0 comments/ 5688 views/ 2 favorites Tompkins Square By: maxicue Chapter 1 1980. A new decade. A few months, maybe a season, the fall, had come and gone since Clinton Street south of Houston had been busted twice and closed. Where once the diverse underbelly of junkies, the punks and suits, men and women, young and not so young, could line up a block over and wait their turn to dash across Clinton to the door they heard was the one to go to without worries about being arrested or being mugged, heroin and cocaine had splashed with an explosive and, after the second bust, definitive disruption all over the Lower East Side. The little white plasticene packets with their distinctive brand names stamped on them, several more brands then before and somehow leaking out what brand name is best, along with the rolled and flattened aluminum hiding the coke, were now being sold up long dark and scary steps to the third, fifth floor tenement apartments with the slots in the doors through which the transactions were made. Or just milling around on 10th between C and D, out on the street, the stash hidden nearby under a typical alphabet city/east village/lower east side brick row house, the entrance being through the neighboring empty lot and under the house's broken side wall. Joe didn't know his name at the time, but his face was familiar. Jesus figured when the guy came up to him it was a regular, though he dealt his tiny white waxy packets out to many similarly young and gaunt and leather jacketed strangers. Jesus was never good with faces. He was good with types. The punk rock type. He didn't know the guy was named Joe. He'd learn it later at less good times. Times were good now. His brand was obviously favored at the moment and therefore his traffic was particularly brisk. The yellow half sunburst was a pocket full of burning cold hard cash. Despite the subtlety of the stamp (a yellow sun was not easily spotted as it faded well into the white background), it was attracting a lot of attention. The negotiations went around twice before ninety for a bundle of ten was agreed, though Joe had hoped for a second free dime for his work. A quick touch of hands was enough to palm the exchange. Adrenaline is a given when you are walking up through Alphabet City with a hand loaded with illicit drugs, that is, a load to make one loaded. Luckily, and at the moment Joe was feeling like he was on the lucky side of things, he only had a couple of blocks to go to deliver the shit. The street market of dope peddlers quickly retreated behind him a block back, unbeknownst to them. One or two stragglers passed him by as they as nonchalantly as possible and in their thin way like the wind was just tossing them around the corner and down 10th, headed over to where he had just been. Another block passed and the stoop dwellers and the passers-by had other agendas. People out savoring the last of an Indian summer before the cold blasted through. A block along Tompkins Square Park he caught sight at the right peripheral vision of dog walkers and other pedestrians along with semi-permanent residents, living outdoors in the square, and drug peddlers of a different tact, selling other sorts of drugs, probably mostly counterfeit, from the green benches lining the crisscross pathways. Around the corner was his destination. A peculiar building, short and stout and housing only two apartments, one per floor. He pressed the button labeled 2. Once being thought it could be a local workout spot for the gentry just down the road (behind the war torn 10th Street where Joe had just copped stood new brownstone row houses, owned by new money, colorfully painted and clean, with garages within the walls). Some money spectacled real estate smart ass must have thought the 9th Street location for a Yuppie gym was ideal. But the guy couldn't bring the parties to the table he had thought; probably when the potential backers finally eyeballed the spot and the desperation surrounding it, and sold it off to a contract law clown swimming in enough money to be looking for a little in the loss column to flatten out his taxes. His brilliant idea/ideal was a loft space for the rich bohemians he knew haunted the broken down and busted East Village looking for inspiration or injection. The lawyer didn't care which. He got a kick out of handling these foundlings from wealthy homes who were rich enough to have the time enough to do some good art downtown. He didn't care what art. He loved all art. That's why he lived in the city (or at least an apartment during the week, having a house upstate in Croton-on-Hudson for the weekends). Although rocknroll was the art that gave him the least appeal, it was the art made by the current residents of Apartment #2. One current resident, Ned, had a long leash well embedded with jewels from his father's investment endeavors. An allowance of thousands per month allowed his choice of luxury. Playing rocknroll. Getting stoned. Hanging out. Young and tall and blond pretty, he was also tough, big and strong for such a pampered kid. He had found his niche and had the cool to grow there and connect with his passions. His luxuries. Despite the absence of his roommate, the former resident and compatriot and boyfriend/lover and equally beautiful boy back to Boston, things were good at the moment. Ned's current gig was cool, playing bass behind one of the great punk rockers, the infamous Leopard. The lead guitarist of the late great Rigids, giving great rocknroll and great stage shows, laying on the make up to give the green glow of ugliness where it could be found in his face and watching his singer hang himself twice a night and a downtown legend what with his loud clown clothes and bright orange hair and his screaming fits across bars with his life mate Leopard once Leopold and Safari once Sophie Tool once O'Toole, here was the Leopard himself getting high with Ned, or at least waiting to do so, waiting for the stiff brick, always dependable Joe to return with the stuff. Joe was such a serious boy. That made him an oddity in the rocknroll world of oddities; of freaks the audience gets a kick out of seeing. Joe was the most trustworthy junky Leopard had ever met. Knowing he was the one copping was an extra salve of optimism during the shaky wait for one's money to become drugs and there he is. Ned rose from the floor to buzz him in. It definitely was a good day. Ned provided Joe with a new set of works. His had gone the way of all needles, dull point and filthy. There was nothing like a virgin needle to make a good shot. It was a good day. He dropped the cotton fresh made from the now non-filtered cigarette dangling from his mouth. And dangling from his left biceps was the bright red plastic tie, a harsh but true tourniquet. As usual raising the proper vein was a snap. He had always had good veins and the amount of pricks they had experienced was far less then the abundance of tracks his good friend Johnny had made into lines of thick skinned calluses nearly impossible to penetrate despite the capped hills on his hands wherein the cap is a hopeful guide to lead the needle to the blood flow below. The rush when the tip connected to the vein at the elbow hollow was provided by Ned (a remarkably generous fellow that day) with a few grains of fine Peruvian flake. The chemical concoction taste hit his mouth, and he savored it. Even more he savored the roll of a rush, a dull warm rush that swept through his body to his toes. And even the little itches, especially at his