Homeboys

by Shane Allison

  The police cars drive by at sixty miles an hour, with their lights off. And the last city bus was pulled off the streets because its heavy armor plating put it in violation of the state’s miles-per-gallon gas regulations.

  But try telling that to Mama. There are a few troublemakers in the neighborhood, according to her, but they’re still God’s children. She didn’t have to run the three miles round-trip gauntlet to the supermarket after the sun goes down, when the devils come out to play.

  You’ve got to move fast on the Northside, or maybe you don’t move at all. I hustled down off the stoop with my head ducked. I presented too much of a target lit up against the screen door. I legged off down the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows, of which there were plenty. Every streetlamp for a ten-mile radius had been broken since the Nixon administration. I made like the Shadow, and became a blur.

  But there were other shadows out there, lurking in alleys and huddled on stoops and hanging out in the graveyards the city called parks. As I flew down the streets, I was flashed gang signs like I was a criminal Helen Keller. All to the staccato accompaniment of not-so-distant small arms fire, the falsetto wailings of the latest beating and mugging victims. Even the moon was hiding its face on a night like this. If I hadn’t been promised a pound of that chicken and chocolate I never would’ve made it to Frontier Street, the crossroads that separated Northside from respectable neighborhoods.

  I could see the supermarket in the distance, a cool oasis of fluorescent lights and commercialism. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief and wiped off the three films of sweat I’d developed on my face along the way. I banged the pedestrian crossing button to get the damn lights changing color.

  And that’s when two guys in pink satin jackets and skintight red jeans stepped out of the shadows and said to me, “What are you doing out this late at night, brother?”

  I jumped to the side, staring straight ahead across the street, thinking, Brotherfucker, who the hell are these assholes now? Thinking maybe if I ran fast enough I could dodge the traffic whipping by.

  “We asked you a question, brother.”

  My eyes slithered sideways, my neck locked like my teeth. They were both tall and thin, their faces pale in the passing headlights. One had brown hair and the other black, gelled up into semi-Mohawks. I dug my feet into the concrete, ready to sprint like Jesse Owens with Adolf Hitler after him when the light flashed WALK.

  “I-I’m…just going to get some groceries…f-for my mama,” I stammered.

  “You’re not a gang-banger?”

  “Me? Hell, no!” I reached into my jacket pocket for Mama’s shopping list, to prove why I was out. Forgetting in my panic that in Northside, such an action can get you posed that way for all of eternity.

  The guys grabbed my arms, one on either side. They pulled me back down the sidewalk and into an alley.

  “Got a gun in there, brother? A knife?”

  “A-a shopping list,” I gulped, not moving an offensive muscle. I wanted to be remembered for more than a chalk outline.

  The black-haired guy on my right drew my hand out of my pocket nice and slow. My fingers clutched the crumpled shopping list so tight it was like prying a bum from a bologna sandwich.

  “My name’s Joshua,” black-hair said, looking at Mama’s heart-stopping list, then handing it to his buddy.

  “And I’m Noah,” brown-hair chimed in, carefully folding up and placing the shopping list back into my pocket.

  Awfully biblical-sounding names for Northside, I thought, where even the Mormons and JW’s went door to door in a tank. “T-Tavis,” I spluttered.

  “Ever heard of the Luv Brothers Gang, Tavis?” Joshua asked.

  “N-No. Not till now.” They still had their hands on me, holding me tight.

  “We’re going to take over this turf, turn the tide,” Noah declared.

  “You’re welcome to it.”

  “Hear that, brother?” Noah said.

  Joshua let go of my arm, and Noah stepped in behind me and stripped my jacket down off my shoulders, sort of pinning my arms with it. Joshua got right in front of me. Then he ran his hands over my shoulders and chest.

  I was wearing just a plain white T-shirt under my jacket. My heart was racing, my lips trembling to keep pace. What were these brotherfuckers up to, anyway? I couldn’t figure it out. And where was a wino witness when you really needed one?

