Date: Thu, 20 May 1999 20:20:07 +1200
From: Anfernee Williamson <wildstyle@iname.com>
Subject: "Escape"

Chances are you came here for a reason, and your looking for this
sorta stuff. If for some reason you don't already know, the following
story includes description of sexual acts between guys. If that shit
turns you off, use your back button or close your browser. If not,
your in the right place.

If you want to check out any of my other stuff, check for my name
under the "Prolific Authors" section of the Nifty Archive. Any
feedback, comments, suggestion can be sent onto me at
wildstyle@iname.com

Oh yeah. The guys in this story might not be using rubbers, but they
ain't real. You are. Practice safe sex.

Keep it real.

Anfernee Williamson of da Undaground Click.


Do not distribute or reproduce this document, all or in part, without express
permission of the author.
Copyright 26th April 1999, Anfernee Williamson

----------------

ESCAPE
another Wildstyle joint


Bradford.

What did it take to escape?

Fuck that. What did it take to survive?

The city surrounded, enshrouding with dark arms of depression. Like mother taking
care of son far too long beyond manhood. Eventually stifling what little remained.
The city held. The city possessed in dark and danger. A breeding ground of life.
Warzone and survival of the fittest. The city touched all.

Bradford took care of it own.

What was there of escape? Nothing remained in quiet corner of mind of escape. Held
in strange paradox of choice to stay and powerless to leave. A city in which its
millions cried out for release. Eventual release from the truths of mankind. That
which had created the city. That which the city created in kind. Lost in some
strange parody of the circle of life and death that existed within the streets.

A concrete jungle. Beyond escape, thought crossed briefly in time by fair and few.
Perhaps on quiet afternoon, when the city seemed to sleep in the burning heat.
Perhaps on the gentle rainfall of night, lost in the warmth and embrace of a
sheltered room. Beyond brief thought remained the reality of survival.

What did it take to survive?

Jamel stared back across the darkened harbor. Sometimes it almost looked as if you
were outside staring in. Sometimes it almost looked beautiful. In the same deadly
way that predator looks beautiful in the sleek pursuit of prey. The youth drew
another slow breath, misting the air before him as he stared over the glittering
water. The promise of mankind held high among towering blocks. Crude testament of
the power and achievement of man.

The night was cold, caught on brief chill. The quickness of exhursion still
carried in Jamel's strong chest. Pace dropping slowly in rest as he stared back
across the city. He was at least dressed in part for the cold; baggy brown cargos,
long sleeved teeshirt, a heavy, camouflage vest. Thick skully and gloves. Scant
protection against the war of the city. Borrowed slightly by speed and pace of the
warrior.

Jamel tasted the coolness of the water as he squirted it into his mouth.
Alleviating somewhat the weariness he felt. The want to sleep. Slumbers brief
promise too dangerous in what was to follow. Where wits were needed. Strength in
soul and mind. A sharpness in wit to survive beyond all. Jamel sucked a last sip
from the bottle, lodging it back onto its hold on the crossbar of his bike.

His night had barely begun.

The young black shifted his satchel around on his body again. Feeling its familiar
place on his back. Like heavy stone of responsibility. To carry safely to those
who had called. Jamel stretched slightly, balancing on weight and nature as he
pulled his seemingly armored motor cross style gloves tightly onto his fingers.
Gripping the handles of his bike tightly. The athletic youth pushed himself away
with one foot. Barely giving thought to the sights he left behind.

The sharpness returned quickly as Jamel joined the streets again. Pulling at the
light fabric of his long sleeved tee. Attacked relentlessly at that part of his
ears not preciously protected by his skully. Jamel did his best to ignore the cold
that came with his quick pace. His mind lay on his job. What needed to be done.
The brief respite that would come after. The youth focused his mind, knowing
anything less would make it all seem desperate.

Jamel did his best to avoid traffic and pedestrian alike. The lights of the night
a blur around him as he pulled tightly into a side alley. Cutting through darkness
and trash into the backstreets of the district he was in. He knew the streets here
well enough. Close to where he had grown up. Knowing now in his desperate attempt
to hold down life and job how best to avoid the traffic of the streets at this
late hour. He bounced the curb at a high speed, coming out onto a quieter street.

Jamel breathed in the stink of the city. Barely noticing the transition around
him. The change in buildings to a more tighter, commercial sort. Those inhabitants
he barely saw in the shine of metal and light. He peddled harder as the brief
soundtrack of siren and gunshot carried far beyond him. Seemingly out of his
reach, still dangerously close.

The youth halted, dismounted. Setting his bike against a nearby lamp post.
Unlatching the heavy chain that linked itself over his right shoulder, detaching
satchel and metal as he worked the lock. Securing his bike. Jamel paused briefly
to tighten his lace. Opening up his satchel to pull free the small package he had
placed on top of the others.

The street around him was comparatively quiet. The border of living and business,
seemingly untouched by the ravage of the street that carried deeper into the
ghettos beyond. Just up the street from the illumination of the lamp, a storefront
remained open. Those brief things that could not be easily lifted, heavy crate and
produce, left to chance outside the cramped grocer. Windows bared, a tangle of
language in words understood only by those who lived within the small conclave.
Nestled in niche within the seemingly quiet oasis of jungle.

Jamel headed over the to grocer, welcoming slightly the warmth and light it
supplied. The bright, full light beaming from the storefront almost blinding in
the darkness of the streets. The youth pushed the door open, hearing the sharp
jangle, expected. Accepting quietly the peace and warmth that the cluttered Asian
store provided.

"Mr. Yosho?"

Jamel checked down one of the tight isles, half expecting to see the elderly man
restocking or stocktaking the mysterious contents of the packed shelves. The youth
glanced towards the back corner, stepping casually, package still in hand.

"Ayo! Mr. Yosho."

A slight thump caught Jamel's attention. The brief clitter of a hanging bead
divide as figure came out from the backshop. The black youth recognized him
instantly, although not that which he had been expecting. A youth his age, firm,
carried with a friendly demeanor. Something else beyond. Jamel caught the warm
smile as the youth saw him, came out from behind the cluttered counter that
divided the shop proper from its hidden behinds.

"Hey! Jamel! Wassap?"

Jamel smiled slightly at the youths attempt at that which was born and bred on
language and inflection. Pounding fists lightly in a greeting of street and
manhood. The young black felt those eyes again slightly, flitting slightly in
eagerness and excitement to see again. The familiarity felt strange somewhat,
almost taking him aback as he composed himself slightly.

"Uhh ... I got a package here for your gramps."

"Yeah, Ill take it," Ryoji offered. Jamel put it down on the counter, opening up
part of his satchel to recover the sign forms.

"You know I got to get your gramps signature on this before I can let it go,"
Jamel replied. The youth nodded.

Jamel saw that look again, a slight eagerness that he had seen before. A silence
dropped on them, an almost timeless moment as Ryoji smiled. His light, browned
features seeming to flush. Jamel caught the glance of the youth's eyes, felt his
own drop in slight embarrassment from himself. He glanced back up, noticing the
slow passage, feeling his own slipping quietly across Ryoji's in different
context. Wondering. His mind somewhat firmed against longing wish that held beyond
that slow stare.

The youth was shorter, but most likely the same on strength. Hard, compact,
carried in a strong chest that seemed to make itself noticed under the loose fall
of his white teeshirt. Jamel noticed the strength in those shoulders, the casual
sweep of his thick black hair. Features broad, carrying something more higher in
cheekbones, hinting of heritage and race. The black youth found himself admiring
in the brief seconds those firm, hard muscles. The tightness below his shirt,
hinted at behind fashionable black sports pants.

"I ... ummm ..."

"Ryoji."

The youth let his words fall quiet as the elderly man made his way through the
cascade of beads. Jamel glanced upwards from the capture that the Asian youth had
on his eyes and mind, finding his place. Clutching the paperwork in his hands,
fishing his pen from the pocket of his vest.

"Hey, Mr. Yosho. I got another package for you here," Jamel commented. He felt
Ryoji slip more to the background, still seeing those slow eyes, bated breath,
like someone disturbed from duties he would rather be left alone too.

"Ah yes. So you have."

"Umm ... just sign here," Jamel pointed out. The elderly man tended to the
paperwork, the youth shooting silent glance back to his grandson. Those hungry
eyes. He could almost feel the words of Ryoji's lips.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Mr. Yosho smiled in that thin way. "It is always a pleasure when you
come to our door." He picked up the small package from the counter.

"Oh yeah," Jamel noted. His tone was still cool, businesslike. "Ryoji, I got that
cd you wanted."

The youths eyes lit up, taken away from their silent admiration and want. Catching
himself in half thought as Jamel dipped back into his satchel, rescuing out the
cd. He handed it over to Ryoji, noticing the lack in his eyes, mind on other
things. Distracted from that which was before him. Jamel felt slightly more
comfortable as he quickly steered the conversation, and direction.

"I got that on vinyl if you want it."

"Hey, thanks Jamel," Ryoji smiled back.

"No prob. I know you been looking for that one for a while," Jamel stated. He
watched Ryoji looking it over, turning it in his hands, reading the back. "Anyway,
I got to get going."

"I expect we will see you back here, in time," the elderly man noted. Jamel
nodded. "I think I will be receiving another package in the next few days."

"Well, I'll probably be the one in this area for the next few weeks, so yeah, Ill
probably see you again," the athletic black noted. He shoved the clipboard back
into his satchel. He pulled himself back, feeling the familiar denial of thought
and feeling come across in his business like manner.

"Hey, I'll see you then, Jamel." the youth felt slight hint of that gaze, saw that
same soft smile. "Thanks for the cd again, too. I'll tell you what I think about
it."

"Yeah, no doubt."

"Maybe you can come over one day," Ryoji ventured. "Ill show you what I have in my
collection so far."