nose, which followed behind the rush, were worth the taste. It was a lucky day. It was a good day. ************ Ever the reasonable one, Joe had saved enough of the second packet of half sun to pick him up that late afternoon before going to work. It lifted him there. It got him through the night. A slow night of waiting on tables (mostly waiting for customers) had brought him the bare minimum of cash for the long night into morning before he could legitimately (so to speak) score again. He had enough for a bagel with a schmeer of cream cheese across it and a regular coffee and a couple of drinks at the after hours club. He'd still have enough for a couple dime bags. The morning sun scratched away at the gentle yet fearful blanket of darkness while scratching at Joe's nighttime eyes. He gingerly entered the street for his connection. Sometimes, like the day before, it's there. But often it's a waiting game. Like that day. The chill wind swept up through the buildings, freezing away the sanity of loose talk and laughter of street life until a quiet stillness framed a stiff rock like marble or granite tableau that whipped through Joe's body like a stinging swarm of insanity bearing ...what? God? Gods bearing pee shooters of adulterated angst coasting, surfing the currents of air and aiming with the currents in mind all over Joe's face and his hands and through his coat and pants. In the enemy hour, these were the times to wait. Jesus had nothing to offer, empty palms awaiting fulfillment. Too bad Joe was too early. "Where can I go? Do I look like I belong here?" Joe thought. He stood hanging on that thought, hanging at the edge of the concrete, leaning over the curb, acting the child at play. As he twisted at his ankle a gentle and not crippling twist, the slight pain a brief distraction, he looked up into Jesus' eyes and there found a laugh brimming, the smile lifting up tight at the corners. Was he the fool, the drunken stoned junkie fool? "What the fuck you doing man?" A Latino lilt to his speech dampened down by a certain need for quiet and the Manhattan cool that worked to subdue it by letting it slide out the side of the mouth. Joe wasn't good at being mocked. It reminded him of the time up in college when he was wasted on acid and at his lowest and he was taunted by the large handsome black man also named Joe. Quickly and quietly taunted but enough for him to feel impotent, unable to defend his pride. "Look, you want to cop. You're alright, right?" Joe always felt, despite the many misadventures, that he was alright. "Okay. Go over to that building," pointing to the apartments on the other side of the empty lot. "Up to the third floor, 306, and let them know...Tell you what." Jesus paused to reassure himself. He decided it was a good idea. "Let me show you." Jesus began walking away, towards the apartment building leaving Joe behind. "It's cool man. Come on." Joe was frozen and then he cracked open and pursued the quick Jesus. Jesus if he could would slap himself in the back for his cunning. Let Lani see what a buffoon this skinny white junkie is and Jesus must glow beside this nonentity. It was early enough, before school started. And lo and behold after the knock and the reply to "Who?" when Mr. Martinez opened up, there sat, just as he had imagined, chewing up her cereal, the radiant creature of his passion, Lani. "'Zus, hello, who's this?" asked the gentle small plump man with sad eyes and a breathy voice neither too high nor too low. "Hi Mr. Martinez. Hi Lani. The guy's cool," Jesus was on the edge of self-deprecation, thinking how dumb he was not to at least catch the client's name. And there sat Lani and her mystical smile watching the near slip up, the fuck up. She had, in her own shy way, been turned away, averting her face from his but then at the most inopportune moment raising it up and seeing him. Really seeing him. "Joe," said Joe. She looked at Joe and when their eyes met.... Was Joe a ladies man? If girls in their late teens qualify as lady material. And to him it had. Despite or through his density he had made love to girls and had girls in which he shared love for a period of time and he took them seriously, as seriously as himself. These were women whom he could have quiet conversation easing themselves into morning after they had attacked each other and penetrated each other. And it tore him apart when they left. Or, though less, when he left. The key to the lack of longevity and the painful surprise of the split was the density of his silly little brain. He just didn't listen. Not enough. Never enough. Did they? He was too dense to notice if they did or not. What it was was sex and without the sex there wasn't...anything? Nothing to which one would be interested enough to listen. Being young and just finding out how luscious pleasure can be can become an obsession. During his life in New York, the two years he had so far survived there, he had known no women for any stretch of time. Flings might be an apt word. Though lusty and exciting, like floating above reality on a carpet of flesh that breathed and lunged, giving pleasure, they were not near enough to the soulful ground dwelling love to have much resonance. Not meant to last. Such is pleasure. But the thing was he hadn't pursued it and he wasn't so hot pursuing it anyway. Accidental in his mad dash over thousands of seconds, mundanely tripping over the sublime moment, a naked tumble, and the feet callused from all that time stumbling naked through life, Joe slipped by his sexual moments without noticing. He looked into her eyes. They were a stranger's eyes. But... Lani had a need for control as tight as Joe's. Very seldom were the times in which she could be found bowing down to the Goddess of Lust. Once it had nearly raped her, which gave her an even tighter rein. She knew of Jesus' lust. She felt his desire. It warmed her, but, despite his gentlemanly gestures, which she found amusing, she sensed his anger and the pride he took in it. It's what broke him down. She knew girls who envied his lust for her, who resented it and her refusal of it, deciding she was stuck up and that's what characterized and ostracized her at school. Such marginality could hurt, and it did in the sense that she felt it betrayed her goodness and intelligence and clear headed awareness, but she found the marginal ones a small but accepting and trustworthy group. Mostly trustworthy. Wasn't it one of them who lured her into his lair, his madness, who went psychotic when she succumbed to his dark charms? Yes his playing the bass and his low singing were ultimately lascivious, and she let these seductions enter inside her and thrill her. Was it the body drug, the inhaled pheromone that switched it on? Or the exquisite touch of lips and tongues? Or his too quick touch at the warm gap at the center of her hips hidden by pantyhose and panties but still making contact, not pleasantly, a slap and a stab wrapped up together startling her, making conscious again the briefly lapsed control. Out of it she learned her power. He attacked with an unequivocal ferocity and strength of a large cat, and she defended herself admirably and unequivocally. She made him understand she was no quick catch and would never be his catch. Jesus understood one thing about his relationship with Lani. She would be a wonderful wife and mother to their children. It was his one best hope for good in this lousy world. Sure, she was pretty and would always be, just like her mother. And like her mother she