Читать книгу Eight Inches - Sean Wolfe Fay - Страница 12

“Eat your vegetables, Carlos,” Juan Cortez said through a mouthful of instant potatoes. “You can’t grow up to be big and strong if you don’t eat your green beans.”

That meant he’d had five or maybe six beers. Carlos could tell how much Juan had drunk by his moods. Less than five did not affect him at all; five or six made him feel parental, if not loving; six to ten and he was quietly remembering Richard Norman; ten or more made him violent. He was an easy man to read.

“Yes, Dad.” Carlos tested his ground. Juan did not flinch at the word. Yes, he was in excellent spirits indeed.

“Could I stay over at a friend’s tonight?” Carlos asked as he kept his eyes on his plate until his mother kicked him under the table.

Lydia gave him an aggravated look that seemed to say how do you expect to resolve this if you’re never around? But Carlos figured if it hadn’t been resolved yet, it probably wouldn’t be resolved just because he ate his green beans and stayed home and watched Ugly Betty with his loving family this particular night.

“Honey, I don’t think that’s a good…”

“Sure, go ahead,” Juan finished for his wife. Six beers or not, he still would never turn down a chance to get rid of Carlos so he could spend some quality time with his real family.

“Thank you,” Carlos said, and excused himself from the dinner table.

He went to his room and put on a new pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and his jacket. Tonight he would not need Ricky’s Coke can to stay warm. He still had his forty dollars from the night before. He took ten dollars and put it in his pocket, and then put the rest in his sock-and-underwear drawer.

He walked down Geary Street, but it was only eight o’clock and no one was around. Carlos decided to see a movie to pass some time, and walked to the theater a few blocks down on Van Ness Avenue. By the time the movie was over, Ricky would undoubtedly be out on Geary Street.

Carlos enjoyed the movie a great deal, at least what he saw of it. Halfway through it a young man about twenty-five years old sat in the seat next to him, even though the theater was almost empty. Before long Carlos felt a hand rest on his left knee. He stole a glance at the man next to him and saw that he was staring straight ahead at the screen. But his right hand was not so dormant. It was creeping up Carlos’ thigh. Soon it was rubbing the bulge in his crotch. Carlos was nervous but did not move the hand away, and in seconds the experienced hand had his dick rock hard. His heart was pounding fiercely, and he barely noticed the man on screen being torn in half by two battling dinosaurs.

Then it was ruined. The guy grabbed Carlos’ hand and placed it in his lap. Carlos was shocked to feel the warm, moist skin of a hard cock. He pulled his hand away quickly. The guy removed his hand from Carlos’ lap and resituated his own crotch, then got up and left.

Carlos watched the remainder of the movie with only half-interest. He was still hard and could not concentrate on the story. He began thinking of anything that was ugly in order to make his hardon go away. By the end of the film, he was soft again, and was glad to be out of the dark theater.

He walked down to Supremo’s Pizza and was relieved to find Ricky there.

“Love! What happened to you last night?” Ricky screamed, causing several people to look at them, and causing Carlos to blush.

“I fell asleep.”

“You what? Child, you do not get paid if you fall asleep.”

“After.”

“Oh. So, did you bump?”

“Bump?”

“Did you have sex, honey? Do I have to draw a picture?”

“Yes, I had sex.”

“Another cherry busted!” Ricky yelled happily. “Tell me all about it, Carlos. I want all the sordid details.”

Carlos gave all such details and Ricky listened attentively. When the story was over Ricky gave his congratulations, but began to look around nervously.

“What’s wrong, Ricky? You look a little anxious.”

“Just waiting for a friend. So tell me, did you like it?”

“I don’t really remember how I felt last night, just what I did. But I think I liked it. I sure liked it when I played with myself this morning.”

“Played with yourself? How cute. It’s called jacking off or beating your meat. Whacking off or spanking the monkey. You play with yourself when you are a baby, and from the bulge in your pants, you are definitely no baby.”

Carlos looked down quickly, afraid he hadn’t concealed himself well enough before leaving the theater. He was still a little naive and was a long ways from realizing that eight inches and almost wrist-thick was well above normal for someone his age.

Just then a black Lexus pulled up and Ricky excused himself.

“My friend,” he explained.

