D.C. Streetwalker

by ChrisCross

Copyright© 2018 by ChrisCross

Erotica Sex Story: Fourteen-year-old Danny, small of stature, blond, handsome, sexy, and with a preference for men, gets tired of giving to his mother's boyfriend what he could make money getting on the D.C. Streets in 1968. So, he ventures out on his own, learns new skills, and falls into the clutches of two guys in cop uniforms. He has a problem in choosing to walk the streets, though, in that any man who can reach into his soft core owns him. He encounters men who can do that.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/mt   Consensual   Gay   Fiction   MaleDom   Light Bond   Rough   Group Sex   Interracial   Black Male   White Male   Anal Sex   Analingus   Cream Pie   Double Penetration   Oral Sex   Public Sex   Size   Prostitution   .

Danny grimaced and let out a gasp as the cock bulb breached his sphincter and the rest of the cock followed it up into his channel. To distract himself from the initial pain that he knew would melt into something more like pleasure, he looked over at the wad of bills—three twenties and a five—laying beside the tube of lube on the seat of the wooden, straight-backed chair pulled up next to the hotel bed. To avoid as much as possible the filling and stretching sensation, and the almost immediate friction from the stroking of the cock inside him, the fourteen-year-old boy looked beyond the chair, across the bare wooden floor, to the only window in the room, draped with flimsy, “just pretend” gauzy curtains. Dusk was creeping in on the D.C. street below, the sound of traffic was decreasing for the evening escape out to the suburbs, and a blue neon light was flickering somewhere, the hint of blue tinting filtering into the room.

In; stretching; Danny groans, torn between the feeling of the cock forcing its way up his passage and feeling constricted by the strong arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close into the man’s belly; man grunting and Danny tensing and clutching; withdrawing, but Danny’s channel muscles grasping at it, as if they don’t want to lose it; Danny sighing; Danny gasping again as the cock invades, reaching deeper; the man whispers, “Relax. Let me in,” in Danny’s ear; as if having heard and heeded, as the cock sinks deeper, Danny feels his passage muscles relax, caressing the hard cock as it invades deeper; he’s done this before. He can do it again; Danny opens to it, like gates gliding open; In deep, the man laughs and Danny moans. “Yes, yes, fuck me, Daddy.” The channel totally open and vulnerable, the intimate fusion of the pumping begins. Danny is reminded why he does this, why he lets strangers fuck him.

He was on all fours, his slim boy’s chest plastered to the dingy sheet and his hands grasping the brass rungs of the headboard over his head. The john, an old, gray-haired and stubbly bearded tall, thin, sinewy-muscled geezer—maybe fifty; maybe older—was covering him from above. The john crouched down on his bare feet, using the feet as leverage to rise and fall on Danny’s buttocks in the study beat of the fuck.

The old guy knew what he was doing, knew what he could pull out of a boy, was a master of this. He hadn’t given the impression that he was a man in control, an experienced top who had done this many times before, until they’d gotten alone in the hotel room. Danny wasn’t going to control this. Danny was going to be put through his paces. He was going to earn the money.

Danny was lost to it now, now that the man had mastered him and was into the rhythm of the fuck. This is what Danny did this for. It wasn’t just for the money. It was for being embraced closely by a man who was in heat for him, breathing warm breath on his neck, holding him in intimate possession, moving inside him.

The john’s cock was bigger than Danny had assessed it would be when the old man picked him up on the street outside the fleabag hotel. The hotel, fallen on bad times, was located four blocks off DuPont Circle in an area of the city that had been blighted by the race riots that had followed the assassination of Martin Luther King earlier that spring in 1968. The man was surprisingly strong, holding Danny securely in place under him. That’s what Danny lived for—being held in close embrace and mastered. He probably was twice the size of the small boy. He hadn’t asked Danny how old he was when he’d picked him up. He obviouTony didn’t want to know—he was going for the young look and small stature—and the pretty face and the blond, straight hair that tumbled down to Danny’s shoulders when the man had undressed him and pulled the ponytail out of the rubber band.

Danny had used his young, angelic looks to his advantage in the few days he’d been on the street. He found plenty of men who came to this section of town to cruise who were looking for just that.