had slightly narrow hips, not exactly child-bearing hips, but were lovely and her mother's hips had provided enough room for three healthy, lovely children whom she nurtured. Sure, just as any top man in a successful gang was expected to enjoy the luscious pleasure of hot, sexy, beautiful girls who flaunted their shape and movement for his benefit, his cock was not to be exclusive to her. His heart would be and was. Lani sometimes, in the silence of her lonely room, would think of Jesus and wonder if she was mad. The boy was gorgeous. He was charming and disarming. She was comfortable with him even though she knew it couldn't last. His friendship was all ulterior motives. Hers was not at all. But why not? Outside the fantasy room, when Jesus lived physically in front of her, she would look into him and find a glint speaking passages to her. Those passages led to clever plans for her, her conquest and then others. There was a loss of integrity in that glint. She wanted all of a man. Not him. The one in which to exclusively share a life. Together. Their eyes met. He could have sat down. This was a gracious room. They would have offered breakfast. Joe realized how much he reeked of a day at work and drink, with a touch of the drunk and a tad of a jones and maybe a forgotten to him but apparent to those nearby bit of fecal material or uric acid or just good old b.o. reeking in his wake and declined before being offered. She watched intently as Joe did his business with her father. Joe felt those eyes and wanted to share his with hers and have words with her and get to know her. It wasn't a right time. Would this funny ironic odd and surprising moment pass away to nothing more perhaps than a happy new way to cop? He hoped not. She hoped not. Did they know they shared this? He hoped so. She hoped so. But it was okay for both that it was a short first meeting. The only one disappointed was Jesus. He didn't suspect the sudden alliance between his girl and the Mericone Joe. He was embarrassed he brought Joe up for just two bags. Mr. Martinez didn't care. Lani didn't care. Jesus decided Joe was even more of an embarrassment than he even thought possible. He resented it. It put Jesus in a bad light for Mr. Martinez and his daughter. Disrespect. When Jesus got angry, he got jittery. It wasn't hard to tell there was a short fuse burning. Mr. Martinez got the dope bundles for Jesus and nearly pushed him out the door. The mild mannered persona has its advantages. Once Jesus was gone, Joe made his exchange, adding another ten. He'd have to wait for supper until the next evening's free meal at his place of employment, and he'd be bumming smokes from his roommates or mixing up and rolling up the old guts of the cigarette carcasses laying in wait for such poor times, but he gained three more dimes with just the one ten. The advantage of no middleman. He liked the advantage. After one more glance into pretty Lani's deepest brown and richest touchstone eyes and falling further inside them, Joe slipped out. The cold wind still swept away the sidewalk of any apparent bystanders. It was early. Soon the peddlers would appear ghostlike, materialize and then dematerialize and so would their customers. Despite the cold air, the wind did not block his way or push him along. It mostly pushed him sideways when he entered an avenue. He would hop-skip through it and return to his slow gait. He wanted what was pressed in his hands and hidden in the jacket pocket. Something was suffusing that need with calm. It was near Avenue A when the slow gait became effective. Lani had caught up to him. They hit the wind together and it made each of them twice as strong against it. They made it to 11th Street before they began their conversation, which would never quite end. "Hi," spoke Lani shyly. "Hi," returned Joe. He had been thinking it would have been nice to take her about her shoulder with his right arm when they had done battle with the wind. She wouldn't have minded. "Going my way?" "Guess so," she replied, delighted that the conversation had some legs. "School's a couple blocks down on 12th." "School? Around here?" "High School. P.S. 35." "The bag of books should have clued me in. Tough school?" "What do you mean? Challenging? No. Pretty easy." "Yeah. It's true most everywhere. Slide you through quick as they can to vacate a seat for the next dumb fool. Not to say you're a dumb fool...I bet you're smart enough to learn something there...Me, I was the dumb fool." "It's tough not to be the dumb fool." "They give you a hard time? I guess what I meant by tough." "Yeah." "I'd have to say it was different for me. My friends, my little clique, mostly scored high. I never much did and didn't much care. Didn't see the point I guess of putting effort into it. Didn't see the results. Didn't see why. It was a smart little suburb to which the school belonged, full of professionals, professors, doctors, engineers. The expectation was to create a continuum. More of the same, maybe even better. More money. I didn't buy in and haven't yet. I haven't had the reason or necessity for study made apparent yet." Tompkins Square "To me it's simple. More simple than for you. But the same. Except in a different way. The opposite. I'm doing what one's not expected to do, succeed, and by doing so, like you, it's a means of escape. I want to go to college. I don't know what for quite yet. I do know it won't be here." "Outside here?" "Outside the city." "Don't like it here?" "What's to like? Gotta go..." They stood in front of her school. "I like you," Joe said, responding boldly to her essentially rhetorical question. "When's school let out?" She let him know. He liked the answer. He would have a couple hours before he had to work. By the time he got home it was late. He quickly forgot himself in the damp reflection of the spoon where the white powder disappeared into the dampness with a gentle shake. But it was only the most rudimentary boost to the system that had that much need to be boosted. The darkness, blind sleep, nestled there beside where powerful daylight ringed the shade, reams of sun shafting out the sides through the bedroom. No heat in it. The sun carried no heat that day. The alarm let Joe know he had little time to clean up, dress and go. It would have to be a fast walk downtown to make his appointment. But he had to make himself presentable. Even with the late fall like cool air he knew he needed to be unexpected that day so he dressed up like going to a dance or opening night. All he had was the black cotton tux jacket and his plastic red tie and his one white dress shirt he always set aside. The black jeans were not an option but were presentable enough and the sneakers were as much a part of the quotidian uniform as were the jeans. Despite all else that might change the black jeans and white gym socks and whatever the newest shade of sneaker was that fit when he got them: black, white, blue, purple, peach, whatever, at the moment black, would always be on out there on the street. An even faster form of the Manhattan walk had him breezing cross-town to 12th and 1st. He got there as school let out and saw all the youth only 2, 3, 4 years younger but seeming childlike somehow, pouring out the double doors, cascading around the steps which split the crowd East and West. He planted himself across the street to get the best vantage point. Eyes touching on every face strained through the flow like looking for that perfect thing he always wanted in the midst of a hundred similar