Beyond Brooklyn

"Beyond Brooklyn"

By Justin Balancier

Chapter 1

Ira Kline lived alone in Flatbush in an old, but handsome turn of the century brick house owned for generations by his family. He constantly complained about Brooklyn's high property tax; but it was nothing new.

The `Rodeo Club' was a gay neighborhood tavern, a place Ira didn't care for, but the beer was cold, and the building was nearby to his afternoon walks. So, like it or not, this is where Ira would go.

It looked dingy in the afternoon with the sun struggling to shine through the isolated front window that needed a serious bath. It looked like the pane of glass hadn't seen water since the place built around the time of the depression in the late thirties.

A few half-dead plants sat on the floor of the widow along with dried up flies and weeks of dust. The place was not popular with the young gay crowd, from what Ira could gather; they preferred going to bars in the village.

One could find most anything at the Rodeo Club, but Ira only wanted to sit and find something cold to drink.

"What are you having, sweetie?" asked a lesbian bartender called Carrie, who worked afternoons. She was wiping the bar with a wet rag and dumping ashtrays, at the same time.

"Beer, no bottle, in a clean glass," he mumbled resting his arm on the bar and fumbling to get some money from his pocket. "Please, a clean glass," Ira repeated politely.

"You got it gramps. A cold one, for the old one" she replied trying to be amusing, yet business-like. "This glass sparkles, how's that for clean pop?'

"Thank you, that's lovely – A `princess' you are."

A young gay man, and nobody special, had been watching Ira since he came in. He was a twenty-two year old Jewish boy from Brooklyn. His name was Eden Wexler, with charisma, clean cut plain looking, just not gorgeous.

He wore white shorts, like a tennis player, and had long legs with a tinge of sexy black hair. His body looked hot, and he was young. This is where Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, - kicks in.

There was something mysterious about Eden; or maybe it was Ira's poor eyesight. - Nope, that was not it. It was how Eden filled out the front of his white shorts. The frog between his legs moving in his underwear, as he walked, was beyond anything mysterious. Some things, one just can't miss.

Eden had a hot body and from the neck down, was a bonanza of manhood, something one couldn't miss. He left his place at the bar, and walked over to where Ira was sitting.

"Pop, do mind if I sit here for a minute?" he said, with his hand on the back of the chair, ready to pull it away from the table. He had gotten up the nerve to speak to Ira, and asked permission to sit down and join him.

"Don't hustle me kid, I'm past all that." Ira replied barely looking at him.

"I'm not hustling a thing, just being friendly; my name is Eden Wexler."

"So be friendly, why; I've yet to find out; but sit. I will call you Wexler."

Eden rattled the table a bit, almost spoiling Ira's drink; but managed nicely without disruption. He sat opposite Ira, and began to speak.

"I'm a bit clumsy, aren't I? - Sorry, but I am nervous around strangers.

"Why are you nervous?"

"I don't have a lot of friends; actually I have no friends, but I like being around adult people."

"You mean you like old men."

"Something like that," replied Eden.

Let's see now – you are how old?"

"Twenty-two."

"Nice – that's a good number, twenty-two."

"Thank you."

"For what?- you had nothing to do with it."

"Eden, pulled his chair closer to Ira, almost touching his knee. I bet you don't even remember back that far."

"Back that far – we're not talking Crusades. I remember just fine. There was a time when I was a handsome young man, and the blaze of Flatbush. This talking is ridiculous, playing me for an old fool." Ira became annoyed quickly with people, and questions.

"Sorry gramps, to have bothered you, just forget about it." He stood up and replaced the chair neatly at the table.

Sitting, almost in darkness, was Irving Bernstein, for decades, known as "Beebe" the high queen of Flatbush – retired. Irving and Ira, were `friends.

"Ira, you're a schmuck. Imagine letting that sweet young thing, `get lost.' Irving was constantly eying frogs, looking to be free from crotch worn underwear. "I'll be his gramps, call him back. Hey, what's the kid's name?"

"Eden Wexler, is what he told me."

"The Wexler's from Flatbush!"

"How the hell should I know – he said `Wexler,' good enough."

"Call him back over."