  Joshua’s warm hands traveled over my chest, rubbing my heaving pecs, smoothing down onto my billowing stomach, then skimming lightly back up my tingling sides. And so help me, Mama, but my nipples sprouted like muffins in a hot pan, my chest suddenly shimmering with the feel of the man’s soft palms and fingers gliding over my torso; cold fear leaping to another, warmer emotion.

  Joshua’s long fingers traipsed over my stiffened nipples as a smile broke wide across his full lips. I swallowed hard with an audible click. Another, longer extremity was protruding down in between my legs. Instead of an ass-whipping, I was getting assailed with arousal, growing a gay blade as the two gangsters showed their true colors.

  “Better pat down his legs, too, brother,” Noah breathed in my ear. “I bet he’s packing.”

  Joshua sunk down to his knees. He slid his hands along my legs, up to my pulsating cock.

  “Brotherfucker!” I groaned, my cock a throbbing bulge in the crux of the man’s hands.

  Joshua moved his hands up, his thumbs caressing the length of my dong. I gasped and bucked, flooding with good feeling. Hell, if this is how the police did their pat-downs, no wonder there were so many criminals.

  Joshua crowded in close to my face as Noah moved in closer at my back. They had me sandwiched, dark meat between white bread, good enough to eat.

  My arms were loose at my sides now, and I realized I was free to flee. But running isn’t easy with a hard-on. And who wants to run when you’ve got two cute guys breathing down your neck? They pressed into me, their hot bodies burning into mine.

  They’d ganged up on me. This was going down, brotherfucker!

  Joshua’s hard cock touched up against my live-wire cable, beating shaft to shaft. Noah’s hard cock touched up against my twitching buttcheeks, sunk into the cleft of my electrified mounds. The two men softly, sensuously pumped me between them. I got dizzy and delirious, seriously desirous of more, smothered by two buff bodies, breathing in an intoxicating cloud of musky man-scent, cock at both ends. Northside never felt so good.

  Joshua kissed me on the lips. Noah kissed me on the neck. Warm, wet kisses that made me forget all about warring gangsters and Mama’s grocery list, and left me reveling in brotherly love. So when Joshua brought his soft mouth back close to mine for another smack, I kissed him back with an exultant passion that said, Sign me up to your side, brothers! Noah licked my neck, making my hairs stand on end.

  We kissed some more, pressing our mouths hotly together, Noah peppering my hairline. Then, with his lips still locked on to mine, Joshua rolled up my T-shirt, and Noah reached around and cupped my pecs, his tongue flooding my ear. I surged between the pair of men like I was going to blast off and light up the night sky. But my cock kept me grounded, rubbing against Joshua’s charged cock, Noah’s equally engorged dong humping back and forth in my jeaned butt cleavage.

  Joshua’s tongue glided into my mouth and tangled with my tongue. Our slippery mouth-organs swirled together, playing a righteous hymn of him. Noah took my rigid nipples between his fingers and twirled them, and my body and soul sang, bursting with goodwill toward men.

  Things escalated even quicker from there. The ice was broken and melted, and the heat was on. Those two brotherfuckers knew how to love a brother’s body, and this brother had a willing body in need of some serious loving. Rumble, young men, rumble!

  Joshua dipped his head down and ringed one of my ripened nipples with his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth and tugged; he repeated the erotic spin-and-swallow cycle on my other jutted nipple. As Noah squeezed my pecs from behind, shooting my buds up even higher
and harder, feeding them to Joshua’s painting tongue and vacuuming mouth, I lifted up onto my toes with excitement, my chest on fire.

  The guys moved lower. My jeans went down with the pair of them, then my bulged-out briefs. My cock speared out in front and my buttcheeks thrust out in back, straining to be handled and mouthed. The men met my vibrating need, Joshua lacing his fingers around my swollen shaft and taking my bloated cap into his mouth, Noah sinking his fingers into my bubble-buttcheeks and taking a slurp along my sensitive crack.

  I bucked front and back and jumped simultaneously, joy coursing through my cock and crack and up along every nerve in my body. Joshua sucked on my hood, pumping my shaft. Noah kneaded my buttocks, lapping my crack.