objects. Finally she emerged alone among the crowd. While others paired or trioed or ganged up together, with their myriad conversations a crackle of enmeshed spears dancing through the late afternoon shadows, she silently clutched a notebook to her chest, the rest of her school books hanging loosely off the back of her left shoulder. At the moment in which she began her descent from the school down to the street, she spotted him. She had shyly hoped to see this strange, interesting man there, but didn't want to be too disappointed. She wanted to be cool with it, but hope did rock her at her heartbeat. When she looked up at this tall thin man and their eyes met, her face radiated a smile lacking in self-consciousness. Who was this lanky, sexy, gentle man? Who was this person, this lovely soft, shiny skinned creature whom he loved? He rocked towards her, stopping himself from springing across the street embracing as if he was greeting her at the airport gate as she emerged from the ramp and through the door after not seeing her, not embracing her for too long and needed immediately to end that time. And it was like that except the time away from such an embrace was infinite. He stood his ground. She crossed to it, invisible wings lightening her steps. "Hi." "Hi." They exchanged nervous "Hi's" They stared into each other's eyes and laughed simultaneously. No test of wills here. A testimonial to their comfort in spontaneity. The laugh relaxed them, channeling the excitement at the heart into a warm, effervescent flow spreading out to the fingers where they exchanged touches and tingles, and down to the lowest chakra, where it warmed and brewed. The finger touch was brief yet transcendental. "Are you heading home?" asked Joe. "No," she replied assertively. "How about we go for a soda." "A soda?" "Ice cream soda." Amidst the suet covered store fronts, making little assertions of their purpose: tables of greasy nuts and bolts attended by matching greasy outfits of men sitting back and still and trying to blend into the suet walls behind them, leaning back into them, there was a beacon shining out from a clean window and an ancient but clean counter beckoned them inside. A chocolate cake in a glass cake saver hovered near their two seats. Through the dark avenue blocks, walking straight East from the school on 12th Street, taking the corner at Avenue B, ringing the bell as they entered the door, an appealing peal of welcome, they were inside and seated and awaiting the sharing of a chocolate ice cream soda (not chocolate ice cream, vanilla, but chocolate sauce and the soda rich with dark and creamy bubbles making a mighty delicious crest inside the tall thick fluted soda glasses). "Can I ask you a question?" she asked. "Of course." "It's about irony." "Irony?" "Yeah. It's for my literature class," she said as she paged through the notebook she had clutched to her chest out on the street. "You like literature?" "Yeah. It was my favorite subject. But I wasn't much good at the irony angle." "You read Mark Twain?" "Sure." "So we got this topic," she found the topic written in her book and recites it, "The ironic gaze of Mark Twain regarding the Adventures of Tom Sawyer." "Pretty advanced stuff." "So what's your definition?" "Irony?" he asked and she nodded. "A twist on what appears to be there which gives another and more meaningful and often humorous glimpse at what's really going on." "Complicated." "Yeah. Hard to define. That's a hard question for a high school class." "It's for college. It's for a college class I'm sitting in on." "Still hard." "Yeah." "Focus, that's the key to writing papers. Find one passage with maybe one or two others if needed and analyze it for irony. How long is..." "Five pages." Joe noticed the time. "I gotta go." He dropped a couple bills on the counter, the last of his money. "I'll see you tomorrow." "Okay," she said with a smile. She wanted him to say that. "Bye," she said as he set off the bells over the door and was gone. Joe made good tips for a Wednesday, which helped, having Thursday off. He was on his game, with a touch of cheer caused by the permanent grin planted on his face. One he hoped would continue and perhaps grow as time went on. He figured on tomorrow being his first date with Lani. During the few lapses of business, he contemplated the possibilities. Though he came up with a few possibilities, he decided to give her first crack at it. He couldn't wait to see her. He was glad nobody else was interested in going out. He would have said no. He went home after a quick nosh and slept the sleep of the innocent. *********** Indian summer was blown away by the chill of wind channeled down the avenues. Winter was busting forth and dispersing his connection. Joe searched the street. No friendly face welcomed him. Too early, no. It was the afternoon. Too damn cold more likely. He would have to network. Find a replacement sight he didn't know yet. Then he saw the old man, Lani's father. He was nearing the entrance stoop to his row house, walking briskly and bent. Joe walked towards him. "Mr. Martinez!" Joe said loudly enough that a trace of his voice could be heard by the man before it had completely blown away. Martinez stopped and looked up at him. After a careful glance, Lani's father smiled. "Met you yesterday," Martinez said in his well-seasoned Nuyorican accent. Joe smiled and nodded. "Come on up," he smiled, which seemed to blow away when he spied a tan unmarked police car creeping around the corner and towards them. "Come on," he hurried Joe through the outer door and up the steps. Martinez's quiet, tall, pretty wife, looking like a matured version of Lani, poured a couple bowls of chicken soup. When Joe sipped from his bowl, it warmed him down to his frigid toes. Martinez even shared with Joe the warmth of the oven baking bread for supper. "This is perfect. Hits the spot. And the apartment is lovely," said Joe to Mrs. Martinez. And it was true. Despite its origination as the same old railroad style configuration Joe knew well from living in one for over a year before moving into his apartment looking over 14th Street, there was a warmth and softness, a homey quality he had never experienced in such places. And it smelled good too. The bread baking, the spicy soup, the cleanliness. "Thank you. Very kind of you to say," she replied. Martinez seemed nervous as he glanced through the edge of the drapes down at the street. "What can I get you?" He asked. "I was looking for a deck," Joe answered. "Here," handing him ten tiny envelopes bundled together with a rubber band. "Listen," Mr. Martinez continued, very agitated. "Do as I say. Go into the hall bathroom. Make it smell like a fresh one if you can. A couple minutes. You hear some guy getting let in to my apartment. Go soon after that. A couple minutes in there and go." He pushed Joe out and shut and locked the door. Joe obeyed, entered the toilet and thought about doing it there. Shooting up the primo street stuff that Martinez was selling. It was damned tempting, and was a little too crazy. The scene was edgy to say the least, with that worst component, at least when Joe was on the wrong side of the law as he was then, the police were intruding. He kept his works hidden, stashed in his jacket lining and let himself have a good crap. As good a crap as a couple minutes provided. And he was out the door and down the steps and gone. "What's wrong?" Tina asked her best friend Lani between bites of the barely edible lunch in the school cafeteria. She