loudly about the courtyard, he drew Tobias' attention. Glaring at him as he strolled from one room to the next, Tobias was consumed with the bitter bile, gnawing away at his innards. He needed to get away and he needed to get away bad.

Counting his little money, he'd just about settled on making a run up to Wichum to see his girl, Amber. "Fuck Naije."

Walking away from the window, he went to the closet to find his overnight bag. Rummaging through the bedlam of old shoes, dirty clothes and other discarded items, he heard the buzzer sound.

"God damn!" he snapped, walking to the office window in a huff.

What he saw, he did not like. Opposite the drab window were two state troopers. Their wide brimmed hats casting shadows over their faces, they were an unwanted site.

"Yeah?" Tobias snarled.

"You the manager?"


"We're looking for a runaway," a mouth beneath shadow to the left announced. "Teenage Caucasian male, about 16 years old. Blond hair, about 5'8" tall, 120-130 pounds. Goes by the name of Nah-gee, I believe. You seen him?"

Staring at the shaded faces, for the first time in a long time, Tobias felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Naije ain't been nothin' but trouble since he came, he reasoned. Turn his triflin' ass in.

Behind the officers, he glimpsed the opened door of room 112. Aware the boy was just inside that door, his heart fluttered. Gulping, he stared at the officers.

"Sir? Seen this kid?" the shadow to the right insisted.

"Naw, ain't seen 'em."

The shadows lingered, giving rise to a small panic for Tobias. Looking out over the courtyard, one of the officers paused, then turned to look at Tobias. His heart racing, he watched him, his face masking his anxiety.

"Thank you," the shadow on the left spouted. "You do see this kid, be sure to give us a call," he added, shoving a card beneath the window.

As they turned to leave, Tobias called out,

"Where he run way from?"

"Youth home up in Tucson."




Walking down to the corner Ralley's, that evening, Tobias glanced over as Naije kicked at a pebble. Ain't got a clue, he thought. Unwanted desires gripping him, he perused the boy's tall, thin frame. A fuckin' white boy, he conceded.

"Coupla cops came by today," he calmly reported. The color draining from his face, Naije replied,

"What they wanted?"

"Was lookin' fo' you."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Naije looked panicked. "I gotta go," he exclaimed, turning to head for the motel. Watching him dash up the highway, Tobias wondered how he'd got himself into this whole mess. A part of him insisting he let the boy go, he kicked himself for following.

At the motel, Naije was madly slinging his few possessions into his natty backpack.

"Why you didn't tell me you'd ran away from a youth home?" Tobias assailed.

"Like it would matter. You knew I had to be running away from something."

"Where yo' folks, man?"

"Dead," Naije said, stuffing his socks into the backpack. "My moms died when I was one and my pops ran away after that. Somebody told me he died 'bout two years ago."

"Why you run 'way from the youth home?"

"Cain't stand that shit. Ain't never stayed in them things."


Tossing the last of his worldly belongings into the bag, he slung the backpack over his shoulder.

"Where you goin?" Tobias demanded. Naije hunched his shoulders.

"You cain't be just runnin' all over the place, fool."

"I ain't goin' back to that place. Tired of nasty assed old men."

Tobias regarded him, irritated, still unable to express himself.

"Come with me," Naije pleaded.

"You crazy!"

"Oh it's like that, huh? Got what you wanted, huh?"

"Man, get out ma face!"

"Why…." Naije sniveled, a tear trickling down his face.

His scowl softening, Tobias glared at him, troubled.

"I cain't," he muttered.

"You won't."

"You ain't knowin', nigga. Why you think I'm out here? Why you think a 23 year ol' O.G. like me out here in the fuckin' desert?"

"Was it that bad?" Naije said, taking his hand in his.

"It ain't you, Naije," Tobias implored, "I just… I cain't take this… not again."

Caressing the youth's time worn hand, Naije petitioned, "What happened?"

"Man, that was a long time ago."

"Tell me."

Gazing into his baby blue eyes, Tobias felt himself crumbling. So innocent, yet so wise, the world before him. Where to start? Huffing, he squeezed the boy's hand, forcing himself to talk.

"He lived next door… I was 'bout yo' age, I guess. He was 'bout 20, 21. Baddest mutha fucka I've ever known. Had his own ride, money, girls, Quentin was phat like butta. I hung out wit' 'em all the time.

"One day we was chillin' over at his pad and we got drunk. Next thing I know, he all over me, yankin' my clothes off and shit. I threw bone like a mutha fuck. He skulled that shit till I thought I'd scream. Afta that, we boned, all the time.

"You know how it is to have a nigga just totally disregard he a man and work yo' shit like a bitch? Ain't nothin' mo' precious a nigga can give to another. You supposed to respect that nigga fo' givin' you that. He don't do that fo' just anybody. Love him, cherish him…."

His voice drifting off, Tobias glanced out the office window, the tired, barren courtyard greeting him.

"He left you," Naije said.

"With my heart in my fuckin' hands. I swore ain't no other mutha fucka gon' ever get that again. Joined the service the next year and ain't done nothin' since."

"You never missed it?"

"What you think?"


Releasing his hand, Naije looked down at his feet. Somewhere in the distance a baby was crying. Turning away, his eyes brimmed with tears again. Slowly raising his hand to caress the boy's face, Tobias delicately wiped a tear away. Then, holding his head in his hands, he kissed the other tear.

"The fuck you've done to me?"

Kissing him tenderly, Tobias felt the boy sobbing, his body shaking in bitter anguish.






The sun setting in the western sky, there was a slight break in the intense heat. A car zipped by, dust whirling behind it. Arizona State Troopers was written on its side. Barreling down the two lane highway at breakneck speed, it sped past the old motel toward the state border. Inside a pair of shadowed faces peered beneath the overhanging brims, their faces set.

Patrons stood outside the motel, watching the trail of cars whiz by, enthralled. Tumble weeds rolling by, they held their hands over their brows, shielding their eyes from the blazing sunset as car after car bolted down the highway.

An old Cadillac Seville, its seats worn and tattered was parked in front of the motel. The driver door carelessly left open, an incessant pinging sounded below the dash. The door to the motel office equally flung wide, the old woman stood at the window counter, holding the note.

"Can't keep doing this…," it read.

The End.