Jamel headed towards the door, making his gestures of farewell. "Yeah, that'd be
cool."

"Catch you soon, Jamel!"

The athletic youth stepped outside, welcoming the cool embrace of night. He let
out a huff of air, misting that before him. Wiping his nose slightly as he stared
at the cold, slightly wet pathment before him. Cooling himself within, composing
himself. He put the thoughts out of his mind, shoving his satchel back around to
his back as he headed over to his bike. Keyed the same codes, wrapping the heavy
chain up around his chest, saddling up.

Jamel made mental note of the number still remaining. Calculating in mind the best
and quickest ways to make it from point to point. His mind was slightly slow off
the take, as he rubbed his eye slightly, rethought in pattern and way. Made his
decision on where to head next. Not far from where he was. Further out into the
colder, darker ways that were. The youth felt the ache of his strong legs as he
began to push into activity what had fallen quiet for time.

The youth headed back down darker streets. His mind fell into the same dull
patterns. The same images of reward and reason. It carried him as he skipped the
bike up onto the curb. Let his mind ignore that around him in all but that which
he had to avoid. Running on instinct alone, if that. He spun himself into a darker
alley as he pushed on through street and block. Boarded up old tenements replacing
that which looked just livable. Lines of old storefronts. Shortcutting through
that which was condemned.

Jamel glanced up briefly at the nearby blue, catching name of location. Checking
in mindless state as he headed towards a slightly less dead section of the
neighborhood. Difference barely noticeable, yet hinted at in the slight carries of
civilization. The athletic youth pulled his bike into one of the side streets,
avoiding those permanently parked cars that remained there. He slowed his pace,
making obvious what was for those that needed to see.

Dismounting, Jamel pushed his bike the short distance to the alley. It was colder
here, much colder. Between the towering tenements that were, reaching like cold,
dead fingers into the night. The slight cry of civilization hinted that life still
remained somehow. Somewhere above, beyond those impassive dark walls. Jamel caught
a shadowed face pull back from the window, almost hidden behind the stark black
steel of the fire escapes. He pushed his bike towards the alley opening, walking
between buildings like cold sentinels of the street.

The alley within was dirty, too much like the streets without. A slight drizzle of
water fell from above, lost from whatever drainage system was employed to hold.
Too old by years to adequately carry the task. The piles of rubbish either side
sent the stink of decay to Jamels flaring nose as he pushed past the mountains
either side. Eyes quietly on the door at the end of the blocked alley. All signs
given of lifelessness, as wanted.

Jamel glanced right slightly, pausing. Seeing dark shadow there in the tight
crevice that lay almost unnoticed. Eyes followed him, all but would have been
unnoticed to those who did not know where to look. Jamel caught the glance, the
slight nod and indication of hand. He put his bike aside, fished again in his
satchel where duty called. All but ignoring that human part of nature that glanced
on silently.

The athletic youth knocked on the door, catching brief noise. Dark eyes peering
from the tiny slit that had produced itself in the battered door. The urgent
pounding of metal on metal as locks slid. The door jarring ever so slightly. Jamel
paid no attention to the figure that eventually leaned itself against the inside
of the doorframe.

"Package for Mookie."

"Yeah."

Jamel handed the large envelope up, as the figure inside grabbed at it greedily.
The youth had turned almost before the door had banged closed, the symphony of
creaks and thumps that ensued. Jamel headed back towards his bike, retrieving it,
pushing it back down the darkened alley. He welcomed the slight shelter of the
cool that passed over the battered backstreet, ignoring the brief spat of water
that fell onto him from above. Jamel glanced upwards, catching shadowed figure
just outside the crevice halfway up the alley.

"Hey, gee ..."

Jamel steeled himself, his form firming somewhat as he straightened himself. Felt
that same resolve come across him. Briefest thought glanced through his tired mind
of what was and what could be. The duties that called him, and that which was
required to do in what was. A strange and twisted survival instinct of street and
warrior.

The shadowed form stayed unmoving, Jamel dumping his bike behind the shelter of
the rubbish. Escaped from prying eyes. Unnoticed like so much of the alley to all
parts of the city, like some strange shelter in the dark. Jamel took the few steps
required to put him by the opening of the crevice, the dark figure rested silently
beside it.

The athletic youth pushed himself through the gap, feeling the press of concrete,
the eventual give as he slipped into the cluttered alleyway within. What appeared
once to be some sort of respite from the work within the buildings, the very small
place there long since overgrown, then dead of nature. Now just a wet and dark
place between the spires of brick. No windows above, but the brief escape to the
night sky where the buildings ended. A dark, empty doorframe on one wall.

Jamel felt his spirit drop slightly, as he clenched his fists. Reminded himself.
Felt the shadow move passed him.

The youth knew the shadow. No name. No shape or form. Just that which watched and
warned, like so many legions across the dark city. Born of necessity to survive
and live within the ghettos that controlled and held the city. Dark watchers over
the soldiers that moved from place to place. No name beyond those whispered
thoughts of those passing, lucky enough to catch perhaps the hint. The instinct
that they were looking on.

Jamel watched him, dressed completely in black. Knowing strangely that far more
intimately than name or allegiance. A stocky youth, dark eyes hidden too far
underneath the pull of his skully. The brief catch of light falling across
mediumly brown features. Firm, full lips. The brief dust of hair on his upper lip
and chin. The strong, nose and features of one his own on race. Stepping quietly
across the small enclosure, to the door. Jamel following silently.

The shadow vanished quietly within the door, Jamel catching him again as he
stepped within. Standing quietly in the embrace of black, just within the hold of
the building. The black could hear the empty echoes of desertion within, saw
nothing in the darkness there. Feeling his eyes drown down to that which fell in
light.

A 10 dollar bill.

Jamel drew a quiet breath as a gentle rain began to fall outside. He felt the
slight cold pull of air from the dead building they stood in. He closed his eyes
momentarily, mind fixed on that one thing. The one thing that would be there. The
one thing that called for strength and survival in the face of the city he lived
in.

Jamel slipped the bill into his pocket.

Hearing an almost appreciative air from the shadow, Jamel knelt down onto his
knees slowly. He heard the quiet buzz of metal, as the rain began to fall more
squalid outside. From his place there on the floor, Jamel saw the stocky youths
hand work slowly, pulling himself out of his baggy black jeans. A thick, half hard
piece of male meat, almost obscene in context to the male eye.

Jamel gently slipped his hands up around the soft offering made to him. Feeling
the heat and strange paradox of soft and hard that presented itself then to his
touch. The thought, the reality, steeled Jamel's mind as he began to work and
stroke that big cock, hearing the gentle yet urgent moans above him join the sound
of rain outside. His hand slipped fully around the shadows penis, drawing it
further from his baggy jeans, fingers working to free heavy, full nuts.

The athletic youth felt strong hands join his shoulders, encouraging as they
stroked across his rough vest. The softness of his neck, and the smooth, bald skin
that hinted as his fingers dipped under the thick warmth of his skully. A
strangely gentle caress, as his own hands painted similar patterns of pleasure
across a now thick male member. Brute and heavy, bending thickly in a strange
twist of human nature. Iron hardness beyond the soft, dark velvet of the stocky
youth's skin. Tempered steel in human form, blunt, dangerous.

Jamel felt himself glance upwards, his mind almost seeming to back away where his
body couldn't. Seeing those dark eyes, still lost beneath the dark embrace of his
skully. Those parted lips, breathing arousal in thick pants. The strong, broad
shoulders, under dark shirt and padded vest. A male body in want, and heat. Caught
on strange pinnacle of poise. In act of submission and want, traded at least
willingly in body by two males.

Quiet. Unknowing. Hidden from the eyes of the city.

Jamel slowly let his mouth move forward, the slow inches needed to transgress what
he was doing. Each slow inch reinforced by confliction, caught in need of what was
needed. What had to be provided in dark way. He let a slow breath escape, fall
across the heat that beat from that thick, bent organ. His quiet intake of air
coming thick with the heady aroma of male musk. The stocky youth's most secret
place cradled in his hands, Jamel let his lips fall on its head.

The athletic youth felt the almost urgent push that slipped that large head
between his lips. The tightening of hands on his neck and shoulders. He felt the
need pent within the strong body before him push firmly into his wet mouth, a
willing acceptance to his thick black cock. To the need that was, that could be
satisfied in silence for the right price. Jamel felt himself dip his head,
lowering his lips further down that thick shaft of flesh.

The pace rose gently as Jamel concentrated on the task at hand. He could hear the
urgent gasps above him as the youth sunk deep within his mouth, pushed that little
further in begging want to have itch soothed. Jamel let his fingers wrap around
the base of the blacks cock, his other wander lazily up under the stocky youths
black vest. Feeling the pent muscle and power there that poised so silently behind
the thick push of maleness deep within his mouth.

Jamel heard the drip of water hit nearby.

The eventual taste came to the youths senses. Strong male arousal, proofed in
product. Thin, clear gift to those that tempted male nature enough to surrender.
Jamel let his mouth move back upwards, his tongue slathering heavily across the
black's broad head. Hearing the powerful moan that it illicitted. The thick taste
of precum that drew along his tongue in the deep wetness that made his mouth pussy
to the black cock. Jamel smelt the thickness assault his nose as his mouth slipped
downwards again, the occasional catch of a loud suck, or slurp, taking the stocky
shadows shaft deep inside again. His nose burying in the youths tight pubes.

Jamel pulled back with a slurp to work the youths pulsing shaft more firmly. He
felt the hardness glide between his lips, the push and thrust of the big phallic
make his jaw ache on size and continuos position deep in his mouth. His head felt
dizzy somewhat as he worked again on that big head, hearing the moan above, the
tightness on his neck. Jamel felt the cool night air catch his bald head as his
skully slipped off, the youths hand caressing, stroking.

Close. So close.