had never seen Lani so distracted. "I'm fine," Lani said. "You're not high or something?" asked Tina. Lani looked at Tina seriously. "You know me better that that." "Not like this." "I'm...just...happy." "I've seen you happy." "Have you?" Lani said seriously, staring into her friend's eyes. Then they laughed. "I've seen you have a good time." "I've had a good time with you." "I hope so." "Of course. But happy?" "What is it? A boy you actually like?" Tina asked. Lani barely nodded. "Yeah? Who?" "You don't know him." "And you?" asked Tina. "Do you know him?" "Not yet. I hope to." Silence. Tina looked concerned at her friend. "Don't look at me like that," Lani said. "He's nice. I think you'd like him. You don't need to protect me, Tina. I'm not some innocent little girl. I'm all grown up." Just growing up was what Lani thought in the silence at the end of their lunch, reentering her distraction. She didn't notice the food she forked in and chewed, which was a good thing. She was young enough to have this feeling, this stimulating thrill at the thought of being in Joe's company, as her first experience with a lusty, all encompassing love for a man. "Earth to Lani," said Tina. "Never mind. Let's go. Bell's gonna ring." The rattling excitement stayed with Joe until his arrival at his apartment long street blocks away. He hadn't thought about the money until he searched his pockets for his keys and found the roll of cash still there. He thought better of trying to return it to Martinez right away. He had a couple of roommates panting for his arrival if nothing else. He would be noble enough not to mention the screw up. He knew his roommates would want the money back. To have their drug money double in value would thrill them no end, or at least another day when it was spent and the pursuit of cash would quickly return. He would stop by later at the gracious Martinez home. Once back inside his large apartment, he was surprised to see John, or as the public knew him Johnny Fire. The man was a punk rock legend, one of the progenitors. He gave the movement a rock steady base, simple and enthralling, to which to set all other mayhem on top. No one quite got to Johnny's level of simple power, though many tried for years after his legacy began. John was a good friend, which, besides being a feather in Joe's cap, was a joy. Joe liked John's sly sense of humor and his shiny eyes which always revealed a great deal of heart. He hadn't seen John for a few weeks. It was good to see him. Joe could tell John wanted to talk in the way his eyes looked when they acknowledged each other. Business first, since the full compliment of roommates was impatiently awaiting the dope. He dealt out the pack, and they all tore off to their sanctuaries to tear open their prizes. Four went to Mark and Gracie, the married couple in the first room, and three went to Izzy, living in the adjoining room. Joe, who had lived in this space the longest, managed to end up with the large room down the hall, kept the last three packets for his own use. Before Gracie filled up her water glass from the sink tap in the bathroom she told Joe why John was there. "John knows a new spot and was out collecting. I told him we were waiting on you." She quickly filled up the glass and darted into her and Mark's room. "Sorry," Joe said. John shrugged. After getting himself some fresh water he slipped into his bedroom. "Come on in." John followed him. John watched him set up the shot, pouring two bags into the spoon. Joe drew up a little more than half of the liquefied heroin, impaled a vein and sent it inside. "Want some?" Out of nowhere emerged a kit with a set of works that John extracted, and he made the kit vanish. He sucked up the dope water as thoroughly as possible, filling the narrow tube with the clear liquid. Tapping and squeezing out the pockets of air, he handed his works to Joe. Now came the hard part. Finding a vein through the callused arms. Luckily he found a hill that successfully bought him to a vein. He pushed in the plunger, and John let out a low soft sigh. "How you been?" asked Joe. "Fine, Joe." "Good to see you." "You too." "Can I ask you something, John?" "Shoot." "Well, it's about this girl..." "You're asking the wrong guy about girls. Can't figure the fuckers out." "It's not like that. It's a whole thing," Joe began, trying to assemble his thoughts. "First off she's young. Still in high school. But mature I think. Smart. And she's Puerto Rican." "You like the hot blooded type?" said John in his cracked actor way, at once humorous, almost caustic, and at the same time concerned, compassionate, interested. But always cool. "She's quiet. Hot blooded. I hope so. Maybe not though. And she's the daughter of my connection." "Wow. That's a dark place to go." "But it's not like that. She's a charm. Her dad's a nice guy. The family's nice." "Man. I don't know. That's a whole 'nother place." "But do you think I gotta chance with all that maybe riding against it. Her age and where's she's from. I don't see it in my heart, but I guess it seems so foreign to me, I don't get so hooked in by a girl as she is hooking me in." "A hooker, huh," said John, laughing. "Fuck you," said Joe, and meant it. But he knew John could take it. Better than he could take John's barbs sometimes. What are friends for? "No, fuck her," said John, meaning it's what Joe wants. "I'd like to snuggle up to that long dark body and stare into her lovely eyes and just have a pleasurable coast through a night." "Not likely with her young and living at home." "Yeah..." ************ They were finally seated. The first date had begun. Good Jewish Deli food. Closest Joe could find to a deli like the ones at home. The partitioning of space gave some privacy, corners without a lot of commotion around them. The Second Avenue Deli was one of the nicer restaurants in the East Village. Perhaps abnormally nice. Lani had never been. "So this is where the other half lives," said Lani as she eased herself onto the booth couch, settling in. The complexion was universally white except maybe the dishwasher in the back. The place made Joe a little uncomfortable, too. Confused. He blended in but he didn't. Seemed like old news. His head was not at all connected to the old days when he scooped dishes off tables in such a place. Had he ever fit in? Joe looked across the wide table and smiled. "Yeah. Bourgeois kid. Brought up in professional's houses in the suburbs." Joe looked over the menu. "Want me to order for you?" "Sure, but let's have an ice cream soda for desert." "Share one?" "Sure." He ordered corned beef on rye for the both of them. They nibbled on the kosher pickles swimming in brine in the silver bowl. So far it had been a quiet date. "I used to work in a place like this, except it was out in the suburbs. Last I heard it was torn down to make room for an even bigger highway. So yeah, this is where the other half lived," said Joe. "It's like being in some white guy's view of the world," said Lani. "You want to go?" "Course not, silly. It's very nice." All there was was glances. Nothing said between them as they gobbled up the sandwiches. Or, to be more precise, what was said was silence was okay. They were learning about each other. Studying. Mostly at the eyes, looking into the soul. Seeing the sadness and the intelligence. Seeing the sexiness and making the lowest chakra warm and expand and throb. Seeing into the soul was so attractive neither one studied the other physically. The eyes were the thing. So