The man had cupped Danny’s face when he’d let the boy’s hair down and given him a tender kiss, a tenderness that the man subsequently periodically displayed and, at other times, did not. The care the man took in releasing the boy’s hair told Danny that the man would take his time; this would not be a quick fuck and a good-bye.

It had been nearly 6:00 p.m. when the man had approached Danny on the street, right outside this hotel, and asked Danny what the boy would do for him and for how much. Danny had asked for a hundred because the man had refused to limit it to a blow job and even to only once in the sack.

“I’ll pay you sixty for the night, doing you as much as I want. I’ll pay for the hotel and feed you dinner before I fuck you. You won’t have to leave until checkout tomorrow.” He had his negotiating position down pat, except it wasn’t really a negotiating position. He knew the whore market in this section of D.C. His starting offer was his final offer. Take it or leave it.

“I’ll do you right. You’ll want to pay me when it’s over.”

A hotel for the night. A night in a bed. How great is that? The old guy didn’t look that he could hardly do one. Often at this age, they just wanted to cuddle. Truth be known, that’s what Danny would like most too—attention and affection. Not that he minded having a cock inside him at the same time. God knows he hadn’t gotten enough attention and affection at home. Affection, at least. He’d gotten more attention than he could handle. That had helped put him on the street.

“A hamburger at the White Castle?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“There’s a good hotel near there. Won’t ask questions.”

“There’s a hotel right here.”

“This is a fleabag.”

“I’m paying for your ass, not for room service.”

Danny should have known then that the guy was comfortable with this—that he knew what he wanted and what it was worth to him. Still, he looked like an old, gaunt geezer, and this hot and cold in switching from matter-of-fact transaction and something more tender was disconcerting. Who would have known he hung low and had the stamina and jizm for three fucks in a night or that across those three fucks Danny could be made to feel both treasured and a whore to be used and discarded?

He wasn’t so bad, though, and Danny got what he wanted from it, although he paid a big price in what he gave up. It wasn’t just the money. Danny loved having a man’s cock inside him, knowing that the man wanted him so bad that he’d pay for it and he’d get hard for Danny and he’d hold Danny close and maybe even show him affection while his cock was trying to tear up the boy’s guts. That’s what Danny had already discovered that some men were looking for when they chose small-bodied fourteen-year-olds—someone closer to innocence than to hardened; someone they could ruin sexually, someone with some remnant of innocence they could ravish and claim to be victor over. Danny hadn’t gotten much attention or affection in life. And this guy showed him some respect and affection. He’d even plunked an extra five dollars down on the chair.

“For breakfast tomorrow,” the guy had said when he produced the five. “You look like you could use more calories in your diet.”

Yeah, Danny was small and slim, but give him time. He was only fourteen. And his guess was that the old geezer had picked him out of the line because he was small and slim—and pretty. Innocent and vulnerable looking.

The man had confirmed this when Danny had gone down on all fours under the john, and the man, already with a sinewy arm wrapped around Danny’s belly, holding him securely in place, had brushed Danny’s hair from the side of the boy’s head on the right and planted a kiss in the hollow of the kid’s neck. He’d let the hand glide down Danny’s side and had stroked him with a light touch of his fingers along Danny’s flank.

“So small and sweet,” he murmured. “Such slim hips. Shall we see if you can take me?” By now, Danny wasn’t all that sure he could. Who would have known the guy was horse hung and could get it so hard?

And then they learned that Danny could and would take the cock, but not without a bit of difficulty. He was a boy whore but not one who had been overused yet. He was tight. He had grimaced and gasped as the bulb went into place and started taxing the sphincter. And then the john was in and doing it and Danny was writhing under him as best he could and crying out, “Yes, yes, Daddy! Do it. Do me! Stick it in me!” because he knew that’s what johns doing fourteen-year-olds wanted to hear.

Men like this, who emphasized Danny’s age, size, and looks, wanted to be a daddy to a total submissive.