Jamel bobbed quickly as he sensed the urgency within the stocky youths breath. He
way his hands controlled and caressed his head. The way those hips pressed up
firmly against that one wet place he craved so deeply. Dark reality that had
become of Jamels mouth on his cock. A reality that the youth knew was the only
that could truly satisfy. He felt that sudden hardness, the gradual climb and
poise of solid flesh. Heralding the approach of his fullest release.

Jamel pulled his mouth to the stocky youths head, quickening his pace to match the
excited, rhythmic pants and movements that drove that thick cock within the circle
of his lips. He heard the breathlessness, then the final moment that surrounded
them both, bound them in dark secret as the youths cock throbbed to a point beyond
return. Filling Jamel's mouth with a single, drowning flood of male seed.

The athletic youth gripped the thick cock, drunk on the head as his lips formed a
seal. Taking as much of that pounding, forcing member out of his mouth to receive
only the lifegiving seed that the stocky youth surrendered. Feeling it slide slow
down in his throat in overbearing truth and taste, only to refill his mouth,
threatened to squirt totally again before he had chance to consume.

Jamel sucked harder, throat working as he drunk silently and accepting of another
young black males semen.

The athletic youth kept the cock inside his mouth as slowly the glow of post
climax spread over the stocky youth. His one urge was to pull it out. To spit.
Clear his mouth and throat of that which had already colored his stomach. He let
himself fall into a relaxed state, joining with the shadows own. Enjoying the
silence as the rain fell outside. Enjoying the soft, warm pleasure that came from
having ones cock in anothers mouth. In the thought of that which had caused it to
surrender so fully.

Jamel let the limp hose of flesh slip from his lips, as he backed up slightly.
Lowered his head. He drunk in the breaths of air, still smelling that which had
escaped his mouth. He wiped his lips, felt the dampness on the knees of his pants
as he slowly climbed to his feet. He felt a strong hand pull him up after dealing
to the matter of his exposed organ. Pulling him up, into a strong embrace. Putting
his strong young body against the shadows.

Jamel let those lips taste slowly of his. Let them press softly, his mind unable
to imagine them as those of another. More familiar in context. He felt the
strength in the stocky youth's body. Felt the way that he held him. Somewhere in
there, in the shadows, and the dying rain, the closeness felt like something else.
The few kisses, even if from another male, felt appreciative where word was not
spoken.

Jamel lowered his head somewhat, hesitant at returning the embrace.

The closeness passed as the youth stepped back, gave his best of a smile to the
shadows. He saw those dark eyes again, watching over him. Knowing strangely, that
he was probably closer to the youth than anyone in his life. Never having seen the
youth outside his dark, solitary context. Almost as if he couldn't imagine him
elsewhere, but in the silent context of the dark alley way. Paying for what little
human pleasure he could. Buying that so dark and unspoken. Perhaps craving so
badly something beyond in its absence.

"Ill catch you when I'm next around, huh?"

The stocky youth seemed almost regretting, nodding eventually. Glancing downward.
Jamel steeled his mind, pulling out of the mental quagmire that seemed to surround
his mind. He shoved his hand briefly back into his pocket, feeling the rough cut
of the 10 dollar bill. Reminded so bluntly of the salty aftertaste still heavy in
his mouth. Unable to be washed away by spit or tongue. He stepped out into the
light rain, squeezing back out of the crevice to his bike.

Jamel mounted his bike, correcting his satchel again. Quickly pulling out his
waterbottle to banish the taste that assaulted his mouth. Clearing himself of the
thickness there. The coolness gave slight reprieve to what he had done. Washing
away taste, but little of the thought, as his mind did best to place what had
happened to that which had to be done. He glanced up, seeing the stocky youth
standing by the crevice. He noticed his skullies absence as he saw the clench of
black in the youth's hand.

"Thanks, man." Jamel pulled it onto his bald head, feeling its warm embrace.
Dismissing the steady glance the youth returned in reply. Jamel adjusted his
gloves, preparing to pull back into the night that had spawned him.

"Take care, bro."

Jamel nodded, surprised. "Yeah, no doubt. Take care too, aiight?"

The youth nodded back, as Jamel kicked himself free, headed back up the alley, and
onto the street. His body was already protesting the movement. His mind was tired,
his body beginning to ache with the fatigue of the night. He reminded himself of
the last two deliveries, welcomed what would probably be two quick runs. Welcoming
the gentle warmth that caressed his minds eye. The luxuriant softness of his bed.
Shear softness of heaven compared to the harshness of the cities streets he had
been subjected too the so many long hours.

The rain began to join the cold cut of the wind as he road with more urgent press
through the darkness of the backstreets. Returning to a gentle drizzle, but
reminding of the blunt cruelness nature and city could impose at the merest whim.
Jamel felt it fall cold on his face, felt himself sniff slightly as he turned onto
the main street, still pretty much deserted at the late hour of the night. Heading
towards the more dangerous of the warzone. Keeping his pace quick.

Jamel pushed himself as he head towards the ghetto proper, one of the many. His
mind, although still mapping route and street, seemed numbed and lost to where he
was, the passage of time. The wind cut at his face, tugging on clothes touched by
the dampness of the cold night streets. He avoided a large catchment of water on
the curb as he pulled into a more residential street. Noticed the blaze of an old
trashcan. Those huddled behind it.

Jamel knew where he was. Knew the danger and the power that these streets held. It
was obvious to those who knew where to look. Deadly and seductive to those who
didn't. Calling in like a spider to web. The inevitable strike and kill so sleekly
noted. The youth knew the danger. Knew the streets deadly kill. Had avoided so
deftly in wit and chance to avoid its true clutches. Still reminded so bluntly
every time he returned. Wishing every time it was his last, to truly leave behind
what he had partly run from.

Run from. The city still took care of its own. Jamel was still too far Bradford's
own. Doing what he could to survive what he could not escape.

Jamel pushed himself quickly down the partly darkened streets. Lower dwellings,
like other poor zones throughout the bursting metropolis, rampant with a war
youthful and dark in face. Youths lost in tradition and blunt way of what was on
the cruel calls of ghetto. Too young soldiers fighting a war long lost on purpose
or reason. A dizzying paradox of result and cause.

The youth skipped his bike back up onto the broken pathment. His mind loosing the
pass of identical house after house. Identical in look and way, pronounced only by
this or that, all still very much the trappings of ghetto. Wheelless car, long
since raped of any use, sitting in uniform driveway. The last remnant of nature
doing poor to shade the yard in which the young played. Those who would grow to
inherit their surrounds.

Survival.

Jamel jammed on his brakes, pulling to a halt close to one particular house. The
lights were still on, despite the now late hour. The pull of wind across the dying
streets, warding all those who knew to warmer climes inside. Sign out front of
those who refused heed of call. The heavy thump of ghetto theme alive within a
house that was far from sleeping in hours where a unsleeping ghetto fell more
quiet, in its dark, deadly way.

The youth felt the seductive pull of the house that was his next stop. Light in
where there was dark. Promise of warmth where the cold winds of Bradford night had
begun to chill him. Beyond the thick layers he wore, dampened by the same rain
that still drizzled down on. Swept in harsh needles by cold hands. Jamel felt the
all too natural call of human nature, speaking words of surrender. Where his tired
mind tried to silence. Still remained quiet on intent and purpose. Of that of what
had to be done.

"Yo, BITCH!"

Jamel didn't bother glancing up as he began to unlock the heavy chain about his
chest. Padlocking his bike to the mess of concrete and fencing that lay broken
open on a trampled front lawn. Insuring its tight hold. Jamel pulled himself back
up to his feet, standing tall against the protest of his muscles. Only now eying
back to the figure on the stoop. Illuminated by the embrace of bright light that
streamed from the open door. His pace seemed to fall almost in time with the bassy
thump within the house.

"Yo don't need to worry 'bout dat shit, nigga," the big black climbed to his feet,
the bottle of liquor left on the top step. "Yo KNOW I'll look after yo shit."

"Forget that," Jamel muttered. He walked up the pathway that split the lawn, grass
lost to dirt and broken pathment. Spreading out to yellowed green at best, near
the graffitted fence that divided plots.

"What? Fuck, nigga, I said I'd look after yo shit. No need to be padlockin' yo
shit down. What? Yo think I'ma pawn it off to some rat?"

Jamel adjusted his satchel as he reached the foot of the stoop, ignoring the damp
feeling that carried on his clothes. The wind that still stung. He glanced up at
the big black. Decked in trappings that demanded respect beyond his heavy body.
Looking warm, dry, snug within the confines of well fitting, expensive black
sports labels. His head drawn and wrapped in the blood red of 'breed.

"So what? Mah word ain't bond?" the big black stared down on Jamel. The youth
stared back, his expression businesslike.

"Fuck your word, Red. Your word ain't shit."

The big gangsta's face dropped somewhat, hardened. Staring down on Jamel with a
fury that seemed to fall unheeded on the muscular youth. Standing defiant, staring
back with an almost casual disregard that bordered on dangerous. Jamel saw the
tightening in his pose, the clench of his right fist. Almost felt the charge of
thought weighing temper and action. He stared back up, as look and word as cold as
the night.

"I haven't come up in here for your shit. I got some stuff for Shawn."

The reply bit back at him. "Fuck yo bitch." Jamel heard the change in tone, the
drop in his voice. "Whose ass yo think yo gotta go through to get to Shawn?"

"Shawn got my shit for me."

"Shawn ain't even gotta know yo monkey ass up in here, unless I tell him. Who yo
thinks gonna tell him dat shit?"

Jamel stared back, seeing the rise in the black at his refusal to take his talk.
To fall silently to those dominant, brash talking ways that he had seen so often.
Seizing so fully those weaker that would submit to a heavy word, or darkened look.
Reinforced by the red of Purebreed. Demanding obedience to one of the biggest
gangs in Bradford. Lords of life in death  too easily in the warzone of Bradfords
black ghettos.