"You think I'm nuts; I told him to get lost and now I say, – don't get lost. What a putz you are." Nevertheless, Ira motioned to Eden, and he came back over to where they were sitting.

"What now? - Do you want to holler at me some more?"

"No, my personality isn't so good these days; sorry," admitted Ira.

"Join us for a drink. I'm Irving" and extended his hand receiving a manly handshake. Irving held on to Eden's hand slightly longer than necessary.

"Could I have my hand back now, smiled Eden."

"Oh certainly, I was caught up in the moment. Your hand is nice and warm," exclaimed Irving, hiding his old troll identity.

"I know who you are. Everybody knows `Beebe' from Flatbush," said Eden, sitting down next to Irving.

"So who's everybody?"

"Everybody – I don't know everybody,"

Carrie came over to the table. "Can I get anybody a refill; I go off the bar at 4:00 pm."

"Yes, drinks for everyone," said Irving and gave Carrie a couple of large bills. "You keep the change sweetie," he said to her, patting her hand.

"You are generous with the tip, that I will give you."

"Paper, it's only paper. Carrie returned with their drinks. The three of them sat quiet like little angels.

"Let me tell you - when I was your age, things were different, how different you wouldn't believe," began Ira.

"You want, I should talk," asked Irving.

"Later, talk later, but jump in any time, who cares?"

"The sight of a sweaty man in a ripped tee shirt still warms my cockle, that is my thought," added Irving, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "Let me tell you about `On the Waterfront."

"Your cockles and Marlon Brando, I am not talking about, good Lord, drop it!" said Ira.

"I have to leave gentlemen; I will talk with you again, "Eden said to Ira."

"Okay."

"I like him; he has terrible taste in men, but I still like him," remarked Irving.

"Why not, he's upright and breathing. Just don't take your clothes off, if you want a second date."

"Who's talking about a date? Nonsense, is what that is."

"It is nonsense that keeps me going, but it won't change the facts."

"What facts?"

"I could use a cheap trashy slut in heat. You know, one of those, dumb as a rock, not too smart, and not too fussy"

"You have to do what you think is best, c'mon, let's get out of here.""

They walked out the door together and started over Flatbush Ave.

"All this crap is Meshugameh (crazy)" said Ira.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"It seems that hot works for everybody but us. We've lost our appeal."

"You think so?"

"Yes, and stop with the – "think so" replied Irving. " Sometimes you just need to be quiet. It's no more complicated than that."

"Huh, quiet coming from you – this I gotta see."

The light turned green and slowly they crossed the street still talking.

"You know, that Eden wasn't bad; not Brando of course, but a good body on that kid. I would go out with him," said Irving.

"Do me a favor," asked Ira.

"What's that?"

"Stop talking!"

"I'm only saying."

"I know what you are saying," mumbled Ira. "How could anybody miss it!"

Ira got to know Eden, along with his newly acquired boyfriend named Andrew. They soon became a trio, Ira, Eden and Andrew.

The `Rodeo Club' a gay neighborhood tavern, was a place that Ira didn't care for, nevertheless, Ira and Irving returned, on a boring Sunday afternoon, one more time.

8******

"Nobody knows what it is like to be me," exclaimed Irving to his old friend Ira Kline.

"If you are waiting for me to disagree, you better take a seat," replied Ira. "You never stop – take a break."

"I am sitting you schmuck,." mumbled Irving.

This was true. There were sitting on the stone steps in front of Ira's building, talking, and complaining as usual.

The heavy glass door to the vestibule opened behind them. Eden Wexler put his arms around Ira from behind and kissed him on his neck. Eden was waiting for Andrew.

"How is my favorite grandpa this beautiful Brooklyn day?"

"I get around alright when the weather is good. I'm just ordinary," replied Ira.

"I love ordinary. You would look good to me in burlap," replied Eden. He always spoke that way to his adopted grandfather, who he came to adore.

Ira considered himself the luckiest person in Brooklyn adopting not only Eden, the Jewish prince, but also his boyfriend Andrew. It was pretend, of course, but for them, it worked. The past several months had been a diamond and champagne life with the three of them together as a family steeped in a labyrinth of sexual activity.

Ira owned the building, and lived on the first floor. Eden and Andrew rented the top floor often referred to as the penthouse apartment. It was nice, but hardly a penthouse.