And the man did do him, did do it, did stick it in him, banging the shit out of the kid, causing Danny to pull his fists back from the brass headboard because the thrusts of the man were causing the bed frame to rhythmically, and with groans and grinding sounds, bounce off the wall, matching in cadence the slap, slap, slapping of the man’s lemon-sized balls on Danny’s tender inner thighs.

Once started, the man wasn’t going to stop even if the room caught fire. And he didn’t. They quickly were in a rhythm that led to one goal only, for both of them.

They lay there afterward, Danny on his back, and the man, after he’d sat on the side of the bed and smoked a cigarette, stretched out on his side along Danny’s body, propped up on an elbow, and using his free hand to explore that boy’s small, smooth torso. Mostly it was “bang and good-bye.” This man was showing Danny some attention. Danny liked that. He couldn’t say he didn’t like what the man was doing with his hand either. The man’s hand went to cupping Danny’s balls and squeezing, rolling, and distending them, and Danny raised his pelvis to the touch, giving a little moan. The johns didn’t usually give Danny this much attention. This was more than just a getting-the-rocks-off tumble in the bed.

“Like that?” the man asked, rolling Danny’s balls together and listening to Danny moan.

“Umm, umm, yes,” Danny murmured.

“When I build it up again, I’m going to fuck you again. This is just working toward that.”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

“You like to call me daddy? You like an older man fucking you?”

“Yes, when he’s hung like you are.”

“I’m almost too big for you.”

“Yes, you are, but I’m not complaining,” Danny murmured. “But then, that’s what adds to the arousal for you, isn’t it? Getting all of that into the hole of a young, unseasoned guy like me. You can tell I’m new to it, can’t you?”

“Yes, I like that, one with slim hips like yours, just one hand span between having my thumbs in your ass and my other fingers encasing your hips. Like this.”

Danny moaned as the man rose up on his knees, turned Danny onto his belly, knelt between Danny’s spread thighs, and demonstrated what he meant, pulling the young man up by the hips. The thumbs pulled him even open than he still was from having the man’s cock in him. Danny would have been happy to take the cock again then—they were in position for another doggie fuck—but the man released his grip on the young man’s hole and hips, turned Danny onto his back again, and sank down beside him.

“I like making the passage work to fit me. That’s why I go for small guys like you, with slim hips. You had to work hard to take me. But the next time you’ll fit me better. We’ll get right to the serious stuff.”

“Yes. I can’t wait, Daddy.” Danny probably would have said it anyway. He was learning how to talk to a john and build the paying man’s pleasure up. But he meant it with this one.

There was some small talk. The man saying only that he was a machinist, from across the Potomac in Alexandria, near the airport.

Danny had new respect for machinists. He had just learned that machinists were tough and that they could endure repeated action forever. Danny thought of the man standing at a machine, performing the same smooth action in doing his part on tooling an object being manufactured in constant action to how the man had been able to maintain a smooth cadence forever in pumping Danny’s passage with his cock. Danny had never been fucked as long and hard before the man had shot his load.

The man didn’t reveal much about himself, other than he claimed his name was Jake, and he got even less out of Danny about where he came from, what he was doing here, how he became a male whore walking the burned-out section of D.C.—it couldn’t have been long, based on Danny’s age, the man said, checking for the umpteenth time for any hint that Danny was younger than he claimed—and what Danny wanted to do in life. “You can’t do this forever,” he said.

“But you want me to be able to do it until tomorrow morning, right?” Danny asked, and they both laughed. The man was stroking Danny’s inner thighs, coaxing them to open—and they did open for him, spreading wide for and vulnerable to the man’s touch. Instinctively, Danny was lifting his tail too. The man could have rolled over between Danny’s legs then and would have had a straight shot into him. As experienced as the john was, he surely knew that the boy was open to his cocking again. The man wouldn’t have to coax Danny into being fucked a second time.

Danny knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be doing it again. Strangely, he was glad. The man had said it would be better the second time because Danny would be more open. Danny hoped so. He did like a man with experience and expertise doing him.

The machinist admitted that he liked doing the fourteen-year-olds, especially the small stature ones. He obsessively repeated that he liked their slim hips and their response to his big cock—and did Danny like his cock? Danny sure did, he said—being able, with difficulty, to split the difference between his hips. The john said he liked to hear the small guy suffer and then transform into begging for it once it was in and thrusting.

