Skid Row and the rest of downtown is a breeding ground for public gay sex and has been since the ’60s. During his days as a hustler, John Rechy surely got some inspiration here for his 1963 novel, City of Night, much of which takes place in Downtown L.A., specifically Pershing Square, but the seedy men’s rooms on Santee Alley too. Maybe it’s the book nerd and sex pig in me, but Rechy knew what was up and what remains to this day a sure place to get your rocks off as long as you don’t mind the overpowering smell of stale piss and fruity room deodorizer, and running the risk of losing your wallet. Let me tell you from experience, it’s WELL worth it.
Beto was exactly the type of beefy, under-the-radar faggot-Mexican I looked forward to seeing in these bawdy places, but he was always busy manning his truck. Every now and then I felt as though he’d give me that Mexican standoff stare where, for the inexperienced, you’d be unsure if he wanted to kill you or rape you or both, but nothing ever came of it. What was I supposed to do? Sneak into the back of his taco truck and suck that fat uncut dick while he put together some carne asada burritos and al pastor tacos with onions and cilantro for customers on the other side? If I were to see him in a public bathroom it would be easy—I’d reach over and give a firm squeeze or just drop to my knees but alas, he was always cooking away.
“What’s good?” I said as I approached the narrow window. The hot air from inside the truck seeped from the window and onto my cold, pink cheeks. It felt nice. Beto nonchalantly looked up from the paper and over his reading glasses like my dad reading the Sunday paper at the breakfast table when I was a kid—a quick look just to give recognition that I was there. He looked back down at what he was reading.
“Nothing. Like usual.” Beto looked at me with a sigh then smiled. “What will it be tonight, my friend?”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He lifted his brow and continued smiling.
“You’re right.” I looked up at the colorful menu board plastered onto the truck. I’d never tried the lengua, gallina or tripas. Mostly because I didn’t know what they even were and didn’t want to be that stupid gringo asking for some translation, but no one else was there so I figured, why not?
“What’s buche?”
“You don’t want that.” Beto chuckled.
“Why not?”
“Trust me. You’ve been coming here for three years and all you ever order is chicken and the occasional beef. You don’t want buche.”
“Wow. Has it really been that long?” He said nothing. “Okay. Something spicy. The heat is off in my building and I need something to warm me up. That’s why I’m out tonight. It’s much warmer out here, if you can believe it.”
“It’s warm in here.” Beto put down the paper and his glasses and gave me a smug look.
“I bet it is.” I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets and looked around. We were still alone.
Beto didn’t say anything and just leaned farther out the narrow window and cocked his head toward the back of the truck.
Again, I looked around—not a soul. I walked to the back of the truck. The door was unlocked, so I made my way in. It was warm and just as I thought it would be—humid with the thick smell of onions and hot meat.
“Thanks. This is much better than my apartment right now.”
“This thing is basically a heater.” Beto held his hands over the countertop flat griddle like it was a campfire. I joined him. It certainly felt like one. From the corner of my eyes I could feel his eyes on me.
“So, what’ll it be?” Beto folded his arms over his chest and leaned on the counter. He was waiting for something.
I began to answer, thinking about whether I was in the mood for chicken or beef, when before I could make a decision Beto had his hand on the back of my neck pulling me into his firm, thick lips. His solid black mustache and the stubble from his salt-and-pepper five o’clock shadow ground up against my face. His tongue was thick like the rest of him. His dick was fat and stout and felt as though it would plow through my abdomen. Apparently I was going to be having some beef tonight. Beto shoved me against the wall and pressed his body close into mine, causing the entire truck to sway.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” Beto pulled away and looked at me but kept his hand on the back of my neck and the other on my hip, while his dick continued to press into me.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve been staring at those pink lips and that perky culito for so long.” He made a face as if to say “ooh” but he just bit down on his lower lip and smiled this hungry smile.
“Damn. I wish I knew…” Before I could finish he was back, ravenously at my mouth while his hands kept me close.
You know how most guys keep their eyes closed when they kiss? Not Beto. It’s like he wanted to know everything about me—the physical that is. It’s like he was constantly giving me the onceover with those dark-brown eyes. His hands were the same, exploring every inch of me—squeezing my chest and ass, pressing against my stomach, brushing against my face.
“Take all this shit off.” Beto tugged at my jacket and my jeans.
I looked over at the window then back at Beto.
“But…”
“This is why you came in here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…”
“But nothing. The only butt I’m having here is yours. Now take off your fucking pants.”
He was right. This is what I wanted. It’s funny, public sex had never bugged me before. I mean, I would always get interrupted in the Santee Alley men’s room, but that was never an issue. Everyone knew that’s what those restrooms were really for anyway. This seemed somehow different to me. My neighbors and friends frequented Gordo’s as much as I did, so this felt like shitting where I slept. But with the look Beto was giving me, along with his hands and throbbing knob, I couldn’t say no. He wanted me bad and this caused my own dick to swell against his thigh. He smiled and reached down and gave it a good squeeze.