  Mama, I wanted some sugar up front and some oil in back, before this brother boiled right over!

  I stumbled to the side, away from the men’s hot hands and moist mouths. Then I dropped to the floor of the alley on all fours, a signal no bro-bangers could misinterpret. I like men fucking my mouth and ass, then creaming said orifices. Hell, I fucking live for it!

  Joshua’s cock was a pointing pink rod steeling out from the fly of his pants into my face. I gripped it, pumped it, then gobbled and gagged on it, sucking smooth and slick. Noah’s hood split my buttocks and plugged into my back hole; then his shaft plunged deep into my chute, greased with the man-oil we all just happened to be armed with. I was stuck in the middle again, just where I wanted to be.

  I grasped Joshua’s slim hips and sucked on his solid cock. Noah gripped my narrow hips and pumped his cock into my gripping anus. I rocked to and fro between the groaning men, blowing cock and getting banged up the ass, a threesome-in-progress.

  The pace quickened, the pressure mounted. Saliva strung out of my mouth, my nostrils working like bellows, Joshua fucking my face as I suctioned his salt-leaking schlong right to the back of my throat. My ass ballooned and blazed, chute seared with the cock-stroking and stoking Noah was giving it.

  And then, somehow, I was flat on my back in the alley, flipped over with the cocks still inside me in a sexual jujitsu move. I kept sucking on Joshua’s pipe, his balls slapping my forehead now instead of my chin. Noah clutched my legs to his chest and kept reaming my chute, his balls and thighs still smacking my ass. And Joshua bent over my laid-out, getting-laid body and grabbed up and sucked on my own straining stretch of meat.

  It was heaven on hard earth, fucking filthy in a dirty alley. Joshua pumped down into my sucking mouth, sucking hard and tight and wet on my own cock, jacking same. Noah pounded into my ass, reaming my chute with a fiery passion. I couldn’t take it, couldn’t hold back, blown and blowing and blown away. Brotherfucker, I was going to come, the Luv Brothers Gang initiation making and baking me into a convert!

  Joshua jerked and flooded my mouth and scalded my throat with sperm. Just as Noah yelped and bucked and basted my anus with his sizzling cream.

  Then it was my turn, as my two brothers were blasting my holes. My cock seized up in Joshua’s clamping mouth and my body went rigid on the end of Noah’s shooting dong. Then I jumped between the jetting men, ecstasy exploding inside me. I blew out my utter joy, erupting in Joshua’s face with a riot of hot semen.

  Now, I walk the Northside streets without fear or favor, packing profound loving in my pants, which I’m more than willing to share. Call me a disciple of the Luv Brothers crusade; they showed me a better way, for anyone cocky enough to take it.

  I still don’t belong to a gang and never will. But when men gather for some banging in my neighborhood now, you can count this brother in.

  Run for the Border

  Michael Bracken

  My sphincter tightened and my balls retreated into my body cavity when the passenger door of my Dodge Dakota opened, a canvas duffel bag hit the floorboard next to the sack of things I’d purchased only minutes earlier and a hard-bodied bald man wearing dusty black work boots, dirty faded jeans, a blood-stained white tank top, and tattoo sleeves slid in next to me, pressed the barrel of a snub-nose revolver against my temple and commanded, “Drive.”

  “But the light’s—”

  He cocked the hammer and I accelerated through the red light, causing the driver of a minivan approaching the intersection from the south to slam on the brakes. The minivan narrowly missed the ass end of my truck and bucked up onto the sidewalk on the far side of the intersection.

  “Where?” I asked.

  My passenger uncocked the revolver, lowered it to his lap and rested it on a bulge at his crotch that was either a roll of quarters or some serious man meat. “Just go straight until I say otherwise.”

  I ventured a glance in the rearview mirror and caught a reflection of blue eyes so pale they almost had no color at all. I returned my attention to the road ahead of me, a road that led directly to the interstate, and I didn’t say another word until my passenger asked, “You got a name?”