Danny’s antennae went up at the hint that the man could be cruel in the fuck. Well, he’d gotten what he wanted from me the first time, Danny thought, remembering how he’d huffed and puffed when the man’s cockhead was pressing at his ring and how he had screamed when the cock broke through and filled and stretched him—and then how he’d begged for more of the cock when the fuck got going.

What did Danny like? Did Danny like the man’s technique, his show of stamina, the vigor of his backswing? The man had been circling around and getting to what he wanted to know, what he wanted to hear, seeking assurances about his prowess, even at his age, even though he was paying Danny to take whatever he gave.

“Yes, you were the best,” Danny assured him.

“I’m going to be fucking you again. I can fuck all night.” Again, struggling with the concept that he feared it wouldn’t be that long before he couldn’t even get it up.

“Yes, please,” Danny answered, not entirely lying, but mistakenly not fully believing him either. He’d felt alive when the man was inside him, deep, plowing him. It had been a good fuck. The man was clean. They’d both showered before going to bed. And he was strong and virile, surprisingly so for his age. He had a great body for his age too, tightly muscular, not an ounce of fat on him. He was big too where it counted with Danny. Danny had no doubt that he’d been fucked. And the money was good—even if there would be another round, which obviouTony there would be—Danny’s legs were open and his tail was up. The man already was hard, and the hand he had free to roam Danny’s body was doing so more intimately.

When the hand dropped between Danny’s thighs and a finger snaked up into his hole, the man leaned his face down to Danny’s and they kissed. It was a good kiss, the man pressing the tip of his tongue between Danny’s lips, and Danny letting him in. And then letting the tongue in further, opening his mouth wide to the invasion. An old machinist who knew how to French kiss. He did it as good as Tony did.

Danny raised his tailbone higher and began to set his hips in a rolling motion as the finger inside him became two and moved.

Almost showtime again.

Danny moaned and gasped as they came out of the kiss, whispering, “Please,” and meaning it. The man’s fingers slipped out of him and the hand glided down Danny’s inner thighs, first one and then the other. Danny spread his legs further under the man’s gentle, almost imperceptible guidance, bending his right one and placing his right foot flat on the bed when the man was manipulating his left leg in that position. He dug his heels into the mattress and elevated his pelvis even higher. Now, now. Take me again now, was screaming through his brain.

The man was up on his knees, ready to move between Danny’s thighs. The second time was going to be in the missionary position, Danny now knew. And it was going to happen ... NOW.

The man’s mouth burying itself in the hollow of Danny’s throat, kissing and nibbling him there as the man swung his legs, first the left and then the right, over Danny’s left leg. He was in place now, kneeling between Danny’s spread thighs. The man’s left arm snaked under Danny’s waist and lifted the boy’s pelvis a foot off the bed, the boy’s torso streaming down to where only his shoulder blade and his head pressed into the mattress.

“Yes, yes. YES!” Danny cried out, again meaning it, as the cock entered him and entered him and entered him and started moving in and out, in and out. The muffled sound of the headboard grating against the wall behind their heads, a more gentle rocking cadence now than before, gave cadence to the hard, deep thrusts as the two moved together in the dance of the fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Danny turned his cheek to the side, let his eyes go glassy, every nerve in his body concentrating on the movement of the cock inside his passage, and stretched his arms out in a “I’m am totally open to you, take me, take it all” sacrificial position.

Danny woke to flickering blue light filling the room and to the sound of gentle snoring beside him. The old man was on his back, an arm flung over his face, sleeping. He had to be at least fifty. Danny wondered whether he had had a hard life. Had he always fucked boys? Did he fuck a lot of them? How did Danny fit in with the boys the man—Jake he had said his name was; Danny had told him that his name was Cody. Danny had always liked that name—had fucked? He’d said Danny was good—the best—but did he mean it?

Did he just tell the boy whores what they wanted to hear?

Danny had said the same to the man—to Jake, who probably wasn’t really Jake—but he hadn’t really meant it when he said it. After the second fuck he could say it and mean it, though.