"Where are you going?" twittered Irving looking up at Eden standing next to him. Irving was a sly old fox and every chance he got to "crotch watch" he was there in living color.

Eden's trademark was the bulge in his crotch and since it was no `little' thing, it got him amazing attention when walking towards you. Irving had been there gobbling a couple of times, in the past, but things were different now, with Eden hooking up with Ira.

The vestibule door opened again, and Andrew joined everybody outside on the steps. Andrew was wearing shorts and a tight blue tee shirt.

Andrew didn't have an ounce of fat on him, just smooth Scottish flesh. His soft red hair sparkled in the sun. His crotch, protruded into a firm round package. Cock was Irving's weakness, and he stared like a wolf ready to attack.

"Where are you two gorgeous young men going?" asked Irving.

"We are going to a music concert in Central Park."

They watched as Eden and Andrew walked away heading for the subway that would take them into Manhattan.

"Damn, but that's hot stuff," said Irving gapping at two hard-packed butts walking down the street. "I don't know who is hotter. Andrew is better looking, but Eden is the boy with a golden dick, and friendlier. I think because he is Jewish.

"I got it – I got it, the boys are gorgeous. "Let' do something today."

It was Sunday and there was not much activity along Flatbush, even so, it was seldom a quiet part of Brooklyn.

"Would you like to listen to some music?" asked Ira.

"I have heard you sing, spare me the torture," replied Irving.

"Not me, you putz, maybe Sinatra."

"Maybe not – let's go for a drink. The walk will do us good."

Somewhere in that statement was a spark of realism. They didn't need a drink, but the walk was a good idea.

"Beer makes me pee," said Ira.

"Water, makes you pee."

"Should I call a cab?" asked Irving.

"How can you take a walk in a cab?

"Oh yeah, I forgot," We are walking up the avenue.

"Mother Nature needs to spend a little more time with you. You forget everything."

"Where are we going?" asked Irving.

"To the first bar we come to that has cold beer."

"That, is the Rodeo Club."

"Yuck, such a dump, but the memories are good. I met Eden there," said Ira.

"We met Eden there, but you were lucky enough to get him. Now he lives in your building with a gorgeous boyfriend. How the hell, did that happen," said Irving?

"It was love at first sight, and a lot of frigging sex," Ira replied.

"Such a lucky bastard; you have all the luck!"

"I suppose, after all, they are my grandsons."

"Oy vey that is a scheme, if I ever heard one." Irving added, a bit jealous.

"Day after day, it's the same thing. I think we are too old for this gay stuff anymore."

"That isn't anything to brag about."

"Who's bragging," said Ira.

"It isn't worth talking about"

"Good answer. Forget about it."

The Rodeo Club no longer looked the way they remembered it. It was a remodeled handsome modern building, celebrating a grand re-opening.

A new sign half painted and half neon read "JOHNNIES" and there was no mistaken it was a gay bar.

The front glass windows once loaded with half dead plants, dust, and dead flies, now looked different. Everything glistened clean, and impressive.

The weathered stained window glass was now crystal clear, and larger than the old ones. A life size statue of a golden horse reared up with a rider in western garb on his back. The rider was dressed in black with the name "JOHNNIE" written in white script on a black shirt. White fringe hung from the sleeves. The rider wore light colored pants, with a sock-cock bulge beneath the fabric and between his legs.

Oh yeah, it was a gay bar all right. Some drunk would fuck the statue, and send flowers in the morning. It was that good.

"Oy vey, now this is something to believe in," said Irving.

"Absolutely, a touch of clean living is just what this place needed. I wonder who `Johnnie' is. Do you suppose it is the bartender, who worked here evenings? We had sex with him in my apartment," said Ira.

"Who is – `WE' asked Irving."

"Eden, Andrew, and me." replied Ira.

"Such tramps..." "What the hell did you do, keep score?" giggled Irving.

When they entered, the bar was crowded for a Sunday afternoon with men of all ages. The lesbians were gone. The smoking had disappeared and the air conditioning was new and working beautifully.

County music playing in the background was subtle and comfortable for caring on a conversation. The bar was composed of men and no screaming queens. It was gay, but not a sissy bar. Everything was refreshingly new.