"Go get your ass back in there and tell Shawn I got his shit."

"NAH!" Red's word came back hard. "Nah, fuck yo, yo lil punk. Show a lil respect
fo' da real, bitch."

Jamel stood tall, silent as the big black bared down the stoop towards him like a
raging stormcloud. He felt his mind steel against the danger and cold elements.
Steeling against the big blacks blunt ways. Feeling the rise of a different nature
against his street hardened form. Poise in front of him with the threatening power
of a loaded pistol. Red's big body came all but toe to toe as Jamel kept his face
and gaze hard, still eying the brightness of the house within. The wet spat of
rain fell in darkened spots on his expensive, heavy coat.

"Why the fuck yo wanna be messin' wit' mine, bitch?"

Jamel stared slowly over at those smoldering eyes. "Why don't you just do your job
and tell Shawn I'm up in here?"

"Yo, JAMEL!"

The youth glanced quickly back at the door, Red's own gaze falling in tow. His
dominance still down heavy on Jamel's athletic form. Jamel breathed a quiet call
of release, seeing another of the 'breeds standing at the doorway. He knew him
from his past visits.

"Shawn's been waitin' for your ass, man."

Jamel watched the thug turn back into the bright light of the door, invitation in
motion and implication for him to follow. He scarcely even glanced back at Red,
even acknowledging a presence almost too dominant for any normal mind to ignore or
pass by, in fiery threat of danger. The youth felt a hand stop him in mid stride,
making his glance back. Ward with an eye now that others had gained him entry into
the house.

"Shawn ain't got yo shit, 27-4 bitch," Red muttered back. His tone was cold. "Show
some respect up in dis mahfucka, else I'll make yo monkey ass recognize."

Jamel let his glance move quietly away, letting Red travel on his power trip. Slow
move and motion sometime life or death action in the unforgiving theater of street
power. Jamel remained steeled, feeling that hand still stopping his motion as the
big thug leaned his mouth a little closer, spat dark sermon on his ears.

"See, cause I KNOW yo shit, bitch," Red let the thump of music and cold wind
reinforce his word in pause. "Yeah, I know yo shit. I can buy yo cocksucka. Buy yo
ass way too easy. I know yo shit on the real, bitch. How yo like dat shit now,
huh?"

Jamel felt the sting of the words, whip cracks nipping at the tender skin of his
ego and pride. He felt the pain deeper within as he tightened his mouth, his
expression. His eyes dipped slightly as he repressed the anger he felt within.
Tried to soothe what he could of the more powerful emotion of hurt within. Red's
words came too fast, too soon, as the big black all but whispered into his ear.
Tone heavy with attitude and street passion.

"Buy yo fuckin' ass, monkey. Buy yo ass, then yo can suck mah cock."

Jamel pushed forward, feeling Red's heavy, staying hand slip from him. He felt the
ache of his muscular legs as he took the steps upward to the light. Pulling his
satchel around, readjusting what he could of his dampened vest. He banished the
pain he felt, letting word fall like water of a ducks back. Knowing that they fell
too sullen on a soul already too heavy deep within.

"Don't yo be forgettin' dat shit!"

The youth stepped into the house, feeling the warmth flood around him. The pound
of the Doggfather assaulted his ears and body. Snoops smoother tones like cool
bourbon, words and lyric dancing like the fine liquor across the tongue and
tastebuds of his ears. Seductive and relaxing in mate with the warmth that
caressed his tired form. Jamel saw the youth that had signaled him earlier at the
door, talking with a too easy to please woman of similar age. The youth nodded him
over.

"You got his shit?"

"Yeah," Jamel replied. "I got his shit."

"Good, cause he been waiting all day for you to turn up." the youth gave him a
brief smile back. Youth caught in the same ghetto fatigues and rag of the rest of
his soldiers. "You be like his Santa Claus or some shit, the way he be lighting up
about your packages, man."

Jamel nodded, his mind returning to the same business modes that always took
control. Dulled him to surround, or what he did. Blinded him willingly to that he
did not want to see, or be around. He kept his mind focused to the task, his eyes
away from the sounds and harkened calls from the main room to his right. Or
deceptively darkened room to his left. Knowing too well what they most likely
held. Knew to well by smell and sound and context.

The youth signaled him back to the far of the hall, Jamel's eye caught slightly by
a lanky youth slouched against a door frame, the kitchen beyond. His dark eyes
looked vacant, barely seeing Jamel as he headed over to the last door. His guide
knocked, Jamel turning his eyes away from the onlooker, caught on brief word. He
saw the thug turn the doorknob, signal him onward.

Jamel unzipped his satchel as he stepped into the room, hearing the door close
behind him. Quiet in comparison, to the assault of noise without. He heard a call
go up from the big man across the room, watched him cross quickly from his place
at the desk. Jamel knew him well enough, the almost 'big brother' type of aura
that he seemed to reflect down on him. A man big on stature, not so much muscle
where Red tried to dominate. Still commanding a more firm respect, still
reinforced by the red bandanna that peeped from under his long hockey jersey,
looped on the belt that kept his oversized black jeans up.

"Fuck me! Wuddup Wordman?"

Jamel let the big man hug him close, hold him almost at arms length as a light
shone in his eyes. The youth gave a slight glance at those dark features, the well
established black goatee. The all too neat black hair. Tight hair cut short,
shaved in hint of a part. Giving the same immaculate look as the rest of the mid
twenty somethings attire and person.

"Damn," Shawn grinned down on him. "Where you been at? Been waiting for your
package, Word."

"Making the rounds," Jamel replied. "You know how it is."

The big man nodded. "Was wondering when you was gonna get up in here."

"I been keeping things busy tonight. You know?" Jamel saw the rooms only other
inhabitant, as Shawn gestured him over to the couch. "Got over here as soon as I
could. I wanna get back home."

"You know my boy, Tray, don't you?" Shawn stated. Jamel glanced over at the black.
Danger. Strength. Held in a poise far more subtle and elegant than Red's brute
strength. He nodded back. "Tray, this is Jamel. Kid I been telling you about."

Jamel raised a slight eyebrow, catching the sentence. He kept himself focused. "I
got your shit Shawn."

"I know I can count on you, Word," the big man clapped a hand on his shoulder,
Jamel feeling the firmness though his damp vest. "You always got my shit correct."

Jamel pulled the small parcel from his satchel, handing it over to Shawn. "Always
on time."

"Fuck. Always, Word."

Jamel watched Shawn put it aside on the desk. Waited with expectant breath. Hoped.
"I was hoping if you could pay me up front. I'm sort of wanna get back home."

"Whats the rush, Wordman?" Shawn turned back. "Take a seat. Damn. You got five for
your boy ain't you?"

Jamel nodded reluctantly, taking a place on the main couch. His eyes glanced over
at Shawn, attending to what he expected was pay day in the draw of his desk. The
youth ignored the wad of cash he pulled, noticing Trays expression, the slow gaze
he gave back. He was sitting just over from him, a statement of black pride in
black. Power in muscle held below his football jersey and leather jacket. Black
cap pulled tight down over his eyes, shadowing intent that sharp gaze. He looked
more like the athlete his football jersey suggested, even though Jamel's mind knew
beyond the brief fantasy of mind what his true occupation was.

"Fuck, you always here and there, Word." Shawn walked back over to the couch. He
put himself down beside Jamel slowly, wad in hand. "Aughta relax, nah'mean? What's
your rush anyway?"

Jamel shrugged, giving in somewhat. The warmth was getting to him, seducing tired
muscles and his cold body. "Just wanted to get back and get myself into a soft
bed."

"Yeah, I feel you, Wordman." Shawn gave him a smile. "Last three times outta here,
you been pretty fast off the take. I was wondering if you was getting cold feet
around me."

"Nah, ain't nothing like that," the youth replied, abating whatever the gang
member was feeling. "I'm just tired, pulling this job 24-7, you know?"

"Fuck, you got better ways to make this green, Word," Shawn paused. "You know I
can hook you up."

"Nah."

The big man nodded almost immediately in reply, raising an almost warding hand. "I
respect the shit you doing for yourself, Word. I do. You gotta make ends meet. You
got yourself madd legal game. I gotta respect that."

"Thanks."

"Fuck, you know I appreciate the shit we got," Shawn glanced over at Tray. "Fuck,
nigga ain't never dropped me my stuff late. Fuck, it you weren't running your
legal game, Word, I wouldn't have your ass doing me such a good job on the side."

Jamel let the comment slide, seeing the green Shawn was counting in his big hands.
He saw Trays still steady stare from under his peak, too tired to really notice to
much else. Too tired to really notice the same sort of implication in the big gang
members eyes and eager ways. Shawn didn't bother looking up as he shot Jamel a
quick word.

"Take your bag off, Word. Relax a lil, nigga. You'll be out aiight."

Jamel reluctantly went along, holding out his hand as Shawn began to count the
bills into it. He counted along, his soul lifting slightly at the payday.
Something warm seemed to strike within him, reminding him of his purpose of way.
Somehow it almost seemed worth it, as the ruler of men and street slowly came back
to him. Reparation for services rendered. Guarantee of survival.

"And ... there."

Jamel frowned slightly, as the last two bills went down. "You got it too much by
20, Shawn."

"Nah, I got it correct, Word."

Jamel swallowed slightly as he realized the implications. His mind tired by the
even merest possibility. Brief hope of warm bed snatched slightly. He entertained
the thought, stuff the money, its only 20. He could pass it up this night, pick it
up later somehow. The thoughts coming to him like the seductive caress of the
warmth, or the promise of rest to his weary muscles. Somewhere inside him, reason
sounded, banishing obscene thoughts. Reminding of what he was still striving to
achieve. What every bill meant. He cringed.