The man hadn’t just fucked him; he’d made love to him. He’d made Danny feel special. He’d laid him out on his back, covered him in a deep penetrating missionary, and Danny had given him everything, sprawling, open, vulnerable to the man. The man had fucked him in the soft, spongy core for what seemed to be forever, coming deep inside him, fucking him until it was certain he’d breeded him. To Danny, being breeded wasn’t just unprotected sex, it was the cock entering his soft core, holding and pulsating there, claiming its territory and power, and flooding its cum there, quickening him had he been a woman. And, when breeded, Danny was now owned by the man.

This was a primeval fuck; this was the fuck that fucking was created for—impregnation. If Danny had been a woman, he knew he’d have been impregnated by this man now. There was enough of the man’s semen in him, deep, to populate a town. There were times that Danny wished he were a woman and could capture the feeling of the moment of conception, knowing the second the man, his lover, had fused with him and quickened him.

Had it really just been one fuck, though? When the man had come, he’d pulled out and creamed Danny at the entrance to his hole, but he’d pushed his cock back in, still hard, through the cum, going immediately to the soft, spongy core again, and had fucked Danny some more. Danny thought he’d come again, deep inside. Breeding him again. Was that two fucks?

He couldn’t think about that, though. He realized why he had awakened. It wasn’t really because the man was snoring or even that a police car, siren going, but on a muffled tone as if they were in a Raymond Chandler story and the city was covered with choking fog, had passed in the street below. He had to piss. He rolled out of bed, as gently as he could, not wanting to wake the man. Knowing the man probably was exhausted. Danny certainly had been. The man was stronger than he was, by far, and Danny had let go and relaxed a long time before the man had stopped stroking. Letting go like that had given the man’s cock access to the very core of Danny and had sent Danny vaulting up into the sensual heavens while he had held as still as possible, every fiber of him concentrating on the cock making love to him deep and not wanting any movement of his to interrupt the pleasure and cause the cock to abandon him. He’d have to remember to try to relax like that with johns in the future. Give them both a thrill. Add to his tips.

But did the man know that he had touched Danny as deeply as he had? When he was inside the soft core, breeding and owning Danny, did he know they were worshipping at an altar? It would be a pity if the man didn’t know. It would be a pleasure that only the submissive could be rewarded with. The top would get release but the submissive would be getting so much more.

Danny thought of the man with affection now, especially after the second, sensual fuck, whether or not the man knew the gift he had given Danny. The man snorted when Danny got out of bed, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Danny was standing at the toilet, peeing in an arc into the bowl when the man, naked as Danny was, came into the bathroom and saddled up close behind him. A hand came around Danny’s hip and grasped his cock while he was still pissing.

“Here, let me help you with that, son,” the man said. There was something different about the man now. He was more tense, hard edged. His voice was more raspy—more demanding. “Lean into the wall. Palm the wall,” he commanded. Danny reached out wide with his arms, leaned toward the wall of cracked white and black tiles, and spread his palms against the cool tiles.

“I’m finished pissing,” he said.

“I’m not finished getting my money’s worth, though,” the man growled. “We’ve just been playing around. I want it all. I want it hard now.”

Danny understood then. This was what the man had been building up to. This is how he really wanted it—conqueror, not lover. The night was coming to an end. The clock on his paid time was about to expire. He wanted his money’s worth. He wanted to fuck the shit out of a boy. Danny was that boy.

Holding Danny in position, the man beat the boy off to an ejaculation. And then, as Danny gasped and groaned, the man thrust his cock up into Danny’s hole and banged him hard. Danny tried to writhe away from him but the man grabbed the hair on the back of the boy’s head, pulled Danny’s head cruelly back into his chest, and fucked away. Danny tried to relax, to pull the man’s cock into his soft core and calm him down, but it wasn’t working. Jake wasn’t making love to him; he was seizing Danny’s core and trying to rip it out of him. Danny shut his core off. The man could reach it with his cock, but it no longer was soft and spongy for him.

Danny was being assaulted. Not being made love to—not even being part of the fuck other than providing a hole to be penetrated and filled, a passage to be stretched and bruised, a sheath for the man’s frantic fury. He was having the man’s own need and pleasure being made everything. The man was ripping it out of Danny. He was just using Danny to obtain his sexual release. Getting his money’s worth.