what they didn't notice then was they had transformed. When Joe looked at Lani or vice versa from then on they looked at their lover, the most intimate person in their lives. A subtle shift of reality that they wouldn't have ever noticed anyway had they looked away from their eyes. When the ice cream soda arrived, Joe moved himself over to sit beside Lani. Norman Rockwell must have felt a need for copyright infringement when they touched faces for the first time at the ice cream soda while sucking up the rich foaming liquid through their straws. Looking at each other and laughing, they settled back against the cushioned rest. His arm had ended up around her. When he leaned down to kiss her, his hand slid gently along her soft cheek. Touching lips was but a whisper to the full voice they wanted. They soon were open to tongues playing back and forth and were pressed firmly together. His hands moved down to her torso to discover the softness of her skin beneath her dark red cotton dress. Not loose, but soft skin. He moved his hand down further until he took hold of her pelvis and slid her closer. She began touching him also first at the cheek. After feeling the side of his mouth and all the action of their dueling tongues, she brought her other hand up to push him away from her lips. Keeping hold of his face, she stared back into those rich blue eyes full of sass and sadness in equal doses. The second kiss, when she attacked his lips with full force, was noticed by a grumpy old white man in a suit who mumbled his disgust. Noticing the mumble, Joe said a little loudly, "Mind your own business." Lani just laughed. "I'll call my dad," she said with a smile, racing off to the public phone with her purse. "Uh," was all Joe could say, since she was quickly out of earshot. He was stunned. Did that mean she was going to stay over or that she wanted a couple more hours? Did she really want him as much as he wanted her? Her eyes were damp, nearly leaking tears when she returned. "Let's go," she said. Joe grabbed the bill and, after leaving a decent gratuity, darted off behind Lani to the counter and soon outdoors. They swooped around the corner. When she stopped, Joe was flung two arms lengths past. His was a clumsy stop but he quickly recovered. He twirled her, flung her out and back into his arms so her butt was pushed against his crotch. She felt his hardness as he held her pelvis against it. Leaning her head back, they kissed. Turning around, she hopped up, wrapping her legs around his waist to push her hot throbbing pussy against one proof of his attraction to her. The other proof continued at their lips and tongues. Tompkins Square When she slid down, rubbing her panty clad pussy lips down his leg, she stood before him. She glanced up and down his body, stopping briefly at his tented pants, before settling into the usual place. His eyes. "So where to?" she asked. "What about..." "Shh. Where to?" "14th and 7th." She pulled him in that direction, but he soon caught up and they walked hand in hand, side by side. It was a long walk, crosstown, made even longer by the several stops to kiss and hug. Nothing was said. Just laughs, generated by nothing except joy at the moment, footsteps, breathing and kisses. The kisses were actually silent to everyone but them. To them those were the loudest moments of all. Finally, Joe unlocked the door and waved Lani inside. She glanced nervously, always wary of apartments, but it seemed welcoming enough. But the pause was long enough for Joe to notice. They entered simultaneously with an uncomfortable squeeze. They laughed as they popped into the room. A finger against his mouth and a shush quieted her down. He scanned the scene and saw they were alone. He bowed subtly to the god of fortune. Not that he disliked his roommates. On the contrary. What was most pleasant to avoid was any of the complexities of interaction. At the moment, interacting with Lani was enough. Was in fact intoxicating. He showed her the apartment, eventually leading her to the black door to the toilet, which she needed to use. As if he couldn't understand separation, he stood in the doorway still clutching her hand. She smiled and laughed and called him a silly boy and closed the door on his face. "Just keep following the hall. Can't miss my room," said Joe through the door. He hurried into his room and tossed together the mess as much as he could in the five minutes it took her to emerge from the toilet and rejoin him. After tossing her jacket on a chair he pointed to, she stood before him. Fresh face, beautiful soft face. She had undone a couple buttons on her dress, opening up her chest and the duel swells which led to her young breasts still hidden beneath the bodice. "I love this room. So much space," she said, twirling around by way of proof. The twirl brought her backwards again into Joe's arms. He lifted her up and walked them back to the old, beat up, street detritus arm chair, which was nevertheless quite comfortable. She leaned back for a kiss while his long fingers slid down her thighs, naked and warm, then up across her tummy to rest just touching the swell of her breasts. Her small hands took his big hands, not to push them away, but so they could share her undressing. Both her and his fingers got busy undoing her front. Once all the buttons were undone, his hand slid inside to cup her breast still held in the dark red silky bra. He could feel the softness of skin and the buoyancy of the lovely round handful of flesh. A strength was felt, a proud handful, which he knew made the bra a bit redundant. Her breasts could hold their own against gravity. His fingertips danced across the hardened nipples, causing her to sigh and push down against his firm hardness she felt between her thighs. Breaking the kiss, she turned herself around in his lap. They kissed again as they began fumbling with his shirt buttons. Once his torso was naked, she raised up enough to pull her dress over her head and fling it aside. Her panty clad nether lips put pressure on his still imprisoned hardness as her arms encircled his neck and pulled his chest into hers. The first meeting of flesh on flesh stirred the heat of their lust. Surprising in their dexterity, his fingers unclipped the bra at the back. The lovely lingerie joined her dress on the floor. His glance lingered over her dark, smooth skin, the way it flared out to two lovely dark points, the way it flared in along the sides to gently flare out to her waist. She pressed her naked swollen nipples against his chest, the rocking of her pelvis sliding them all around his long lean muscles there. Unsaddling from his crotch, she stood before him in her glory. Except for her dark red panties, he could see all of her. He could see the strength in her shoulders, but like him she had lean muscles. As predicted her breasts hung proudly. Her stomach was a little pronounced, a touch of softness to her belly. Her waist was a subtle curve rounding out to the pelvis which narrowed to the thighs down her sinuous legs, a little short but their lanky nature gave them an illusion of more length, narrowing down to her petite feet. Taking both hands in hers, she lunged back to give weight to her lifting him from the chair. She led him to the edge of the bed where she sat before him. The prize was struggling beneath her hands, which had not felt it yet, but were busy making it appear. She unbuckled his pants, undid and unzipped them while he tossed aside his shirt. Her first sight of it was the head and a