Date: Tue, 31 Aug 2021 09:11:02 -0500 From: KW Chancellor Subject: Strays Ch 1 AUTHOR'S NOTE This is a true story. I've published different scenes of this story on other sites in the past, altering the story to suit the reader's expectations of a tidy ending, or fictionalizing most of the events for tidy stand-alone happy endings. Here, I will write the ugly truth of it as best as I can remember it. I have chosen to use the street names of the people depicted here to protect their identities, but beyond that, everything is exactly as I remember it STRAYS CHAPTER ONE I can't actually tell you how I became homeless. I can tell you that I was diagnosed with "Manic Depression without psychotic episodes" when I was a teen, which I'm sure had something to do with the gradual descent into paranoia and delusional thinking that stopped me from going to my dead-end job at KFC and holed up and tiptoeing around my apartment with the lights off. I stopped eating and chain smoked constantly while watching TV or listening to the Yentl soundtrack over and over again. My landlord eventually served eviction papers and I snuck out in the dead of night, walked to the Greyhound bus station and hopped on the first bus heading to a big city with nothing but a change of clothes and a sweater packed in a backpack. I had no plan that I can remember, aside from the delusional idea that I was going to immerse myself in the homeless experience and write a book Henry David Thoreau style, a thought planted in my mind by a Lucille Ball TV movie about homelessness called, Stone Pillow. It was sometime in November of 1985, and I was twenty-two years old. I dropped out of high school after failing the ninth grade. The idea of spending an extra year in the hell of high school was more than I could bare, not to mention being absolutely bored to death. I was sixteen when I dropped out, due to my being held back in third grade, and having my sixteenth birthday the April before the end of the year. I bounced around fast-food jobs, finding it difficult to maintain steady employment due to the constant depression and social anxiety I was plagued with. Stepping off the bus into that chilly November night, I was completely unprepared for life, much less life on the streets of San Antonio, Texas. I wandered down North St. Mary's until I came to the Main Public Library. (This was in the days when the library was still located on the Riverwalk.) I decided to sit on a bench along the Riverwalk, under the library. I'm not exactly sure why, but the library and Riverwalk would become my touchstones for the many years I would live in San Antonio, even after I found my way off the streets. On occasion, I would slip into sleep, only to be awakened by the Park Rangers who patrol the Riverwalk. "You can't sleep here," they would tell me, and I'd apologize and watch them walk away. On occasion, I'd get up and move around, probably to wake myself up, or to show the Rangers I wasn't going to fall asleep, with the intent of returning shortly after. One night (I couldn't tell you when as this period of time is all a muddled blur) I walked down St. Mary's and turned right on Villita, my usual round the block trek. About half way down the street, a young black guy in a Jeep pulled up to the curb and leaned over to ask if I was selling. "Selling what?" I asked, completely confused. "Are you selling or not?" He asked, his tone hot as his eyes scanned the area around us. "I don't know what you're talking about." Clearly frustrated, he pushed his Jeep in gear and pulled away, turning at the corner and speeding away. I thought about what he was wanting. Drugs? Sex? I would have had sex with him, if he told me that was what he wanted. I had only had sex once, and I was definitely ready to have another go at it. Instead, I made my way back to my bench and waited for the sun to rise. In the morning, as I sat and listened to downtown fill with noise and smoking a cigarette, I saw a middle-aged Hispanic guy wearing a baseball jersey with Greensleeves standing on the bridge that crossed the river. He smiled and waved at me, which threw my social anxiety into overdrive and scared the crap out of me. He was waiting for a bus, and when he moved out of sight, I quickly got up and fled down the Riverwalk, climbing the steps I knew would lead to Travis Park. I liked sitting on one of the concrete benches under the memorial to the Confederate dead and watch the people boarding and debarking the many city busses that stopped there, wondering what their lives were like, where they were going. I had been there a few minutes when I noticed Green Sleeves at the bus stop. He was waving frantically to get my attention, then waved me over. I ignored him, pretending I didn't see him. Looking back, I should have gone to see what he wanted, but I was still just too paranoid. He boarded a bus and I whispered good-bye under my breath. I spent my days in the library, reading books and flipping through photography books about homelessness. Nothing I found gave me any idea of what I should do to survive on the streets. I knew I needed to find some help. I was exhausted, had lost a significant amount of weight, and ached throughout my body. More than that, I had begun to hallucinate. Shadows scampered all about me, especially at night. Some were small and formless, others appearing to take the form of humans I only saw out the corner of my eye. The most vivid thing I saw was a large