  “Daryl,” I lied. “Daryl Johnson. You?”

  “Not important,” he said. “You got a cell phone, Daryl?”

  I admitted that I did.

  “Give it to me.”

  I took my iPhone from my shirt pocket and handed it to him. He looked at it for a moment and then threw it out the open passenger window.

  “Jesus!” I turned to face him. He wasn’t actually bald, though he had shaved his head a few days earlier and had only sparse salt-and-pepper growth covering his sunburned pate. “You know how much that cost?”

  My passenger lifted his revolver. “More important,” he said. “What’s it worth?”

  Not my life, I decided. Though I had lived in the city for more than a dozen years, I had grown up in a God-fearing, gun-toting, small-town redneck family and I understood the persuasive power of the snub-nosed revolver in my passenger’s fist. I concentrated on driving until he asked another question.

  “You married? Got a family? Anybody waiting for you at home?”

  I shook my head. My boyfriend had moved out of my downtown loft two weeks earlier after spending more than an hour listing every one of my perceived flaws, from lack of spontaneity to passive-aggressiveness.

  “So what do you do that you need a truck?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked. In Texas, pickup trucks are as common as concealed carry permits—I knew because I had both—and the Dakota was my third consecutive truck since I began driving. I hand-washed and detailed it every Saturday, something even my holier-than-thou ex hadn’t done with his Prius. “Everybody in Texas drives trucks. It’s a state law.”

  “You trying to be funny?”

  I shrugged as we rounded a curve and the highway came into view.

  “Get on the interstate.”

  “Which way?”

  “South,” he said. “Toward Mexico.”

  I glanced at the fuel gauge. “I don’t have enough gas to reach the border.”

  He kicked the canvas bag. “We’ll be fine.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  ”Gas money.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Drug dealer,” he said. “But he won’t miss it. He’s beyond missing anything.”

  “You kill him?”

  My passenger didn’t respond so I ventured a glance at him. I asked, “What happened to your car?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Daryl,” he said. “It might be better if you didn’t.”

  I kept quiet. Once we were clear of the city and the southern suburbs my passenger made me exit the interstate and take a smaller highway headed south. He adjusted position several times, apparently trying to get comfortable, and finally kicked the sack containing my purchases from earlier in the evening.

  He reached down for the sack and opened it. From it he pulled two gay porn magazines, a vibrating dildo and a tube of lube. After examining everything carefully, he stared hard at me for a moment. Then he shoved it all back in the sack and dropped the sack on the floor next to
his duffel bag, where it had been ever since he’d climbed into my truck back in the city. We didn’t talk about what he’d found, but I knew from his reaction to it that he was reappraising me.

  The more time passed the more comfortable I felt. I knew that, one way or the other, I was sitting on my salvation and all I needed was the right opportunity. I just didn’t know when it would come.

  When night collapsed upon us a bit later, I flicked on the headlights. Another hour passed with only the sound of the engine and the tires humming against the pavement to keep us company. We hadn’t passed through any towns for at least half an hour when the pressure in my bladder got the best of me.

  I said, “I need to piss.”

  At his direction, I took the next exit onto a farm-to-market road in the middle of nowhere, drove a mile or so until the highway was no longer in sight and found a dirt road that led into the scrub. Several hundred yards from the farm-to-market road, I stopped the truck. My passenger made me shut off the engine and hand him the keys.

  “You need to piss,” he said as he motioned with the revolver. “Go piss.”

  With only the moonlight to guide me, I climbed out of the truck, walked around to the passenger side and faced away from the road, out of sight of any vehicles that might venture past. I heard the truck’s passenger door open as I pulled my cock from my jeans and let loose a long stream.

  A second stream joined mine and, after I finished and tucked my cock away, I ventured a glance at my traveling companion’s equipment. The bulge I’d seen in his jeans when he’d first climbed into my truck wasn’t a roll of quarters after all. My glance turned into an appreciative stare.

  He noticed. “What are you staring at?”

  “Your cock.”