couple inches of shaft were poking through the leg of his jockeys. She stared at the purple head as it shifted and expanded and the pale pink and blue shaft. The thing looked bigger than she thought, and she hadn't yet seen all of it. Underwear was pulled down and off. And there it was bouncing playfully before her. A cock. A man's full-fledged penetrating machine, ready to do its damage. Joe's cock. Except for her, the center of his universe. At first she was tentative with her touches. She felt its heat. She enjoyed its surprising softness, its pliability, the way the skin slipped over its rigidity. She pressed her fingertip into the smooth, giving head. His sighs made her explore the head some more. Her fingers gently encircled it. When they rubbed down, again he sighed. Her rubbing motion was definitely affecting him. Watching it slide through her fingers, she missed his smile, but she heard the laugh. "What's so funny?" she asked, looking away from the fascinating flesh pole and into his eyes. "Am I doing something wrong?" "I won't break, darling Lani." "Huh?" "You can press a lot harder." "Oh." "Have you..." "Ssh," she said gently. Lying back in the bed, she removed her panties and opened herself up to him. The tangle of dark hair crowned her moist pinkish, brownish red opening, perfuming the air with her liquid lust. Crawling over her thigh, he laid his body over her. The tip of his long lean penis struck her labia, making her tremble with surprise, before it rested against her pubic bone. Joe mashed it down along her slit. His face was a few inches above hers. He studied her face. He wanted to be sure. She smiled and stuck out her tongue. Mouths met again, her tongue slipping between his lips. She wanted his penis to do the same thing between her lower lips. Instead he was moving down. The cock head moved across the pussy lips. A thigh beneath him moved enough to feel the heat and texture of his thickness as it continued downwards. Meanwhile his lips kissed one of her dark brown nipples. His tongue licked it, feeling the texture of its hardness, and the excited tissue of her small areola. His fingers caressed them. When his lips squeezed her nipple and sucked, she contorted herself and groaned. Massaging her breasts with his hands, his lips took hold of her other nipple. Again she contorted, rubbing her thigh hard against his cock. After tongue lashing her breasts for a few minutes, he moved down across her incredibly soft tummy, tickling her navel with its tip. Fingers continued tugging at her nipples, caressing the areola. Feeling her tense up when the journey became clear to her, his head heading dangerously close to her pussy lips, he paused. He looked up. Eyes connected. His smile was infectious. She settled down and smiled back. The journey began again. Instead of attacking her hot lower mouth, he kissed her soft black pubic hair and slid himself down to her thighs. His hands came down with him, stopping to caress everywhere around but not on or inside those swollen lips. The tongue tickled her beneath her knees. The giggles and the pulling away of her knee only brought more tickles. Eventually the tongue was moving up. Pushing in the sensitive area of her inner thigh, it closed in on its destination. Fingers were also closing in. Moving her pelvis around to catch a fingertip or better yet a tongue proved unsuccessful. But looking into the tender beckoning mouth, and the odor of pleasure his nearby nose sensed, spurred him to strike. He tickled the space between her pussy and the top of her thighs. His fingers took hold at the edges of her labia, pulling her open to the cool air in the room. His tongue sank in to her pleasure hole and circled the insides. He expected to be greeted by a slick flow of her juices, but she was only marginally wet. His tongue kept circling, searching her depths. Her groans began to be steady and deepen. More of her fluid made slicker her passageway. He sent a finger inside to explore further. His mouth lifted up enough for his lips to graze around her hooded clit. When his tongued lapped the dainty nub, her groan exploded loudly. That groan extended as he sucked the clit and his finger pressed inside at her g-spot, rubbing the sensitive textured inner flesh. That sent her pelvis in motion. Another finger joined the first while his mouth rode her pussy. Just two fingers felt her vagina resist. This was a narrow passage, unused to any intruder. This was uncharted territory. He was a happy discoverer. She tasted sweet as a ripe peach. He fucked the narrow hole with his tongue and his fingers. He added a third to the invasion, giving more time with his tongue on her clit. The fingers of his other hand squeezed and twisted her nipples. She was moving with his strokes, lifting her pussy up and down, more and more chaotically until she groaned, nearly a growl, deep and long, then froze and shivered and poured forth her sweet essence into his mouth. He continued his ministrations until she scooted her pussy away from his mouth. Kissing and wiping his damp face over her tummy and her breasts, he still had enough of her pleasure juice for her to taste herself with a soft yet intense kiss. Never having tasted herself before, the flavor inflamed her need to have him drive that devilish shaft deep inside. It was her first pure taste of sex. Rising up to his knees, he took hold of his throbbing manhood, rubbing the tip up and down her slit. "Why won't he enter," she thought, pushing her pussy towards the teasing shaft. He took her small hand in his and guided it to the soldier at the ramparts. Her gate was open and she led him to capture her pussy. "God, you're so tight," Joe exclaimed, as his pole gently plunged in and out, getting a little deeper. He encountered her maidenhead, which he quickly dispatched forever. "Ow," she cried, tensing briefly. The pain, which had been overpowered by the excitement of the moment, flared up, then passed to a lesser amount again. His assault into her virgin territory was slow and careful, restraining the intense pleasure, which trended to spur him on faster, and gaining even more pleasure from the restraint, feeling every nuance of her incredibly tight cave. By the time he was all the way inside her, filling her virgin passage completely, her excitement was drowning out any of the pain his cock had brought her, and pure pleasure was hand in hand with excitement. Joe continued the slow and steady strokes. His hands held on to her firm butt cheeks, pulling her hard against him, deepening the strokes. When the speed of the fucking increased, he took one hand to take her hand and brought it to the conjunction of their bodies. His fingers pressed her fingers against the skin of his penetrating and retreating cock and then against her clit, coaxing them to a stroking motion. Suddenly he pulled out of her and turned her around, lifting her lovely ass in the air. She was on hands and knees beneath him as he measured the space for his cock head. It slid in easy and resumed the depths, diving even deeper. Their fingers intertwined over the last button of the evening. The clit strokes and the quickening cock strokes were driving her to that place again. Never having known a shared orgasm before, Joe was driving her closer and closer and closer to her second. "Oh, oh, oh," she moaned, verbalizing her pleasure until she sang out, "God." A long low moaning word never quite completed. Couldn't quite get to the d before freezing up. Joe felt the ripples of pleasure around his