shadowy creature that took form by shadows moving and folding in on each other. Although it looked like a black blob with no discernable features, I referred to it as Mr. Snuffleupagus. Desperate for help, I finally asked a librarian who sent me to the Salvation Army shelter. I followed the instructions to get there, then stood at the edge of the parking lot, watching all the people waiting to be let in. I didn't know what to do next, and I didn't have the courage to ask. Eventually, I turned around and made my way back to the library and reclaimed my bench under the libraru, beside the Riverwalk, watching tourists explore the meandering path. Again, I fell asleep, and again, a Park Ranger woke me to tell me I couldn't sleep there. "Well then, where can I sleep?" I shouted at her, "I'm homeless, and I'm tired and hungry, and I don't know what to do!" "There's a private park next to the Greyhound," she told me calmly, "We have no jurisdiction there- nobody but the owners do- and it's a well-lit spot, so it's safer than sleeping down here, where someone could come and slit your throat without any witnesses." I got up and made my way down St. Mary's to the Greyhound. I couldn't believe I had walked right by the place when I first arrived and didn't even notice it. It wasn't more than a quarter of a block with a meandering gravel path through grass and a few small trees. There was an old man asleep sitting up with a book in his lap on the far bench, and the middle bench was occupied by two guys- one blonde, the other Hispanic- talking about something I couldn't make out from where I was on the third bench. Because I didn't trust the two who were awake and talking, I sat and smoked a cigarette, then lay down, planning on just resting until they left. After a few minutes, I realized the talking had stopped. Sitting up in a panic, I saw the blonde approaching me. he stopped and asked me what brought me out at this time of night. "Homeless," I answered simply. "I am too," he answered, "Well, I am for the night anyway. My boyfriend kicked me out..." This launched him into a brief history of his life. I guess he could tell I wasn't interested and really wasn't listening. He was talking fast, like he might be on something, and I was having a hard time keeping up. He left, and I sat there watching him disappear. That's when the other guy got up and approached. "Come with me," he said simply as he walked by. He was handsome, with a moustache and a lean build, maybe in his mid to late twenties. He was wearing denim, both jacket and pants, with a white t-shirt beneath. I remained where I was, watching him. At the corner, he turned and motioned for me. I don't know why I got up, but I did. When I was just a few steps away from him, he crossed the street, and I followed. We descended a stairway to the Riverwalk. He didn't look back, and I just followed a couple of steps behind him. When he came to a bench recessed from the main walk, flanked by two crepe myrtles, he stopped and sat down. I hesitantly sat next to him. For a brief moment, he looked nervously up and down the walk, then turned and started kissing me. It was the first time I had ever been kissed. Yes, I had sucked a guy off, and even fucked, but never kissed. I happily lost myself in the new sensation, trying to keep up when his tongue slipped into my mouth and brushed luxuriously against mine. Pulling back, he hiked up my sweater and the t-shirt beneath before leaning forward to lick and suck on my right nipple. Little shocks of electricity shot down to my groin and I was hard as a rock before I even realized it. I heard a woman's laughter, and he pulled away, resting his elbows on his knees and watched as a young couple passed along the other side of the river. He waited until they were out of sight before standing and waving me to follow. He walked briskly down the walk to a large building with giant pillars that were shaped like inverted Vs. He took me down to the last pillar and lay me down, before mounting me. We kissed again as he dry humped me. His hard cock pushed against me through our clothes and I wanted it inside me, despite his being a complete stranger. I wrapped my arms around his neck and waited for his further instructions, excited about finally having sex again. Then he stopped and pulled off me. "I came," he said simply, then left me there. Getting up, I got to my knees, then to my feet, disappointed, but not upset. It was the most action I'd had in nearly a year, and it was hot. Making my way back to the park, I sat on my bench again. I was wide awake now, so I just sat there a while. He soon returned, approached me and told me to follow him again. I did, naturally. I was unusually impressionable, not to mention completely enjoying myself the last time I followed him. My paranoia was set aside, replaced with interested curiosity and a little infatuation. He wasted no time leading me back to our spot, but this time, he stood inside the hollow of the V and whipped out the biggest dick I had ever seen (then or since). It had to be a good sixteen inches long and nearly as thick as my wrist. How he managed a full erection without passing out was beyond me. "Suck it," he commanded. I didn't need anything more than that invitation to drop to my knees and take the head into my mouth. I say the head because it was just too thick to work anymore of his enormous cock into my mouth. It was only the second cock I had the chance to suck, and