“Fuck it,” I said.
I ripped off my jacket and tossed it onto the grease-ridden floor. I didn’t care. If I was going to go, I was going to go all the way. My shirt, my pants and everything else came off so fast that soon I was standing there buck naked inside a downtown taco truck. Beto just looked at me with those hungry eyes. I have to admit that it felt good but all the same awkward, as he was still fully clothed. He was holding on to that lump in his pants—oh man. I so badly wanted to see it. All these years of dreaming about that fat dick, and he was playing coy.
“Your turn.” I said.
“Hold on, mi’ijo. My truck, my rules.” Beto stepped closer and squeezed my right nipple with those fat, stubby fingers of his. They were tough, due no doubt to the years of chopping meat and washing his hands constantly. They felt good nonetheless. I winced but my dick throbbed harder.
“Play with it. Make it hard for me.” He continued pinching my nipple and rubbing his dick from outside his pig apron.
“It’s already hard. Look at it!” The thing was pointing straight up at him.
“Harder.” The harder he pinched, the harder my dick got, but I did just as he said. I spit into the palm of my right hand and began stroking. I tugged on my balls with my left as that surely would get the job done.
Beto looked pleased. He continued pinching and playing with both my nipples. Then he reached behind him and took off his apron with his free hand. Even though he wore that apron to keep his clothes from getting filthy, his white T-shirt was grease soiled and pit stained. The thinning jeans he was wearing gave a clear indication of how he felt about me, causing the blushing red head on the tip of my dick to gush.
“That’s it.” Beto grinned with a devilish ambition.
He quickly dropped to his knees and with his tongue on the base of my dripping dick he lapped up my precum as if we were in a drought and it was the last bit of hydration he’d ever get.
“You want to
know what buche is?” He took my swelling head into his mouth then pulled away and looked up at me.
“Um, yeah?”
“I’ll show you. Well, actually you’re going to feel it around your dick.” He then took it all the way. He was a professional cocksucker. My dick went all the way down his hot, wet throat which, though I’m not one to boast, was quite a feat, especially with how hard it was. This was probably the hardest I’d ever been with the exception of the first time I ever noticed my dick could ejaculate. He tugged at my balls, making the thing swell. He was still holding on to his apron. He quickly pulled away and wrapped the neck strap around the base of my shaft and below my balls, and with his fist squeezing tight he kept my dick just as he wanted it. He took it all the way again, gagging, with slobber covering his knees and the loose fabric from the apron that lay on the greasy floor. It felt so good I forgot where I was. I leaned my palms on the griddle, instantly searing them with a stinging pain. I immediately pulled away, which caught Beto’s attention.
“Careful mi’ijo!” Beto dropped the apron and let go of my slobbery dick. He quickly got up and grabbed a thank-you plastic bag and filled it with ice from an ice chest in the far corner of the truck. He handed the bag to me and cupped my hands over it.
“It’s all right.” I hadn’t left my hands on the griddle too long and with the ice, the pain was almost nonexistent, but I played along. I liked seeing Beto transform from hungry sex pig into the concerned and affectionate father figure.
“Now turn around. I want that sweet culito.” And back into sex pig in a flash.
I did just as he said. My dick was still raging hard.
“Now that you know buche means throat are you ready to learn what verga means?” Beto pressed up against me. His dick was still hard too. I could feel it trying to bust through his pants as he ground it against my ass.
“Are you gonna tell me or are you gonna show me?” I decided to play smartass. I mean, who in California doesn’t know what verga means? But I decided to see where giving some lip would get me. Since Beto was going for the Daddy thing I might as well play the part of the misbehaving child. Seeing how it was Christmas and all, he wouldn’t deny me my gift. Or, perhaps, the punishment would be more severe?
Beto grabbed a chunk of my golden hair from the back of my head, squeezed tight and shoved me forward. Even though this was the sort of response I expected, I was still somewhat surprised, lost my balance and almost fell face first onto the griddle. I reached out to the sill of the narrow window to keep my hands from getting fried. Some of the ice from the plastic bag spilled onto the griddle causing it to crackle and little spurts of hot water to sting my chest.
“Talking back to papa, eh?” Beto reached down and unbuttoned his fly. His pants immediately fell to his ankles. He kicked them aside.
“No, sir.” More ice began to tumble from the bag in my trembling hand causing more steam and hot water. I was sweating now.
“Hot, isn’t it?” Beto pulled back. I refused to answer. I could hear the plop from spit hit the palm of his hand followed by the squishy slathering of that fat dick. “Isn’t it?”
Beto pressed himself into me making no sign of a gentle start. His dick was fat, indeed. The pain from that first thrust caused more sweat to gush out from every pore. My palms instantly got so slippery that I had to refasten myself to the sill, causing more crackling ice. I yelped, but Beto gave no mercy. He went at his own pace. The entire truck shook with each dogged thrust and with each thrust I found it harder and harder to keep myself up from falling onto that griddle.