"You gonna relax a lil, ain't you Wordman?" Shawn gave him that look, Jamels eyes
catching his hand go downward slightly. The big mans voice dropped darkly. "Give
me any my boy a lil slowneck?"

Jamel let the breath escape slow, feeling those all too familiar fingers tighten.
Where oppression of ghetto held most, still clung with iron strength to Shawn and
Tray, they still held Jamel. Perhaps not the same purpose and intent, but where
the ghetto lost some held in person on his soul, he felt the weight of other
tighten. Bradford taking care of its own. Posing too tough question and decision
on what had to be done.

"Told my boy here 'bout you," Shawn continued. His voice was still conspiracy low,
the dull thump of bass taking ears where silence beyond word would have claimed.
"Tray's eager to try some of your good shit. Fuck, I know I wanna get me some of
your good shit."

Jamel tried to relax somewhat. Give himself into the reality that was. What choice
else did he have? The moment of choice passed too brief before he shoved the roll
of notes into his cargos.

"I knew you had my back, Word." Shawn replied, his voice quiet. He put a hand on
the youth's shoulder. "I knew you'd have my boys back too. I got respect for that
shit."

Jamel nodded, noticing Tray already moving to his feet. Rubbing himself slightly
in that place that controlled all of male emotion in the rough of ghetto. Base and
raw, manhood thrust on youth all too early. Reinforced in burning desires like
animal of prey. Begging need to taste so frequent the meal that would sate those
same burning desires. Needs thrust too soon on youth unprepared for the power of
that which controlled.

"We boys, Word, you know that shit. Fuck, we three all boys," Shawn said. His
voice ran almost like soft encouragement over that which had to be. Failing to
comfort that which Jamel took my need, rather than on want of pleasure. Failing
too easily on intent. "I got your back too, Wordman. Tray got your back too."

Jamel sat silently, feeling his heart begin to thump slightly in his broad chest.
More in the anticipation. The realization of the curtain that was drawing up on
the scene before him. Like youth watching porno, knowing what was approaching.
Feeling its inevitable result and pull, as Tray shrugged off his jacket, prepared
himself for sating treat. Jamel glanced over that taut, muscled body, the
lightness of his football jersey falling over an obvious power below.

He swallowed as he watched silently. The forbidden and unspoken theater of downlow
male love playing around him. The electricity flashing in the beings of all three
of the ghetto born. Promise of what was.

Jamel watched as Tray unbuckled his baggy jeans. Undid them. Let them fall from
thick, dark thighs. The youths eyes drawn straight to the inevitable, that which
could never be missed. Bulging like pent beast within the confines of his boxers,
a short, thick promise that nested itself upwards. Tested against the waistband
that held it prisoned. Trays hand moving to stroke, pull slick silk against that
which proclaimed his pride the loudest. Reinforced by the presence of dark,
thickly muscled cords, athletic within big black thighs.

Jamel felt his heart pound in the same beat as the throb of bass.

"Do my nigga good for me, Wordman." Jamel felt Shawn's hands explore him, the
context all but freaking him as his mouth whispered hot against his ear. "Do his
cock nice. I know you got your shit covered ... for me, Word."

The athletic youth saw that dark strength move as hands tugged at him, a male
closeness around him where Trays held before him. The same dark male strength
pulled his vest back, his skully off, preparing him part and part for that coming
before him. Jamel felt his mind recoil slightly at the context and reality of his
situation. The hands that closed around him, inevitably caused his cock to tent
his cargo pants in base rebellion. His mind rejected what his eyes so readily saw
in the blunt maleness around him. The context and purpose of those arrosed pants.

Shawn had since pulled off his bulky vest, hands assaulting him in mind as they
rubbed heavy and purposefully up his body and chest. Jamel panted heavily,
catching brief glance of his heavy tent, the knowledge of that which was causing
his of arousal to rise slightly. The sight of Tray slipping off his boxers,
fisting his short, blunt cock in a thick scent of maleness that was now reaching
his nose. Somehow cooling his mind, and relaxing in familiarity. Taking care of
business in an almost too decisive, cleancut frame of mind.

"Word got you Tray," Shawn said. Jamel noticed the hesitation as the muscled black
masturbated himself in slow, easy strokes. He dragged his gloves off, still
feeling Shawn's hands, remembering his whispered request. His mind set to the
task, seeing somewhere beyond his true goals.

"Come a little closer, brother." the youth said. Tray stepped up to him like
baseballer to the plate, bat in hand. Jamel put his hands slowly onto the muscled
blacks hips. That base member so close to his face he could almost feel its heat.

"Swear, nigga," Shawn's voice came. "You in for a treat. Shits better when its
coming from a fellow bruddah."

Jamel saw the dark eyes, almost dangerous, almost as if warding him away on threat
of violence. The athletic youth saw the hesitation, the pent unsureness now that
his black cock was exposed and inches away from another males mouth. Thrill no
doubt of male submission to the pride of a once African warrior, still hesitation
in some. Holding mind unsure, and reviled perhaps of that which take in what was
so bluntly offered.

"Tell him that shit good."

Jamel agreed quietly. "Yeah, its true Tray. Shits better from a bruddah."

The youth ignored the strong presence holding his body close, creeping light
spiders across his form. He put aside the renewed thump he felt in his own shaft,
the knowledge of Shawn's hand easing slowly up his thigh. He slipped his own down
Trays thick thighs, back up slightly, to coax back those powerful, working hands
that guarded that precious spot.

"Let me just jack you a bit then," Jamel offered.

He saw the fire blaze in Trays eyes as his hands slipped up over his, took chance
by seizing control, moving guard back. Slipping his own in place, feeling the
burn, the tight strain of male penis under palm. Jamel greedily let his own become
what was Trays own hands, massaging, touching, exploring in euphoric want to get
off. Feeling the thick throb and pulse of his male member inside.

"S'cool ... ain't no shit Tray. Word our boy. It ain't like its just any faggot
pulling on your piece. This is our boy, so its cool."

Jamel felt the urge to just get started what he knew would take too much time.
Lost already thought of reward, replaced instead by new promise. Of seed and
thickness, juice to his lips, answer to oral prayer that he lifted to the heavens
that was this big male athlete before him. He felt Tray all but buck in his hands,
cuss, pull back. Stayed only by Jamel's quickness. Half expecting to hear
accusation of a freaked homeboy, cussing out that which would touch his pride.

"Get up, bitch."

Jamel let the sting go, easing himself out of Shawn's eager hands. Feeling his own
dick brush against that which was already so close. Thump. Coming to stand face to
face with over six foot of dangerous black power and pride. Ignored for moment the
context and presence. Jamel standing, trembling slightly, erection jutting in his
pants. Tray, a statue of bboy pride in all but the fact of his own stiff cock,
exposed in his half naked state.

Jamel felt those eyes, darker, running his body almost as if in disgust.
Appraising and looking over that which had fondled his short, hard dick. He gave a
grunt of sorts, dragging off his jersey, knocking off his cap, tossing it aside.
Standing in full naked beauty with the air of gang youth ready to rape some whore.
Jamel felt the knifelike power and danger, too obvious in ebony muscle, thick and
pent. Pulsing slowly, like predator.

"Don't touch me, aiight?"

Jamel felt his head swim slightly, ignoring the irony presented, meaning still
well recognized. He watched the thick powerhouse lay himself down on the couch,
slouching, opening his legs. An implication not lost as the youth went back down,
this time between the strength of his sinuous thighs. He felt the anger somewhat,
abandoning easy way for a homeboy who had but seconds before seemed shy.

Jamel let Trays cock lance into his mouth.

A groan went up, power matched by the strength in the hands that forced his bald
head downwards. Mashed his nose into the thick, musky pubes that forested his
base. The size fitted almost too well mated into his mouth, an ample, but easy
mouthful to Jamel. Size and strength and thickness always differing, but that same
pent iron of nature feeling all too familiar in the youths wet mouth.

Jamel felt his belt being undone, as Trays hands gripped his head, worked the pace
that he desired. An urgent, impatient air as his pants were undone, releasing his
genitals and ass to the warmth of the room. His mouth making a thick, pumping
rhythm matched to the guidance of those hands, as he sucked strongly on Trays
manhood. Feeling a power in purpose, and arousal that far made up for the muscled
blacks lack of penial size. A power that guided his sucking, willing mouth, that
rose in the moans that quickly filled the air. Tray quickly taking pace in a
situation no doubt paired as if it was a female giving him the oral sex.

"Suck it down."

Jamel grunted against Trays dick as he felt his own touched. His male nature
pulled back almost in the same way Tray had reacted, uneasy at the male presence
touching his rebellious member. Brute hands surrounded his half hard hose, jacking
in easy strokes. Lengthening, firming into formidable weapon his big cock. Same
hands tugging at his clothes, touching hot skin in the rising heat that rose
within the room. He felt a tremble shake through his muscular body, feeling
Shawn's spare hand stroke back across his young back, under his shirt. Touch
around his ass, making his mind protest in confusion and knowledge that no male
was going there.

Jamel did his best to ignore the pleasures and thoughts he was now faced with.
Drowning his mind to what he was doing. Supplying base, sexual pleasure in place
of what he was committing. Feeling almost in the wake of his own highs, something
slip from the dominance that seemed fit to control him from above. As if his head
bobbing, and firm oral consumption was slowly sucking the dominance and resistance
deep within Trays muscled body. He felt an almost violent shudder wrack Trays big
form, origin deep within his short cock. Pleasured in willing sucks by a fellow
homeboy.

The youth felt his cock striving too quickly towards release, Shawn's hand
exploring his somewhat sweaty body as his other milked in firm strokes his
powerful center. Felt his body moving with the rhythm of his sucking, an almost
natural urge to fuck. Pushing his cock against that which jacked him off so
powerfully. Rising a storm of erotic pleasure through his burning center. Charged
him to finish Tray in the same, quick, climatic explosion he felt pent within
himself.