cock and the flow of cum down his balls. He thrust furiously into her orgasm, climbing to his own. "I'm going to cum, darling." "Wait. I want to see." He pumped himself inside hard and fast then slipped out, balancing on his knees, his hand pulling his fully engorged, throbbing rod, coated with her virgin blood. She flipped and lay on her back, lifted her head and shoulders up, balancing on her elbows and watched as Joe's body swayed and shook and white explosions of sperm squirted from the tiny mouth of his cock, landing on her tummy. She leaned further up until her fingers reached his orgasmic cock. They circled it and felt the pulsation. After three big squirts, it quieted down a bit. Squeezing and moving towards the head from the middle of the shaft, her fingers coaxed out the last drops of cum. Still with her fingers around his cock, he collapsed beside her. Leaning on his side, his lips touched hers and they were as hot as her lower lips. When Joe's hand finished traversing Lani's flesh from her ankles to her face, it seemed to signal the end of her first fuck. Lani smiled, satisfied by her chosen man. His eyes traversed her body, stopping at her thighs. "There's blood," he said. "Really? I thought I saw it on your...penis." "It's to be expected." "I know." "I'll get a towel." She nodded. He got up and retrieved a towel from the bathroom. She took over the cleanup of her thighs and vagina after his rubbing proved a little uncomfortable. Once completed, she tossed the towel aside. "Come here," she said. He lay on his side again. She pushed him onto his back and lay across him, her head resting just below his chin. "Thanks. I guess I'm a woman now." "My pleasure," he said and meant it. They laughed. "But don't you think we could have talked about it? It's a big decision. And a big obligation, to be the one who deflowers you." "I love you Joe. I know it's crazy." "You don't know me." "I know I love you." "Well shit, darling Lani, I love you too." "I know." "But we haven't put two sentences together all night." "I told you its crazy. I'm not like this. I'm careful. Not impulsive. And I like to talk. But I looked into your eyes, and talking just gets in the way." "So I'm just your dumb stud? Not that I mind." "No silly," she said with a playful punch to his chest. "Talking wasn't necessary." "I want to talk." "Okay." "Why?" "Huh?" "Why me? Why am I the lucky one you chose to make you a woman?" "You make me feel like a woman." "And you make me feel, I don't know..." "Like a man?" "Like a man in love." "Mmm," she sighed and rubbed her head against his chest. Her soft black hair against his naked chest. "All fluttery inside when I see you," Joe continued. "And when I don't see you, like I'm missing something important inside. And when I'm about to see you I feel like I could jump out of my skin I'm so nervous and excited." "And you intoxicate me," she said as she reached her strong lean young arm so her narrow fingers could touch his droopy manhood, feel it soft. "Like the nastiest drug. No side effects. Just the addictive pleasure. Speaking of which..." "Want to smoke?" "An after fuck smoke?" "A joint?" "I don't smoke. Don't do drugs. Maybe a drink when I'm extra social." She looked up into his eyes. "I wish you wouldn't do that shit my daddy sells." "Lani..." "I know. It's not fair to change you." "It's a woman's prerogative. Make the man a better man. But if it wasn't for the drugs I would never have met you." "I know. But I don't want you to be sick. I want you to be healthy. I know how you hurt. I see the junkies often. I see their hurt. All so damned sensitive. You need the cushion, relieve the pain. Maybe I'm the drug. Make me your drug. Please, Joe. Make me your drug." "But I like..." "It's a trap. You know it's a trap." "But what if I don't. What if I stay with it? What if, besides you, I feel like it's the best thing for me? Is it a choice? Either H or you?" "Are you high now? How do you feel?" "Well I feel pretty fucking good." "But are you high?" "No not since early this morning." "See?" "Yeah. But answer me darling. We need to clear the air. We didn't need to talk tonight about how we felt or who we are or whether we should or shouldn't, you know. We knew. But I have to know. Is it either drugs or you?" "Is it such a difficult choice?" "Don't be angry." "I'm not, darling. I don't want you to have to choose. I want you to see what I see. How afraid I am for you. How much of a crutch it is. How much better you are than it is. I know you're not a junky, no more than you are a waiter. You're a writer. And how much have you written lately?" "Well..." "I love you, Joe. I love you more now than when you're all high and shit. I love you now more than I loved you when we went and had sodas the other day. But I loved you then. I'll love you when you're high. But I want to see you at your best. Like tonight. Like when you're straight." "So..." "So yes, I'll be with you through thick and thin, through straight and jones. But think about this. I'd be happier if you were straight. Do you want to make me happier?" "Happier than you are now?" "If that's possible." "Okay. I'll think about it. I want to make you happy. But people are so weak. People are so..." "Fucked up." "Yeah." "Just think about it." They were quiet. Not so much thinking as basking in the glow of intimacy. Sharing their nakedness. Being comfortable with each other. Never uncomfortable. Loving the closeness of the skin, so new and yet so homey. She turned herself around, rotating her chest on his. Penis in hand, she stroked it, felt it swell, harden, rise, his blood pumping it up. His fingers lingered on the firmness of her buttocks. Pressing the softness until he felt the muscles and bone beneath. First he pressed the outside, then the inside. The heat of the valley between her two lovely hills, the lively flesh, the anus, the bridge of flesh leading to the hot sensitive lips and between them the slick living corridor of her pussy. His hands lifted it closer, basking in the odor of excitement, the earlier excitement that mixed their pleasure nectar to produce the perfect blend, even the lingering blood adding a sweet flavor, and the new excitement which was all her smell of building lust, a stimulating bouquet. And the petals of her pussy, an exotic flower. And the taste and the texture as he dabbed just inside. To him it was perfect. His tongue circled around the lips with joy. Fondling the lips with his mouth, stretching them out. Stopped and pulling away, his breath was a moan as she took his growing, pulsing shaft at the base of its helmet, her tongue discovering the little mouth there, and sucked and licked around the helmet and down. The new hot sausage was sucked deeper. She loved its heat, its texture, its flavor as it slid inside her lips, bounced against her pallet. The pulsation building the headquarters of his pleasure to ever larger size made her pulse at her other lips. Her flower thus opened further, and he tasted the flow of pleasure in its cup. When her mouth began sucking his penis in and out, the lips a soft slick yet firm circle around the shaft, and her fingers rubbed at the base, glancing carefully over his sac of balls, he lapped rapidly at the top edge of her pussy and across her clit. When he sucked on her clit, she paused from her pleasuring of him to wail like a bitch in heat. She'd suck him just hard enough to make him bellow. They took turns getting closer to perfect pleasure. A contest. Actually each moment was perfectly pleasurable.