He didn’t finish Danny there, though. He pulled out of him, dragged him away from the toilet and into the hotel room, pushed the boy’s back against the wall next to the bathroom door, lifted him up and set him down on the cock, and banged him some more. Hooking his knees on the man’s hips and digging his fingernails into the man’s wiry biceps, Danny hung on for dear life and took it and took it and took it. After two fucks, Danny had been opened to the needs of the man’s size. He was open and vulnerable to the cock, and the shaft plunged up into him hard and deep as Danny gasped and groaned. The man was banging him hard. He was reaching into the core but the reception there had changed. It wasn’t soft and yielding for him anymore. It was hard; the passage wall muscles there wouldn’t caress his cock anymore, wouldn’t squeeze his bulb and milk him. He wouldn’t enjoy multiple ejaculations and wouldn’t know why not. But there was no indication the man realized this in his frenzy—or cared.

Danny fought to relax and take it. He had been here with johns before and had survived. But he’d never before let a man, save one, in his soft core like he had this one. And then his core betrayed him. The gates opened, the walls softened, the muscles began to ripple, recognizing a returning master, and, with a deep moan, Danny went soft for the master, surrendering all to him. The john was in deep, pillaging Danny’s soft core, taking no prisoners, tearing him apart there. There was nothing Danny could do; he had let the man beyond all of his defenses. Danny forced himself to look over the man’s shoulder, concentrating on the window and the pulsing blue neon light it was allowing to filter into the room as the man cruelly ravished his core.

The man apparently sensed he had conquered his way beyond all of the boy’s defenses, and, laughing, and eating up the boy alive, he took and he took and he took. This was getting his money’s worth.

Danny had been fucked like this before. This, minus giving up his soft core, was more like the treatment Danny was used to receiving—hurried, frantic banging away, showing him no regard and no mercy. It was as if in the cover of darkness, the john had become an entirely different man from how he acted in the light. He was an animal and he was tearing what he wanted out of Danny with no regard for what Danny needed or would freely give him for their mutual pleasure.

The fuck ended up on the bed, with the man drawn up to his height on his knees, holding Danny in front of him, Danny’s knees again hooked on the man’s hips and his torso arced down to the bed, his weight on his shoulder blades, while the john grasped his slim hips and slammed his channel on and off the cock. As the man moved into an ejaculation, he pulled out of Danny’s passage and shot his cum down on the boy’s belly and chest. He let Danny collapse on the bed and licked his way, through his cum up Danny’s body, ending saddled on Danny’s chest and forcing his cock into Danny’s mouth for cleanup and some post-fuck suck.

Danny escaped the bed and curled up in a ripped-upholstered easy chair in the corner of the room. The john pulled himself up into a reclining position against the brass headboard, smoked a cigarette in the eerie blue light coming through the window, and played with his cock. Occasionally his gaze went to Danny, whimpering in a fetal position in the chair, as if he were contemplating yet another go at him that night.

The john didn’t apologize for having lost control and brutalizing Danny after they had melded so well in the second fuck. He didn’t touch the boy again that night, though.

Whether or not the man was contemplating another fuck, it wasn’t to be. The man started to snore, and Danny slipped into an exhausted sleep. When he woke, he was alone in the room and it was day outside. The clock on the nightstand, if it was accurate, said he didn’t have to vacate the room for another two hours. He stumbled over to the bed and fell on the sheets, looking at the wooden chair seat in passing. The man had taken the lube but he hadn’t taken the money.

Life was cruel, but at least the john was honest.

Danny was sitting in the john’s lap, sheathing the man’s shaft, in the passenger seat of a 1963 Chevrolet Impala sedan beside the inspection bay of a closed gas station, the pumps burned out by the recent race riots, three blocks northwest of D.C.’s DuPont Circle. Both of them were naked below the shirt line, although if you looked into the windshield as you passed by on the street, they both would be thought to be fully clothed. The john was slouched down in the seat anyway and Danny was leaning forward, arms splayed and the heels of his hands pressed into the dashboard, his fingers thrumming on the dash to the cadence of his channel rising and falling on the cock. Chances were that anyone passing by would only see Danny. They very probably would see his grimace as a smile.