Carlos watched as Ricky got into the car and began talking to the driver. Ricky was doing something with his arms and the driver looked around nervously. Then for a brief second, Carlos saw a needle moving toward Ricky’s arm. Ricky handed the driver a couple of bills and got out of the car, coming back to Carlos.

“Why did you do that?” Carlos asked Ricky as he lit a cigarette.

“Want to try it again?” Ricky offered the cigarette to Carlos.

“No.”

“You mean the blow?”

“No. I mean the drugs you just shot into your arm.”

Ricky laughed. “The blow is the dope I just shot into my arm.”

“Then yes, that’s what I mean. The blow.”

“I did it because I wanted to. You object?”

“It just makes me nervous, that’s all.”

“Then don’t watch.”

“Okay, don’t get so upset.”

“All right, then. Just don’t preach to me. I don’t need that shit. What do you say we go get some hot chocolate? There’s a donut shop up the block that’s open twenty-four hours.”

“Sounds good.”

They walked to the donut shop and each bought a cinnamon roll and coffee. Carlos didn’t like the coffee; he would much rather have had the chocolate, but he didn’t want to seem like a child to Ricky again, so he ordered coffee, like Ricky did. When they finished their donuts they walked back to the pizza store. It was eleven o’clock, and the street was alive with its Saturday night traffic.

Ricky was wired from the cocaine and kept dancing out into the street. Carlos was still nervous about being out there, and stayed in the shadow of the doorway. He watched as Ricky danced among the cars parked at the red light and wondered how and why Ricky had grown accustomed to such a life. Probably a drunken father or a sickly mother, he thought.

He saw Ricky leaning into a car and then get inside.

“Be back in an hour,” Ricky yelled to Carlos as the car pulled away.

Suddenly it seemed darker outside, and colder. The cars appeared to be vicious beasts with bright eyes, and the people all had fangs. Even the buildings were squeezing together, wanting to swallow him alive. Carlos pulled himself away from the building with teeth and walked to the curb, then leaned against a lamppost and tried to catch his breath.

“I thought you people only did that in books and movies.”

The voice had snuck up behind him, scaring the hell out of him. Carlos turned around quickly. The voice belonged to a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

“Did what?” Carlos tried to sound calm.

“Lean against a lamppost. If a cop sees you, he’ll bust you for sure.”

“For what? I’m catching my breath.”

“Prostitution.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m a guy, not a girl,” Carlos said haughtily.

“Oh, I noticed all right,” the man said, stealing a glance at Carlos’ crotch. “Boys can be prostitutes, too, you know.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Carlos said distastefully. He had never thought of a guy as a whore, and the thought that he technically could be considered such did not agree with him at all.

“Then what are you doing out here?” the man asked, smiling.

“Waiting for a friend.”

“Me, too. Wanna be my friend?”

“No, thanks.” Carlos turned away, indicating the end of the conversation.

“Your loss,” the man grunted, and walked away.

Carlos’ heart was racing with excitement. His first encounter alone, and he’d actually handled a creep. He mentally patted himself on the back and started thinking about what the man had said. Of course he had been paid for having sex, but that alone did not make him a prostitute, did it? He had seen movies with prostitutes in them, and the terms simply did not apply to him. He wasn’t without parents, he didn’t take drugs, and of course he didn’t have a pimp.

He was about to go back to the donut shop and ponder the question further when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Where you going?” It was Ricky.

“Hi! I thought you said you’d be gone an hour.”

“He just wanted a quickie in the car. I charged him half price. He was cute.”

“Ricky,” Carlos blurted out, “am I a prostitute?”

It caught Ricky completely by surprise, and he broke into an uncontrollable laughter.

“Honey, it’s called a hustler when you’re a guy. A prostitute is a girl, or anything close. You are a hustler, honey. I am a prostitute.”

“Oh.” Carlos still wasn’t exactly sure what Ricky was saying, but decided to let it go.

“Why do you ask, Carlos?”

“Because some man called me a prostitute while you were gone.”

Ricky laughed. “I haven’t been called anything that nice in months.”

Carlos smiled.

“Honey, do you plan on spending a lot of time around here?”

“I don’t know. It kinda scares me.”

“Then, why did you come back here tonight?”

“It’s better than staying at home,” Carlos answered without hesitation.

“I thought so,” Ricky said softly.

“Why do you keep coming back?” Carlos asked.

“It’s better than staying at home,” Ricky answered without hesitation.

“I thought so,” Carlos said softly.