stick my big dick up your ass and fuck you till you cry for mercy. But you’d better do better than this,” Carlos said, slapping his face hard again, “because I’m not even gonna stay hard if you don’t start suckin’ my cock better.”
That was a lie. His dick was stretched to its absolute maximum, and the veins were pulsing wildly. Just the sound of his own voice saying those dirty words out loud was enough to push Carlos over the edge. He pulled out of the old man’s mouth without warning and sprayed his hot cum all over the old guy’s face. The man kept his mouth wide open and most of the cum went inside, splashing forcefully against the back of his throat. But a great deal of it also landed on his eyes and nose and cheeks.
Carlos shoved his cock back into the man’s mouth and kept it there until the man had licked him clean and gotten him fully hard again. It didn’t take long. He was more than ready.
“Please don’t fuck me,” the man begged as Carlos worked his way behind him and began to slap his ass. “You’re too big. It’ll hurt.”
Carlos’ pulse raced just hearing these words now, and he put the tip of his dick at the hole of the man’s ass and slapped his ass cheeks hard. The guy cried out in mock pain as Carlos thrust himself deep inside his ass in one move.
“Shut up, you pig,” Carlos said hatefully, and pulled his thick cock all the way out of the man’s ass.
“Thank…”
He was cut short with a stabbing pain as Carlos roughly shoved the big dick back in to the balls in one single, brutal thrust.
“Carlos, really. Please stop now. You’re too big. You’re hurting me.”
Carlos put his hands on the small of the man’s back and forced him to lie flat on his stomach. He fucked him deep and hard.
Half an hour later, Carlos ground his teeth, stiffened his body, and lay perfectly still as his steamy load filled the man’s ass.
When he was done he untied the man quickly and apologized for getting carried away. The man said nothing. He paid Carlos ten twenty-dollar bills and offered to drive him home. Neither said a word on the drive back to Geary Street. When they pulled up in front of the Supremo’s, the man handed Carlos a business card with his home phone number.
“You did okay for your first time, kid. Any time you want to get those beautiful rocks off, give me a call. Only next time, be a little rougher, okay?”
Carlos left the card sitting on the car seat, saying there would be no next time. The man with the sore ass said that was too bad, and drove off.
Walking briskly up to Ricky, Carlos announced, “I guess I’m a hustler.”
Ricky laughed.
V.
The next two weeks flew by for Carlos. He and Ricky had become very close friends, and Carlos had become a bona fide hustler, already commanding more money per trick than any of the others, and getting double the number of requests. He wasn’t real sure how he felt about that, exactly, but he was making his own decisions about life, and at least that felt good.
Every evening after his parents went to bed he would kiss Rosie on the forehead and crawl out his bedroom window. He spent every night in front of the pizza store on Geary Street with Ricky. Ricky would spend hours trying to teach Carlos the fine art of hustling, and Carlos would listen politely. But he really only took to heart less than half of what his friend said. They were two very different people and they drew different clientele. Ricky went for $25 and would settle for $15 if he was low enough; Carlos went for no less than $50 for a simple blowjob and as high as $300, depending on how kinky the job was. Ricky was lucky to get one or two tricks per night, and Carlos always stopped after four gigs, but he could easily have doubled that number.
Even though Carlos rejected most of his hustling advice, he valued Ricky’s friendship more than anything. He was fascinated with the stories Ricky told and with his sense of humor in what seemed like a humorless life. Carlos tried to get Ricky to talk about his family, but Ricky’s favorite put off was, “Honey, we’re no Brady Bunch, that’s for sure.” Carlos told Ricky all about his family, except for the part about Richard Norman, and when his life story began to depress him, Ricky would always put an arm around him and whisper, “It’s all right, child. You’ll beat it. You’ve got what it takes.” Then he’d offer to treat Carlos to doughnuts and hot chocolate. Carlos always paid, of course, but he didn’t mind. He loved being around Ricky.
Carlos saved most of his money, but he did like to buy new clothes every now and then. He would show up with a new sweater or a new pair of shoes and Ricky would praise them all night. Carlos tried to get Ricky to save some of his money, too, but to no avail. Ricky spent all his money on drugs and Seagram’s Seven. His mom would find the money and spend it anyway, he said, so why bother?
One night Carlos bought Ricky a new sweater from Saks Fifth Avenue. A john had taken him to New York for the whole weekend, and Carlos had insisted on shopping at the original Saks. He knew Ricky would love the sweater the moment he saw it. It was 100 percent lamb’s wool, and cost him $150 on sale. When he gave it to Ricky that night, Ricky cried as he put it on, and that made Carlos very nervous. He’d never seen Ricky cry, no matter how bad things got.
Ricky got high that night, and drunk, too. He passed out on the street and Carlos couldn’t wake him up. One of the other queens came swishing over and bent down over Ricky. Carlos’ defenses went up immediately, and he was ready to fight. The queens on Geary were very territorial and vicious, and most of them didn’t like the others. Ricky had one or two friends out there, but most of the queens teased him and were mean. Carlos was shocked when this queen, whom he’d never seen even speak to Ricky, picked up Ricky’s hand and patted it tenderly.
“She looks pretty bad this time. Can you stay here with her for a minute?”
“Of course,” Carlos answered, still in shock.
Ten minutes later the queen returned with a friend who had a car.
“I know where she lives, but I can’t stay with her all night,” the queen said. “If we drop you off at her place, can you stay with her? She’s gonna need someone there to hold her when she wakes up.”
Carlos said he certainly would stay with Ricky, and drove the few miles to his house with the queen and his friend. He was surprised to discover that Ricky lived outside of San Franicsco, in the suburb of Pacifica.
“His mom will be crashed out already, but the front door is always unlocked. His room is second on the left, next to the bathroom. Take good care of him, okay, kid? He really needs someone to love him.”
Carlos noticed the way the queen switched to the masculine form when speaking about Ricky toward the end of the conversation. Underneath all the bullshit about being “girlfriends,” they were really two guys who were both hurting and who looked out for one another.
The queen and his friend drove off, leaving Carlos standing in a strange neighborhood at three o’clock in the morning, trying to carry his drunk friend into a strange house. Still unconscious, Ricky was much heavier than he seemed when he was awake.
Carlos propped him up against the porch and opened the front door. Almost immediately he was knocked over by the overpowering smell of dog shit. He held his breath and pulled Ricky into the front room. As he closed the door a small Pomeranian ran up to him and began barking viciously and biting at his pant legs. They didn’t tell me about the damn dog, Carlos cursed, and hurried to get Ricky into his room. On the way there he stepped in some of the dog shit and tripped over three beer cans.
He finally got Ricky into his room and onto his bed. Fido bit his ankles as he was dropping Ricky onto the bed, and Carlos kicked the dog all the way out into the hallway. The dog yelped and ran back into the front room. Carlos wondered how Ricky’s mom could sleep through all the noise as he slammed the bedroom door shut. Damn dog probably has rabies, he thought, feeling the pain in his ankle.
Carlos turned on the bedroom light and got Ricky