the last wasn't even as big as my index finger. "I can't," I complained, "It's too big. Maybe you should fuck me instead." "I don't do that," he told me, "Just focus on the head." I went back to work, licking the underside of his glans, where I knew I was most sensitive, then licking the head before finally working it back into my mouth. I played with his ball sack and stroked the long, thick shaft while I kind of rotated my mouth around the swollen head. My jaw ached, and I was sure I would dislocate it, but I wasn't going to stop doing my best to please him until I got my reward. That's why it was that much more disappointing when he suddenly pulled his cock free and started shooting his load across the concrete floor. I sat there, my jaw on fire, the hair of the short beard I grew since becoming homeless soaked in saliva, and watched one big jet after another arch through the air, each arch growing smaller until he stopped cumming. He worked his cock back into his pants even as cum drooled out of the big head and once again walked away. "Selfish fuck!" I murmured to myself as I got up and went back to my bench. I lay down immediately and fell asleep. It was already daylight when I awoke. Sitting up, I pulled out a cigarette from my last pack and lit it up. Replaying the events of the night before in my head, it all seemed like a weird wet dream. Deciding I would jack off later, I wandered about downtown until I got to San Fernando Cathedral and sat on a bench in the little park there, watching people not notice me, becoming increasingly frightened I was going to die on the streets. "Are you hungry?" asked a middle-aged Hispanic man with kind eyes and an easy smile. He was tall and lean, but I could tell he was also strong, even beneath the thick flannel shirt he was wearing. I recognized him; his distinct features memorable from a few days earlier waiting for a bus. It was Greensleeves, only he wasn't wearing the shirt. He introduced himself as Teardrop, a street name he probably got from the teardrop tattooed beneath his left eye. "Come on, I'll take you to La Villita. It's just peanut butter sandwiches, but it's food. I just need to make a quick pit stop first." I rose and followed him out of the park, my mouth watering with the thought of food, my stomach cramping from the lack of it, sending a quiet thank you to the Cathedral. He was wearing faded blue jeans that bulged suggestively in all the right places with a dingy white tee under an oversized brown flannel shirt. Idle conversation implied he might be homeless also, but he was clean, his clothes no dirtier than any other guy's working clothes. I wondered if he knew where I could shower, maybe get a change of clothes that fit me better now that I had finally shed any trace of baby fat. And- for the love of all that is good- a place to get some real sleep. We descended to the Riverwalk, down a flight of concrete stairs, and made our way south, into a less frequented section of the Riverwalk I didn't realize existed. We crossed the river at the dam, then continued further until we came to a bridge. On one side of the bridge was a staircase that led back up to the street level that was lined with a bed of densely growing of shrubs and flowers that completely obscured the not as pretty underside of the stairwell. "I stashed my bag under the stairs," he explained, his luxurious Tejano accent sounding almost musical to me, "Come inside with me, so you don't attract any unwanted attention." I watched as he disappeared into a narrow opening in the shrubs, between a pillar that supported the stairs and the tall wall of the bridge's foundation. I followed him in, emerging into a dark cave like area that slanted sharply downward with the fall of the stairs above. Once inside the little artificial cave, he attacked me, pushing me face first into the bare dirt. At first, I didn't understand what was happening. I was so exhausted my mind was muddy. Weak from who knows how long without any food, I couldn't have put up much of a fight, even if I had thought to. Teardrop was bigger and stronger than I was, even before I was starved. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I had nothing- no money, no resources. What could he possibly want from me? It wasn't when I felt my pants being tugged down that I realized what he wanted. Before the disappointed events of the night before, I had only had sex once. Out of pure frustration, I gave my virginity to a forty-five-year-old man I met at a flea market the previous year. He sold me a sarape, and I gave him my phone number. The night he came over was both wonderful and terrible. I was excited about finally losing my virginity, certain I'd experience the wonders of what I had read in gay porn magazines. But that was fiction, and this was reality. His dick wasn't even half the size of mine, and not nearly as thick, but I greedily sucked it, relishing in the taste of him, the smell of him. When he came in my mouth, I knew I was gay for certain and swallowed every drop. Immediately afterward, he stripped me down and crawled onto the bed with me. He fucked me brutally, pulling his dick completely out and ramming it back into my virgin hole over and over again. I just lay there, taking it, looking at the ceiling with disappointment, trying not to scream out in pain when he punched into me again. I have never been so relieved as I was when he thrust into me the last time and deposited his seed