Jamel began an itching tickle of Trays hairy nuts, hearing the instant
gratification the big brother received. An almost painful pleasure Jamel had known
could bring some of even the biggest gangsta's to their knees in blissful
suffering. The youth felt Trays cock throb a few moments later, echoing in almost
strange pulse of his own. Striving towards release. Mouth or hand aide to the
prisoner of male semen caught deep within their respective sexual prisons.

"AAAAH! YO FUCKIN' COCKSUCKA!!! FUCK YEAH!"

Jamel felt his body harden, push, give, throwing his thick release against the
couch where he knelt naked. His whole mind caught in conflict of what he was doing
and what he was feeling. Laced in unwanted problem of the knowledge of male hand
that drew so complete and pleasurable an explosive peak. Jamel fought against his
climax, the urge to slow, to rest, as he threw ropes of thick white out. Fighting
to keep his head moving hard and fast against the same drawing peak within Trays
cock.

"AAAHHH! FUCK!!!"

The surge and release finally hit as Trays body dropped back against the couch,
Jamel pulling back on cue to suck and drink the salty gift. He heard the
unbelieving moan, the quiet yawn and release as Trays cock gave up again and
again, hot, searing fluids. Filling Jamels mouth for a second time that night with
the seed of his male brothers. Mated in common race and background, mated in the
identical truth of their gender. Jamel sucked and swallowed as Tray came again and
again into his mouth.

"You recognize?" Shawn asked. The youth heard the voice above him, hand already
leaving his dropping dick. "Yo recognize, nigga? Bet that caps heavier than you
ever busted in them bitches mouths, right?"

Jamel let that limp flesh drop from his lips, looking up to see the wideness in
Trays eyes. The slight sheen on his muscled, dark body. The twin mounds of his
chest rose and fell quickly, as the big black stared down on the youth that had
sucked him dry. Sucked him willingly. His mind lost and thrilled to the context
and truth of the reality that had emptied him on sperm and lust. Leaving him
spent, limp and relaxed like that cock that lay wet between his thighs.

"My turn, Wordman."

Jamel climbed shaky to his feet, finding the gang members hands to steady him. His
eyes dropping down over his naked form, his long, limp cock. Jamel found himself
embarrassed almost, partly naked in front of another guy. TWO guys. He quickly
pulled up his cargo pants with a fist full of material, doing his best to button
them. To have them hang suggestively, unkept from his hip. Jamels mind swum with
the wonder of how it had even come to this. Doing this.

"Fuck, you one fucking good cocksucker," Tray lay panting.

"Gonna suck my cock good for me too, Wordman?"

Jamel felt a despondent tone come over him. He lowered his head slightly, like a
kid trying desperately to get his ball off two fiends. Giving up the aimless
running between them. "Yeah, you know I will."

"Yeah?"

The youth stared back at Shawn, saw the big man rubbing himself slowly, purposely
though his oversized pants. He saw the lust, the slow passage of his eyes across
his now reclothed body. He found his usually cool mind tempered by the situation,
annoyed at the sexual bating and tete-a-tete of words that was obviously arousing
the big gang member. Only now annoying him in his sexually released state.

"Yeah, Ill suck your cock good, Shawn," Jamel barked. He regretted to words the
moment they came out of his mouth. The athletic youth curious almost at the lack
of response, rather Shawn pausing thoughtfully.

"Tell you what, Word. How'd you like to earn yo'self a lil more cash tonight?"

"What?" Jamel questioned. He was confused, quietly soothing the discord he felt in
his mind. The big man pulled the wad of bills back out of his pocket, searched for
a 100 dollar bill. He wandered over to the desk.

"Just like I said it, Wordman," Shawn dropped the bill down onto the chair behind
the desk, wandering back. Jamel saw his hand slip back to his cock. "Earn a lil
more cash. 100 good ones, nigga."

"How?" Jamel asked almost breathlessly. He couldn't believe he had asked.

Shawn shrugged his big shoulders. "Just bend yo'self over that desk and get it."

Jamel paused. His mind took in the implications, avoiding instantly the obvious.
Knowing too well the pull and way of the ghetto. Knowing by upbringing that
nothing was ever that easy. Knowing too well the fate of those who fell easy prey
to quick gain. Seeming easy, never seeing the true cost. His mind took the
implications. Rejected it almost instantly, knowing it couldn't be what he
thought, yet at the same time almost completely sure.

"Fuck, I know you need that money, Word," Shawn said. Tray lay panting slowly,
watching still from the couch. "So just take it."

"I ain't doing it like that if that what your meaning."

"Like what?" Shawn shot back.

Jamel cooled his mind somewhat, stammering slightly at the thought of uttering it,
let alone even thinking it.

"I ain't ... I ain't gonna take it like that." Jamel finished.

"Whut the fuck?" Shawn stared back, his hand falling away from his dick somewhat.
The bulge remained. He almost laughed, darkly. "You trying to tell me you thinking
of turning down 100 bucks?!"

"Yeah."

"Fuck that shit, Word! Fuck, I KNOW you want that money," the big man stepped to
him somewhat. "Fuck, I know you don't make shit on your fucked up courier job.
Fuck, I pay you shit for what you do. I know them legal mahfuckers are gonna pay
you even more shit."

Jamels mind struggled, the pain of it almost hurting. His mind fought in both
directions, knowing ultimately that he had to do it. He had to get the money.
Knowing why he had gone to these extremes already to do what he had to do. But
knowing in his mind that there was some things he couldn't do. Some things that he
couldn't shut his mind to. Some thing that he couldn't just ignore, and sacrifice
of himself.

"Fuck!" Shawn reasoned. "Wordman, you a fucking courier!! You suck niggaz dicks to
get more cash cause what you get ain't fucking shit!! And I know you ass getting
fucking worse than some bitch in the street."

"Nah, I ain't doing it." Jamel's reply came back calculated.

"So even through all that shit, you gonna turn down 100 bucks?"

"I cant do it like that, Shawn. I ain't like that."

"Like what?"

"I ain't ... I cant let a nigga do me like that." Jamel protested back. He felt
the barrage of words and reason baring back against him. Pushing him towards the
seduction of the money he knew was sitting just beyond that desk.

"And you let a nigga sick his dick in you mouth?" Shawn replied, his expression
almost disbelieving, as if he had never seen him just suck Tray. Never had him
suck his own cock countless times before.

The youth felt the words sting. He fell silent, not knowing what to say. He
glanced again at the desk, his gaze falling down to the floor. His mind swimming,
telling him over and over again the truths that that one bill represented to him.
Noticing the sudden strange attention Tray was paying to that which was passing.

"Fuck, Word. I know you gonna bend over that desk and take that bill," stated
Shawn. "I know you gonna bend over that desk, cause you NEED that cash. Fuck,
Word, like Wu says, cash rules everything around me. You ain't gonna give up that
Cream, Wordman."

"I ain't gonna do it like that," Jamel said, as much finality in his voice as he
could muster.

"Fuck, cash rules, bitch. Cash rules everything. Cash rules me. It rules you," the
big man gestured, pointing finally at Jamel. The accusing finger driving the point
too hard home. "And thats why you gonna bend over that desk."

"I cant ..."

Shawn paused, finally shrugging his big shoulders. His hand wandering back to his
groin, pawing at a still big size there. "Fuck, I respect your ass for what you
doing, Wordman. I respect that shit. I'm just trying to help your ass out. Cause
you fucked trying to play by the rules. Cause when you play by the rules, you get
fucked just like this. I'm just trying to help you out."

Jamel shook him head, finding the words again, repeating them almost mantra like.
"I cant let a nigga do me like that."

"Well I still paid your ass to go down on my cock," Shawn reminded. He began
working his fly, working his hand inside. "You still got that shit, Word. But you
know how you really gonna get that Cream. That shits still gonna stand like
standard rates from now."

Jamel lowered his head, breathing deeply. His mind was tired. His body was just as
fatigued. Pulled on by the rigors of the long night. What he had endured so far.
The barrage of question and reason and thought that had been dragged through tired
mind. The seductive call that he was giving up. Despite what had to be done.
Despite what he knew he had to do to survive. How it would help him.

The athletic youth paused an eternity.

Finding himself stepping over to the desk. Bending.

"Fuck yeah. This shit is on."

Jamel felt the sudden press of Shawn's big body behind him almost instantly.
Shutting out all chance for thought, of going back. Leaving no time or chance for
regret as he felt the hard press of wood beneath him. The way he had put himself
down over the desk, the almost prisonlike qualities it enforced on him, trapped
between it, and the sudden presence of the big mans body pushing him down from
behind. Those hands worked quickly at his clothes, wrenched back with an almost
cruel jerk his baggy cargos.

Exposing Jamel's so tender and virgin ass. His legs spread roughly, opening the
prize that Shawn had so willingly priced.

The youth stared down at the crumped green bill. Gripping the desk.

Jamel felt his boots came off, then his pants proper. Feeling a renewed tugging at
his shirt at the same time, in a desperate call to make him naked. Knowing by the
quickness, and eagerness of this new drive that Trays hands had joined Shawns.
Freeing him speedily of his clothes, leaving his muscular young teenage body soon
naked. Like offering atop the alter that the desk had become. His ass the
sacrifice to the price received.

Jamel remembered reason. Fueled and tempered his mind by it.

"Fuck you dunno how long I've wanted this," Shawn said. Jamel felt a sharp jab,
the big mans finger break through his ring. "You my boy. You got my respect. So
thats why I'm letting you have it like this, Wordman. Instead of just taking that
shit."

Jamel grunted at the base pleasure that he was feeling. The clouded protest of his
mind at the reality of another man touching his ass. Putting his fingers inside.
Shocked somewhat at the uncomfortable feeling of his dick stuck between the desk
and his strong abs, hardened by the rough treatment. From a man! The thought was
wrong, the pleasure he felt spreading other truths within him.