The john was grasping Danny’s slim hips between his hands and raising and lowering the boy’s channel on his buried cock. Danny was passive, letting the man take it as he wanted.

Danny had seen the dark-blue Ford sedan with what looked like two cops, one squatty white and one massively black, in it glide by in the first pass. The john hadn’t and fucked on. Danny was clutching a twenty and a five in his right hand. The five was for the blow job that had started this encounter. The twenty for the anal fuck.

The boy had been picked up as he was being shooed away from the streetwalkers’ corner in front of a boarded-up warehouse. The guys and girls milling around on the corner hadn’t wanted him there. They had nothing against Danny. They liked Danny—well, most of them did. But he was underage and they weren’t asking for that kind of trouble.

Danny was dressed brave and hopeful. He was wearing a red mesh muscle T and low-riding, worn blue jeans, torn at the knees. They were torn there not as a fashion statement but because of the number of times Danny had worked on his knees on rough ground in the short time he’d been a street whore. He wore the cocky clothes, but his body was small and willowy—a boy’s body—so he didn’t really fill out the role.

There were men who wanted that, though, and one of them had pulled up alongside Danny in his red ‘63 Chevy Impala as Danny was a half block away from the corner he’d been turned away from. The car pulled up to the curb several yards ahead of Danny and stopped. When Danny got level with the passenger door, he stopped, and the window rolled down. The face of a good-looking guy appearing to be in his early thirties and with a mop of dark, curly hair appeared at the window with a friendly smile on his face.

“Hey young fellah, you need a ride somewhere?”

“What sort of ride were you thinking about?” Danny said, coming over to the side of the car and leaning into it with elbows on corner of the open window sill. Try to make them say it, he’d been taught, but the day was marching on and he was behind the curve in making his daily money. A hand came out of the window. Fingers touched Danny first on the cheek, caressing it, and, when Danny didn’t recoil, on a nipple that was barely hidden under the mesh of his T-shirt.

“Sweet,” the man murmured. “I’d like me some of that.”

“You want to put it through the window right here and have me work on it?” Danny asked.

“Brave talk for the face of an angel. I’m thinking of the sort of ride that could send me up to heaven, sweet cheeks, he said. A twenty-dollar ride, maybe with something first for five dollars.”

“That’s not much,” Danny said. It was enough for him, though. It wasn’t getting any earlier in the day and he had a quota in his mind that he needed to clear every day he went to the street.

“It wouldn’t take long. We’ll ride in the car, just around the corner, and I’d bring you back. Twenty minutes tops. You’ll like it—a seven-inch ride. Already hard for you. How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” Danny answered.

“How old again? I didn’t hear you. That’s pretty old.”

“Sixteen,” Danny adjusted.

“Oh, well. I thought from looking at you ... nice and small and boyish. Slim hips. I would have liked—”

“OK, fourteen. Truth.”

“Nice. Get in the car, boy.”

They had driven just around the corner to the abandoned gas station and parked as out of sight as the man could get the Impala. He’d leaned back in the bench seat behind the wheel then and said, “Well get to it, boy. Suck me hard and make it good.” He unzipped himself but made Danny take it out. It was already hard, but Danny sucked it good anyway.

Then the man slid over onto the passenger side as he slipped his trousers off and Danny shucked his jeans. Danny huffed and puffed from the lack of preparation as the man put him on his cock. He was no seven inches, but he was big enough to have trouble getting inside an inadequately prepared Danny. But he made clear that that was just the thrill he wanted and it wasn’t long before he was holding Danny’s hips between his hands and raising and lowering the boy on his cock.

“Such slim hips,” the man murmured. “I like the view of making a tight hole between slim hips take a big one.” It was a fetish reference Danny had heard a lot.