inside me. I lay there naked and watched him dress and leave, the memory of the worst fuck of my life replaced with the knowledge that I was no longer a virgin. Now I was going to be fucked by a complete stranger who wasn't giving me a choice. Teardrop held my face to the cold, bare earth with a hand braced against my neck. Fear shook through me, certain I was going to be savaged once again, but there was nothing I could do to change my situation. I felt him move above me, releasing his hold on me to line up his cock. I heard him spit, then felt his fingers roughly wet my ass hole. I felt him shift his weight, lining his cock up with my sphincter. I squeezed my eyes tight with certain anticipation of the pain. With one thrust, he pushed into me, sending a shockwave of electric pin pricks ripping through my body. A hoarse, unrecognizable sound escaped my lips. I was instantly aware of my nipples becoming erect and my cock growing hard in response. He wrapped his hand around my mouth to silence me, shifting his body forward. The entirety of his weight now pinning me down. "Be quiet!" he whispered menacingly into my ear as he began to awkwardly thrust his cock in and out of the deep recesses of my ass. I tried to relax, giving myself up to his manipulation, giving myself up to him. There was no point in fighting him. He was inside me, and he was going to have his way. Besides, I wanted it. I lay there, my body on fire for him, my mind slipping into a dazed state of pure please, my ass consuming the sensation of his every thrust, waves of pleasure floating through me. I grew more and more excited as his fucking pushed me deeper and deeper into the pleasure I had only read about in gay magazines. I loved him for making me feel that pleasure so completely. I hated him for forcing himself on me. I grew conflicted with every thrust. My ass was so full of his cock, his strong body dominating mine. I was swept away in an almost orgasmic wave of pleasure I had never experienced before, and my body was screaming out for more. I placed one of my hands on the hand he held over my mouth, pressing my fingers between his. He relaxed his grip on my mouth, then released it, lacing our fingers together. I moaned in my mounting pleasure. "You like that?" he asked in a broken whisper, thrusting his cock into me hard. I could hear surprise in his voice. "Oh, God yes," I managed to say, my voice not much more than a croak, "Please, don't stop." He pulled himself above me, bracing his weight on his hands as he continued to fuck me. No longer in the rush of a man just trying to bust a nut, he took his time probing my ass, stroking long and deep, ramming into me hard. I was in bliss, completely invested in what he was doing to my body. He continued to pound away at my ass and my body was responding in bliss. My body burned with a wildfire that I felt in every pore of my skin. I felt feverish. I was so wrecked with what his cock was doing to my ass that I almost whimpered when he thrust into me one last time, shooting his load deep into me. My sensitive hole felt every spasm of his cock as he flooded my body with his cum. After a moment of recovery, he fucked me softly a little while longer. Afterward, he nuzzled his head against mine for a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered in my ear before pulling himself off me, and out of me. I just lay there, feeling empty without his cock inside me, and conflicted about what had just happened. I watched him get his backpack from the lower portion of the stairs and realized he was leaving- he was leaving me alone to fend for myself. Regardless of what had just transpired between us, I was still hungry and exhausted. I needed his help- anyone's help- if I was going to survive. I crawled to my knees, trying to pull my pants up. He rushed past me, on his way out. "Wait!" I called to him as he approached the entrance way, "Please don't leave me here." He hesitated, then looked at me as I struggled to find my footing, failing to get my pants any higher than mid-thigh. My legs were weak and wobbly, the roof of the artificial cave too low for me to stand upright. "I'm not going to survive on my own." I pleaded with him, "I don't know what to do, or where to go. Please, I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me here alone." He stared at me for a long moment. My hard on was still visible, jutting out above the top of my pants, leaving me feeling exposed and even more pathetic than I already felt. In that moment I hated myself for being made so vulnerable and needy, something I did to myself. He took a few steps, closing the distance between us. Extending his hand, he rubbed his index finger over the top of my piss slit. A long string of pre-cum stretched between his finger and the head of my dick. "Come on," he told me, helping me to my feet. After I pulled up my pants, he brushed the dirt from my clothes. "Let's get out of here." He handed me my backpack, and we left the little enclosure as if nothing had happened. "I think we should go to Miss Winnie's. We can get something to eat there, and then you can get a shower and a change of clothes." We walked together for a while in silence, giving me time to process what had just happened. My cock was still hard for most of the walk back. I didn't know if I should be angry at him for forcing me to have sex with him or hate myself for enjoying it so damned much. Either way, I secretly hoped he'd fuck me again.