"Fuck ... you smooth and strong," Shawn said. Jamel felt more than his hands
stroking, exploring his body. Riding warm muscles, bred athletic and muscular in
youth. "I like your body like this Wordman ..."

Jamel ignored the implications, feeling more and more stretch his protesting ass,
work within. It made him feel sore there, his body and mind raging to the mixed
new feelings he was experiencing. The ultimate truths that the situation held. He
felt a pause, heard Shawn begin working open his oversized pants for real, freeing
himself. The sudden absence of his fingers inside him caused him to cry out. The
absence felt almost as strange as the presence originally had.

"Pass me that shit."

Jamel closed his eyes to the 100 dollar bill still on the chair, waiting silently
like child ready to be spanked. Hearing more clothes fall aside, slight pause, a
slickness suddenly. His mind began to comprehend what he knew of Shawn's big cock.
Comprehending the math and limits of human flesh that seemingly posed itself to
him. He felt himself tense, a tightness coming over him as he realized the
impossibilities, knowing that surely Shawn knew the same.

"Aiight, Wordman. Time to earn you that Cream."

The athletic youth felt the moist hardness push between his cheeks, shocking him
in its sudden burning presence. He felt Shawn's roughness, shoving his legs
further, pegging them open wide. His big body, feeling naked behind him, in new
home between his legs. Preparing to give new phallic presence between his thighs,
an easy mate on size to his own, despite their difference in age. Jamel, a
muscular teen in his later years. Shawn, a gang 'breed, larger, heavier. Big cock
more accustomed to their duties.

"Just feel it slid in, Word ... just let it come in like your ass was meant for
it. Don't fight it else Ill have to fuck you up getting it inside."

Jamel gasped at the first push, opening him wider than he could bare. He cried
out, feeling Trays firm hand stiffle his shout of pain. The next shove, hardly
more than the first, no where on distance exploded a pain in his mind and ass that
had his struggling under Shawn. His muscular body straining against Tray and
Shawn's easily greater strength. Jamels body and mind fighting in true earnest
that which tried to take a virginity he had never meant to surrender.

"Aah! Damn Word! Don't play it like this," Shawn panted. "Just let it in. I don't
wanna hurt you, Word."

Jamel felt soothing hands stroke over his burning muscles. A pause in the assault.
He heard Shawn's rough panting from behind, felt his own breath rushing in his
lungs. Feeling the weight and strain from all directions, pushing against him,
fingers tight over his mouth. The athletic youth felt the moments pass in the
dull, throbbing heartbeats in the tight ring of his ass, within the seemingly
massive cock that made his ass pussy to Shawn's manhood.

"Get your hands off him, Tray! Fuck, nigga ..."

Jamel felt Trays hand shoved roughly aside, felt his breath rasp anew as he drunk
in gulps of breath. His eyes were wide, his mind comprehending what he had let
himself into. What he felt, seemingly detached, below his waist. A sea of burning,
hurting pain. Yet somewhere in there, a touch that he had never felt in his life.
Jamel felt Shawn's heavy body press down along his back.

"Its cool, Word. I didn't mean to push so hard," the voice was heavy, deep,
colored with arousal, more by exhaustion. "Work with me, aiight? I didn't know it
was your first time."

Jamel barely managed to pant a reply, feeling the big gangsta's hands along his
body, stroking, easing nothing of the pain burning in his injured ass. Still,
soothing a mind confused with a gentle pleasure in his young muscles. A gentle
rain where his mind fought in a storm of emotion and justifications. Trying to
comprehend the physical, to understand the mental. Scared like a small child at
the sensations in his ass, and the conflict in his soul.

"Just ease yourself open, Word," Shawn whispered. Jamel felt his strong legs
spread slowly, gently. A slight give as that mammoth cock pushed deeper. "Let me
in, aiight ... thats cool ... yeah, relax nigga ... I got your back ..."

"It hurts ..."

"Just relax ... You just gotta let me loosen your ass up ... it ain't used to
getting huge mahfuckas like this put up it ..." Shawn's hands danced across Jamels
sweaty muscles. "You'll get used to it ... in time Wordman ... I got your hook up
like dis ..."

Jamel gasped, feeling that pent pressure shift again, press against all too soft
flesh. Taking in a human presence harder than anything of nature. Shawn's true
nature, joined with his as slowly his thick cock pressed into his tight, virginial
ring of muscle. Relaxed somewhat, soothed. His body accepting as Shawn's hands and
words broke through the fortress in his mind, and his body. Slowly letting the
indescribable happen, the deepest invasion accepted gradually into Jamel's inner
sanctum of flesh.

"Thats dope, Word ... yeah, see? You gonna get real used to my cock ... Ill let
you earn madd Cream like this ... you'll be my own lil nigga ..."

Jamel let out a hard, long groan as his ass seemed to fall inward, taking
everything of the huge pillar of blackness pushing against him. Unbelieving at the
merest thought that he might be pushing back, truly opening up. Feeling so male a
presence, around him. Over him, against him, as Shawn's big body pressed now naked
against his. In him, as he slowly pushed back against his big cock. Feeling it
sink a slow, almost painfully erotic train of pleasure through his intimate
circle.

"You earning some big Cream now, Word ... fuck ... feel a nigga inside you? Yeah?
You my boy, Wordman ... You know Ima do you gentle and nice ..."

"Aaaaahhh ... "

"Let it happen, Word ... yeah, let it all in like that ... fuck yeah ... ah Word
... your ass is da bomb ..."

Jamel's eyes stared widened at the chair in front of him, his body ceasing to
exist beyond the huge, long presence within him. Something felt different. He felt
whole, strangely. Lost beyond the thought of right and wrong, why he was doing
what he was. His mind felt strange, his body throbbing with a new beat. His strong
thighs feeling Shawn's big nuts pressed up against him there. The rough itch of
his pubes against his soft ass cheeks.

"Nigga, I said get your ass BACK ..."

Jamel swallowed. Almost painfully, his throat dry.

"Fuck you bitch ... you had your fucking cock sucked ... your fucking cock looking
for some sorta free ride up my boys ass? Fuck off, nigga ..."

Jamel felt the steady throbbing within him, almost seeming to see mentally the big
passage of Shawn's cock within him. His whole body sweating, broken in a strange
new heat. His ears barely hearing beyond the rush, the rasp of his own breath as
he concentrated on the blankness before him.

"Aiight Word ... Ima pull back now ... just relax ..."

The athletic youth was barely prepared for the sensation. Unparalleled, a whole
new pleasure and pain, far beyond the rush of having his young ass split by
Shawn's brute cock. He felt a slickness as the big gangsta pulled back, felt the
undying agony of pleasure that erupted in his ass, fueling the flames writhing
through his muscles like a bomb blast. A slow, gradual euphoria, like he was
shitting some massive presence. Loosing some intimate part of himself.

"Yeah ... relax ... Ima fuck you good now Word ... like I always wanted to ...
fuck you good and hard like Id taken this shit from you ..."

Jamel felt the pleasure continue as Shawn began to pump his huge black piston
inside him. Gripping his muscles, hands slipping to new positions, only to bask in
the firm new places as he explored the curves of his youth. Jamel struggled
slightly, partly in a rogue thought to escape the injustice against his manhood,
more in fear like pain of the pleasure that now erupted in flame throughout his
body. His tight, virgin ass, amplifying every single inch of movement. Drowning
him a million times over in searing waves of pleasure.

The athletic youth found himself lost to what was happening, his mind long since
surrendering the notion of social idea of what was happening. Man taking man in a
sexual sense. Gang member fucked deep inside the teenager, his pace building in
grunts as he took what he wanted of Jamel's soft body. Finding no protest in mind
or body. Finding only unending acceptance deep within the one place that mattered.
Jamel's ass opening the possibilities of pleasure to his mind.

Jamel began to grunt with Shawn's deep strokes. Pushing deep in return, finding
himself lost within the sexual mire of his mind. Thought fueled by pleasure of the
body, undying, unrelenting as Shawn's thick penis shoved harder and harder within
his ring. The sharp, rhythmic slurps quickly filling the orchestra of sounds and
emotions flooding between them. Jamel giving everything, willingly, mindless.
Surrendering heart and soul to the newfound freedom within him.

"Yeah ... oh fuck yeah .... fuck Word ... yeah, give me your ass ... let me take
you hard .... lemme take you like a 'breed should, nigga .... give your boy your
ass ..."

"Yes ..."

"FUCK!!! Aaahhh Word you da fucking bomb!!" Shawn cried, his cock pounding an
almost violent symphony of blows against Jamel's center.

The athletic youth began crying out, feeling the big gangsta's arms wrapping
around him, lifting him. His huge cock freeing his mind and body as the tyranny of
deep, thrusting strokes burned through his ass. His body seeming to take flight,
mind joined in soul as he lifted against Shawn's invading piece. Feeling his own
cock, as much now Shawn's as his own, releasing the sexual song of his body.
Expressing in an explosive rain the unbearable pleasure, containable by his mere
body. Throwing further than ever a thick stream of his seed, born of Shawn's own.

Somewhere deep. Almost escape.

The rhythmic pump and suck left him powerless as Shawn's thick arms surrounded
him, his hips raping him deeply of his will and strength. Taking gradually in a
deep, solid fucking motion Jamel's virginity, and anal innocence. Controlling with
a powerful dominance every movement of his body, every writhing part of his smooth
muscles. Two male bodies locked, by sexual and physical, as Jamel surrendered
himself. His own body lost in the join of age and youth. Power brute and sinuous.
His own cock, and Shawn's, manhood combined.

"UUUHHHH!"