Ira was correct. Johnnie the former bartender, was the new owner, and was seated at the end of the bar talking to some patrons.

Tending bar were two handsome young bartenders wearing cowboy hats, flirting and being friendly with every customer who was putting money on the bar and having a good time.

"This is very nice," Ira said to Irving.

"You don't say `nice' anymore, you have to say, "Cool," whispered Irving.

"Cool to you – `nice' to me – I know how to talk."

Johnnie spotted them, and came directly towards them.

"Ira, - I was wondering when you would come here again. And Irving, I am so happy to see you.' Johnnie put an arm around each of them.

There were no tables available, so Johnnie motioned to a couple of people he knew, and they got up and went to the bar. He gave the table to Ira and Irving so they could have a place to sit. Johnnie joined them and the bartender brought over drinks for everybody.

Ira tried to pay the bartender, but Johnny would not take the money. "It's on the house gentlemen," he said smiling like the `knock out' stud he was.

How are Eden and Andrew? Johnnie asked. "They are an awesome couple, picking up a glass of beer and taking a sip.

"They do give awesome a new meaning. I keep to myself these days," admitted Ira. "However, that changes when the boys stop by to see me."

"Don't believe him," peeped in Irving. Just give Ira some cock and he can ring the bell. Now, take me, for example; I am available in case anybody is interested."

"Nobody is interested," said Ira running his finger down the beer glass dripping with moisture.

"Ha-ha, chuckled Johnnie, getting up to return to the bar. Irving excused himself and went to the men's room. The beer was getting to him.

Johnnie immediately came back to the table and said very quickly to Ira. "I'll make this fast. Will you do me Ira? I need one of your tight hungry blowjobs that only you can do. I don't want Eden or Andrew, I want you."

"Uh, sure, I can do that, but not here."

"When you get home, call me and I will stop by. I have a ball sack full, if you want it." That was it, plain, simple, and blunt as hell.

By the time Irving returned from the men's room Johnnie was back at the bar completely ignoring them. He was such a good actor when it came to ignoring his surroundings.

They had two drinks and that was their limit. Ira wanted to leave after giving a tip to the bartender; they nodded with a wave to Johnnie and left.

There were a couple of taxicabs outside and Irving flagged one down so they could ride, even though it was only a few blocks. The cab stopped at Ira's building first, then took Irving home.

Eden and Andrew were still at Central Park, and the building was empty. Ira went inside, took a long pee, and then sat down at the kitchen table.

He did what one would expect. He called Johnnie.

Johnnie recognized the incoming number and went into the storeroom where it was quiet to answer. "Are you hungry, pops? He said answering his phone.

"Flesh is my weakness, what do you think?" replied Ira.

"I think my cock is your weakness. I need your mouth," mumbled Johnnie.

"I'm here waiting."

"Give me a half hour," said Johnnie sticking the phone back into his pocket.

Ira did a fair amount of primping and washing waiting for Johnnie to arrive. It was familiar behavior, because his life overflowed with this stuff. It was mindless to think of himself as an out of work actor. He was a man who never stopped, just took breaks.

Even at his age, Ira could still ride a bike. Handling a dick was no different. Some things one, never forgets. It was a lousy comparison, but it was the best he had.

He left the downstairs vestibule door unlocked and heard somebody come up the stairs. He opened the door just as Johnnie was about to knock.

Ira tried to make conversation; however, it was just words, for something to say.

"Yeah, yeah," said Johnnie taking his clothes off. "Just get my ass on the bed. I do not have a lot of time. Skip the bull shit talk."

"Okay – okay, the bull shit is skipped," said Ira pushing him towards the bedroom.

"Do me like you mean it," said Johnnie peeling off his underwear and posing like street trash, sexy as hell.

"You don't have to tell me how to do anything. You think this is opening night for me?" Ira mumbled.

Ira sprawled onto the bed like a child playing a game, starring at Johnnie who looked better than he remembered. He wasn't sure if this crotch was going to be yummy or gamey, but he was prepared to handle it, and frankly my dear, didn't give a damn.

There was no mystery here. Johnnie was firm and getting harder. It hung down instead of straight out. Ira loved that.