“Careful, mi’ijo. It might be better if you lean on that windowsill a little more.” Beto was still going strong enough that I couldn’t muster a single word, only little cries. I looked out the window through teary eyes and saw the streets were still empty so I did just as he said and he was right. With my elbows leaning on the sill I was a little more stable. Beto helped by lifting me up by my waist with those massive arms. This gave him the opportunity to go even deeper and since he could go deeper he decided to go even harder. My little cries got louder and I didn’t care.
“You ready for it, mi’ijo?” Beto growled at me.
This time I could answer since I wanted it. I wanted it bad. I screamed the affirmative, so he gave it to me. Beto pounded a hot, fat load deep inside my hungry hole. The bag of remaining ice fell from my grasp and onto the pavement below. Beto jerked a bit with the last spurts and lifted me back inside the truck and gave me another one of his long, hard kisses.
That was one for the books, indeed. I remember getting back to my cold apartment that night and realizing that I was, in fact, hungry for a burrito but had come home with an empty stomach. Beto had surely filled me up, but I still needed something to eat. All I had in the cupboard was some Cookie Crisp breakfast cereal.
Warehouse Gang Bang
Logan Zachary
The bullet whizzed past my head and splintered the wooden door frame. I didn’t need another sign to run. I escaped down the stairs and darted back and forth taking shelter as I could.
Bullets rained down and ricocheted everywhere.
The flash of red and blue lights in the night, along with the police siren, alerted everyone, but the gunfire didn’t slow. If anything, it increased.
A metal door loomed in the distance, and I knew once I reached it I’d be out of the building. I hit the bar and pushed. The door swung open with a loud bang as it hit the wall. Racing down the back alley, I had almost made it when another bullet hit the brick wall behind me.
I had been seen, and I needed to hide. I burst out of the alley and ran down the sidewalk as the police cars rounded the corner. Doubling back, I spotted a warehouse with the front door open just a crack and a faint light coming out.
I glanced behind me and slipped into the door. My breathing was labored and my heartbeat throbbed in my temples. Following the arrows, I came to a guy with a metal box.
“Fifteen dollars,” he said as he handed me a hanger with a plastic bag around the hook. “You can leave your shoes on, but everything else must come off. You can use a towel if you want.” He motioned to a pile of them. “Condoms and lube are everywhere, so be safe.”
I gasped. This was a sex party?
The warehouse door opened up and banged loudly.
I stripped to my shorts and jammed everything into the bag.
“Fifteen dollars,” the man said.
I pulled out a twenty from my pocket. “Keep the change.”
The man nodded. “Thanks, but you still have to lose the underwear.”
I looked down at my boxers and slipped them off and into the bag. I bent over for a towel and covered my ass, but I felt the man’s eyes caress it.
Wrapping the towel around me as quickly as I could, I hurried into the maze of hallways and rooms.
Racing feet approached as I disappeared around the corner. I pressed my hand against my bare chest. The towel was loose around my waist and a cool breeze blew up and around my hairy balls.
I just needed to find a quiet place and chill until the heat passed. A heavyset man knelt in front of a young guy giving him a blow job. The kid had his eyes closed as he pinched his own nipples. His legs were spread wide as the man worked between his legs.
I moved to the next room and saw a guy bent over with another guy fucking his ass.
Another man had his dick in the bent over man’s mouth. He was thrusting so fast and hard his balls swung as he humped.
In the next room, a wall with holes had a few dicks hanging free, waiting for a willing mouth or hand to work them over. Another hole had a bare ass pressed up against it, showing its hairy hole lubed and ready.
I could feel my cock start to grow underneath the rough towel. I tightened the knot I had tied at my waist, not wanting to lose the cheap towel. Did the cops know about this place? The building was abandoned, but appeared clean. It wouldn’t take too much work to hose the place down.
“I think he went this way,”
a man’s voice said.
My heart stopped. Were they looking for me? Dodging bullets in the street seemed better than running bare-ass in here. I sped by a room with dildos of every shape, size and color. A garbage can with the word USED sat in a corner.
At least they were making it look like they were trying to play safe and clean.
Wires strung with heavy blankets hung from the ceiling to allow for some privacy.
I ducked into a room with a bunch of hanging blankets and found a mattress and a bench. I sat down and caught my breath. Think, think, think.
I didn’t have a thing on me except my shoes and a ratty towel. Even if they had a back door out of here, no cab in this area would stop and pick me up.
Maybe if I laid low the commotion outside would pass, and I could get my clothes and head home. I was sweaty, dirty and smelled. I felt disgusting and even worse with only this damn towel around my waist. Was it even clean? What could I catch here?
My cell phone and gun were unavailable and in a bag at the entrance. I crossed my legs and felt my balls fall out into view. No one was around to see, but I adjusted anyway so I wasn’t hanging out.
The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sweat, semen and sex—male sex—hung in the humid air. My semi-wood pushed against the towel and I finally had to open my towel to release the pressure. I scratched my balls and pulled them up so they weren’t stuck against my leg. With the newfound freedom, my cock rose to full erection.
Homeboys Page 7