Jamel felt the blow of Shawn's cock, staggering against him. The crush of his
embrace as sexual mists clouded his mind. Bared only the sight of Jamel's lustful
body, the dominance within his burning cock. Jamel's whole body heaved as his cock
gave all, barely able in a spent, oozing state. Feeling the gangsta's powerful,
big body take him totally. His stroke heavy, forceful. Metered in the slurps that
fell against his ears. Shawn's big body burning against his, part of his own.

"Shawn ... uuuh!! Ahh ...."

"Open up ... Word ..."

"Shawn!"

The athletic youth felt each stroke pound through his muscles, striking wave after
wave. Shawn's body blowing against him with each powerful fuck. Slowed to a more
gradual pace, giving up speed to the powerful strength of his hips. Timed,
calculated, as Shawn took his greatest pleasures. Jamel's mind exploding in the
twin pleasure that rained through his body. Giving the full, solid length of the
gangsta's cock. Taking far more in return, Shawn's big arms wrapped tightly about
him.

"Uuuhhh!!! Aahhh Wordman ... feel dat, nigga!?? Feel dat??!!"

Jamel cried out at the sudden hardness within him. Lost to perception of where
Shawn's massive member ended and his ass started. Aware only of cause and effect,
the pleasure and waves throughout his body. Shawn's body. His own with a life
given by Shawn's cock, as it hardened, everything of himself tensing, tightening,
stifling as a powerful moan filled his ears. A gradual, persistent, total
surrender.

Shawn's manhood thrust deep in him one last time. A deep, almost unnatural slurp.
His penis surging, pumping, releasing. Jamel's mouth and eyes open wide, almost as
if his mind was finally returned. Too late. Discovering the truth.

The big gangsta came deep inside him.

Jamel felt himself return in the release. Felt himself born again, reborn back
unto himself as Shawn's thick, swamping seed made his ass wet. Gave a finality,
and unremovable mark were his manhood would soon be removed. Seeding the male as
his, deeper inside him than Jamel could ever lose. Jamel fell limp, his young body
struggling in the brief, trying to fight Shawn's climax inside him. His muscles
falling conquered, tight within the big mans embrace, his ass accepting the thick
white truth thrust within him.

"You my nigga now, Word ..."

"Yeah ..."

Jamel felt the strong physical proof between him and Shawn then. The drench of
sweat of their bodies combined. The hard warmth that burnt across his slicked
muscles where the big gangsta held him against him. The strangeness he felt still
in his ass, still twitching. His own member wet with the streams of product,
evidence of pleasure felt. Pushed beyond limits. The rawness of his own breath,
Shawn's own, heaving in the chest pressed hard against his back.

"Yeah ..." Shawn began to let himself free of the youth, Jamel barely moving to
push aside what had become his existence. Noticing Trays absence.

The athletic youth caught his breath, feeling Shawn's big presence part from him.
Turning to see the big gangsta as naked as himself. A silent, almost endless
moment, betrayed by the hard thump of punctuated beat from outside. Shawn's own
eyes mating his own as Jamel looked down over the big blacks body. Staring over
that which had joined with him. Lost to all, but the will to release. Jamel felt
himself turn aside finally, the two looking almost like youths discovering and
knowing a quiet, wrong truth committed.

Jamel grabbed for his pants, pulled them up.

"You know I got yo back, Word," Shawn said. His breath was still heavy, as he
searched out his own in the fall of clothes. "You wanna earn that Cream? I got yo
shit right here."

Jamel let his pants sag from his hips, his still naked torso making him look like
some young heartthrob. Sweated up for the camera and his adoring young female
fans. He walked the few steps back to the desk, torso still slicked. Grabbed up
the bill that lay still on the chair behind.

"Fuck, and this shits even legal fo' you, Wordman. Shits on the real. Shit still
stands, Word. Once a week."

Jamel silenced his mind again as he pulled on his long sleeved teeshirt. The
heaviness of the camouflaged vest after. His boots, gloves. Almost like some
warrior suited for battle, despite the battle of flesh he had already fought.
Endured. Survived. Came out victor in at least one way. His mind faltered slightly
as he glanced back up at the big gangsta, his loose boxers all that saved Shawn
from nakedness. The intimidation was there in large size.

"You got my back, Word?" Shawn asked. "Fifty bucks, once a week. On top of
whatever shit you get when you go down on mine."

"Yeah."

"Shits on, Wordman. Ill make you some dope Cream," the big gangsta continued.
"Fuck that bitch, Tray, man, cause I know he wouldn't treat your ass right. I know
that shit now, and Ima make sure this shit stays between me an' you."

"I know it," Jamel replied.

"Just between you an' me, Word. You my boy. I got your back like that," Shawn
said. His voice seemed to carry something else, a slight edge then. "As long as
you got my back like this." The big gangsta paused, caught Jamel's eye. "You got
my back like this, right?"

"Yeah, Shawn. I got your back."

"I know you do, cause you my nigga," Shawn replied. He smiled, putting a slow hand
on Jamel's vested shoulder. "You my boy. We both boys, Wordman. And Ima look out
for my boy like this, and Ima let you earn that Cream like you need it."

Jamel nodded, watching as Shawn scooped up his satchel. Handing it back his way.
Some blunt statement that business had concluded as he attended to his scattered
clothes. Made himself more gangsta, than the bared young man that he had been.
Returning stature and status. Jamel dropped the satchel back down over his
shoulder, feeling the sit of it on his body. Feeling the return of normality. The
same familiar guard it supplied.

He felt tired.

"Catch you next round then, Wordman. Ill be waiting for your shit."

Jamel nodded. "No doubt."

"Take care of shit," Shawn sent him a quick nod as Jamel headed towards the door,
the big black pulling his pants up. "Even though I know you got it all on
lockdown. You always got your shit correct, Word."

The athletic youth opened the door finally. Feeling the deafening embrace of the
music as he returned to the dimly lit hallway. As if stepping from one world to
another, the youths mind lost truly to which was the real world. His eye caught
briefly, dropping slightly. Returning to that hard stare, still partly lost in
drug of pleasure, that spoke back volumes to him. Red's big form leaned heavily
against the wall, the female Jamel had seen before here on her knees before him.
Sucking.

'Your next bitch. I know yo shit on the real.'

Jamel let his eyes leave. His mind free, as he saw the darkness at the end of the
hallway. The summons of the night outside. He saw the sweep of the wind, felt the
cool fingers of its truth take him as he approached. Leaving behind the thump. The
smoke. The realities that it spoke so hard. The athletic youth stepped outside,
leaving the house behind him as he dropped the steps to the front yard.

The rain began to spatter on him, causing brief cold as Jamel unchained his bike.
Pushed it upright. Repositioned his satchel over his shoulder. His mind was lost
of what was behind. What was before him. Lost to everything that Bradford had
thrust upon him, and forced him to endure. Blind to the thoughts he had considered
while in the deepest of lock with Shawn. Even in briefest moment of escape. Maybe
true escape.

Jamel let the city fall to blur around him. Running automatic. Doing what was
required, stepping up in the absence of thought to the mindlessness of job and
existence. Caught perhaps slightly by brief contemplation. Dismissal of that which
he refused. His eyes taking in the massive embrace of the inner city. The claws
that reached skyward. Memory and thought of a quiet, more calm escape of sleep.

Finally.

The athletic youth dropped businesslike, his final package. His body ached.
Protested. Sore from the exercise of travel. The wetness and cold pull of the wind
and rain. Jamel ignored all as his mind seemed to pinpoint on one brief, endless
thought. A light that seemed to shine before him. Always there. Most treasured.
Somehow it would be different there. Somehow he knew that he could make that
difference. This was the difference. He reminded himself, smiling as he pushed the
last miles, this is the difference.

The final sanctuary fell appreciated as Jamel finally closed the door to his
small, one bedroomed apartment. He dropped his satchel quietly aside, pulled on
his gloves, vest, skully. Tugging quietly at his teeshirt as he stepped into the
bedroom. The city still called its cry from without in the dying moments of the
night that was. He let a long sigh fall in the quiet darkness of the room as he
dropped aside his teeshirt, worked at his belt. Body exhausted, mind tired of the
thought and trial of life.

"Hey there, bro ..."

Jamel whispered almost beyond ear catch. Pulling up slightly the warmth that had
fallen aside in sleep. Catching the brief light that fell upon the tiny face
within the crib. Mirror to his own. Tiny. Lost in innocence. Lost in the quiet of
sleep. Jamel admired the silence and peace there in his own son. His expression
lost in silent awe of that which was his only.

'You will never see what I have to see.'

The youth dropped his pants finally, leaving them discarded as he made his way to
the bed. Pushed in gently under the sheets beside its occupant. His eyes fell
heavy almost the second he lay back. Felt the godlike embrace and warmth along his
worn, muscular body. Hold like no other, more akin to the arms of a mother to
child that the mere touch of mattress and sheets. Jamel let out a long breath,
accepting the final surrender of his body.

"Hey boo ..."

"Hey." Jamel replied. It came almost unknowing, more subconscious than anything.

"You're back early."

The youth nodded as well as he could, feeling the soft touch of her hand on his
chest. Stroke slowly downward as she moved herself against his warmth. So stark a
contrast to the embrace of damp heaviness that he had worn but moments before. A
clothing of fellow human beside him. A tender, caring touch. Slow. Reassuring in
its warmth.

"I love you, boo ..."

"Love you ..." Jamel all but echoed back. A long pause came. Holding almost a
quiet, fearful truth. She finally spoke.

"I've been thinking about things ..."

Jamel felt the soft press of flesh against his. The softness of that all around
him. The quietness. Lost beyond the catch of the city. One true, only escape from
the city that was. That had made.

"... I don't think that we're going to be able to make it ... even with your
courier job ... I mean, it pays well ... but ..."

She saw his face. Heard his voice, lost in the quiet breath of sleep. Lost in
final escape.