"How you want me?" asked Johnnie.

Before Ira could answer, Johnnie did it for him. He climbed on top of Ira's chest and rubbed his junk across his face.

"I know you are an old crotch snifter. Do you like my nuts? Wash them with your tongue. That wet dripping talented tongue."

"Lick my nuts Ira; get your face in there. I brought a rubber toy with me if you want to fuck me with it.

"Works for me," agreed Ira invigorated and caring on like a teenager.

Ira munched licking his thighs and chewing pubic hair with his teeth, then swallowing his cock. Johnnie was dripping cum as soon as Ira touched his cock with his tongue..

"Fuckin great pops, I was right, you're crazy hungry," mumbled Johnnie.

"I love this cock," admitted Ira.

"You can suck cock better than anybody. You're a beast, a fucking animal."

Ira didn't reply.

Johnnie was different from the way Ira remembered him. He talked a lot and was full of insults. Ira didn't mind, in fact it kept his interest boiling; the more Johnnie talked the better he worked exactly what he liked hearing.

"I am a weird fuck," admitted Johnnie when it comes to sex. I like old men because they will come across, and the young dudes hesitate. They are fussy. Fuck that shit."

Johnnie didn't comment any further. He simply left his cock in Ira's mouth, telling him to drain the syrup from him.

Johnnie's dick was not huge like Eden, so it fit nicely and Ira really liked that average size. Johnny was not small, just perfect for his mouth, hefty and made for digestion.

Ira choked only slightly when he pushed in really deep. He closed his lips tightly around his cock, and Johnny was in jungle land feeling something bubbling in his balls. He has a load of cum making the journey upwards.

There was no mention again of putting a rubber toy into Johnnies butt; no time for that. The blowjob was so good, that it over ruled everything else.

Johnnie, turned on physically, had to do something. He held Ira's face with both hands as he got his cock sucked by a professional. He even stopped talking for lack of something to say. Suck it' sounded ridiculous and fuck yeah,' is all you hear watching porn. Just horrible, hearing over and over. Johnnie was NOT going say those crappy words.

Ira had everything under control with his face gobbling Johnnie's cock. It was a beastly move for each of them. Johnnie held his dick with his hand directing what sticky he could, into Ira's mouth, over his lips and onto his chin.

When Johnnie stopped shooting, he patted Ira on the cheek as if to say, "good boy." He hopped off the bed and went into the bathroom, caring his clothes with him.

Ira put on his pants and went into the kitchen. He rinsed his mouth with water and waited for Johnnie to come out of the bathroom.

"How was it?' Asked Johnnie, leaning against the doorframe putting on his shoes.

"Good, you have a good cock for sucking and your balls do a good job sending up the prize."

"Did it taste alright?" asked Johnnie. "I hate giving anybody nasty cum."

"Like nectar. I could slurp that off a spoon," replied Ira starting to laugh.

"Next time pops, that is what we will do next time," said Johnnie.

"I don't plan things, they just happen, like today." commented Ira.

"Yeah, sure...I know you well enough. You don't have the talent for fooling anybody. Your talent is in your lips. I have to get back to work. My bartenders are probably giving the store away. Are you staying in for the rest of the day?"

"I believe so, I have nothing left of value to do after you leave. I am fine with this arrangement."

Johnnie adjusted his clothes and started for the door to leave. He paused and said, "Thanks pop, hang on to those fine qualities. I would give you a kiss, but I'm not gay,"

"Of course you're not. I noticed that."

"People are the way they want to be," replied Johnnie kissing Ira on the cheek, not once but twice. "There – Happy now?" he said.

"Not great – but mediocre," replied Ira.

Johnnie closed the apartment door behind him and after hearing the vestibule door downstairs slam, Ira was alone in the building once more.

He sat in his favorite chair resting and looking out the window. He wanted to shower, to dissolve the sins of the chosen, soon as he got energy to move.

The telephone rang and it was Irving, so Ira ignored it. He was in no mood to be quizzed.

There is no pretty way to say it. "I am so queer," he mumbled, "but too comfortable to make adjustments. At the end of the day, I like who I am."

Ira grumbled slightly struggling to get to his feet, "Oy Vey, the things I do, to keep going."

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