It was a run-of-the mill fuck. Danny closed down on letting the man into his soft core. Emotionally, Danny couldn’t take too much of that. He protected against it. The guy in the hotel room had taken him by surprise in that second fuck and had shown him how dangerous it was to give him that in subsequent fucks. The john pulled Danny’s buttocks up and off the cock, and he came on the small of Danny’s back at about the same moment as the blue sedan passed by again and stopped. Opening his eyes after his moment of thrill, the man looked through the windshield over Danny’s shoulders.

“Are those cops?” he asked, his voice panicked.

“Maybe,” Danny answered.

“Pull your jeans on and get out of the car. Take a fast hike outta here,” the man said, as he reached down for his trousers.

In less than a minute, Danny, still buttoning up his jeans, was standing on the broken concrete apron by the closed gas station, and the red Impala was coasting out of the gas station lot, past the blue sedan.

The cops didn’t follow the Impala, as Danny had assumed they would. The blue sedan pulled into the gas station lot and two cops, a big muscular black guy and a regular-sized white guy, got out of the car. The white cop motioned for Danny to come over to him.

“Watcha’ doin’, kid?” the white cop asked.

“Just on my way to a bookstore over on DuPont Circle,” Danny said.

“Lookin’ for a book in that car where the man was screwing you, were you?” Again the white cop.

“He wasn’t screwing me, but I think he might have been thinking about trying to do it.” Danny had been taught to hide a lie in a version of the truth. “He’d offered me a ride, but he was getting a little squirrelly and I asked him to let me out. I guess you panicked him. I’m glad you came along, Officer.”

“Yeah, I bet you are. How old are you, boy?”


“Try again. You’re too scrawny by several years. We can find out how old you really are. It will go rougher with us if you continue to lie about it.”

“Fourteen,” Danny acknowledged. “But I am on my way to the bookstore, honest.”

“I think not. Let’s you saddle up the fender of my car here, with your arms stretched and hands on the hood. And spread ‘em. I’ll bet you know the routine.” It was the white cop again. The black one wasn’t saying anything. He was just standing there, eyes boring into Danny, looking like a big black silent bull, which Danny thought he probably was—the big black bull part. Danny had been screwed by a black bull once. He hadn’t been able to walk straight for a week, but he’d been smiling the entire week. There was quite a bulge at the black guy’s crotch. Danny noticed these kinds of things. And, no, he hadn’t had opportunities to know the pat-down routines yet. He’d seen cop dramas on TV, though, so he managed to assume the position.

“Well, lookee here, Clarence. Money. Enough to buy a whole lot of books, if they’re pulp paperbacks. More likely the result of a lot of blow jobs. You given’ out blow jobs in this neighborhood, good lookin’?”

“What’s that, Officer?” Danny asked in his all-innocent voice.

The white cop laughed and stepped back from where Danny was stretched out on the fender of the blue sedan and flashed the bills—$110 that Danny had earned, including with the john in the red Impala just now, since he’d last gotten to his stash drop off. He’d done an on-his-knees-in-an-alley blow job between the old guy in the hotel room and the dude in the Impala and the hotel encounter hadn’t been his first blow job of the previous day.

“Hey, that’s mine,” he said.

“Earned how?” asked the white cop.

“It’s my allowance money.”

“I’ll bet I can guess what you have to do for your allowance.”

Danny’s face turned red. That, in fact, was a large reason he was out here. His mother’s boyfriend. He’d moved into the apartment and taken over the finances, although Danny’s mother had done much of the work to earn it—some of it on her back, which had given Danny the idea how he could make money too. Her boyfriend was randy in a lot of different ways, and Danny had been earning his allowance on his back for the boyfriend too until he didn’t want to do that anymore. It was getting too personal; he was liking it too much; he’d been reached in his soft core and breeded for the first time by the boyfriend and it had scared him silly. He never had been touched that way before.

The white cop looked over to the black cop and said, “Whatcha think, Clarence? You think we should run the kid in and talk to him about how he made this money?”

“I think that’s a plan, Lenny,” Clarence answered, speaking for the first time. His was a deep, rumbling voice.

“No, please. I don’t want to go,” Danny said, pushing off the fender of the car and turning to walk away.

“Resisting arrest, eh? You got your cuffs handy, partner?”

“Yep,” Clarence answered, pulling them off his utility belt.

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