Cafe Au Lait

This is a work of fiction.

It features explicit descriptions of sex between men.

It is set in the past, so protect yourself.

If you are under eighteen or your locality prohibits material of this sort, stop reading immediately and get the heck out of here.

All rights reserved. Comments appreciated, any_mouse2003@yahoo.com

Cafe au Lait

Men on the Moon

It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the height of the decade which didn't actually end until the oil crunch in 1973. I'll never forget the night the whole party ended, and just as a matter of personal bookmarks, it was when Tricky Dick Nixon came on the tube and told us to drive 55 miles-an-hour to save fuel.

I almost got killed the next morning trying to do it, run down by angry white guys in big cars on the Dan Ryan Expressway the next morning.

Then it was Disco, and that is about all I remember of the fabulous 80's.

There were music festivals, and dope, and loud music and I was going to be off to college soon. I was interested in the concepts of the Age of Aquarius, though I hadn't seen much of it in the mid-western town I found myself stuck in.

It was a great time to be alive, but my toes were tapping. I wanted to get on with life.

I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big City. My family had moved because of my Dad's reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old brick city filled with the descendents of the hardy block-headed Dutch who populated this part of the state. It was staid and boring.

On the upside, it was easy to get alcohol. On the downside there was nobody to drink it with. I had passable fake ID and it was not hard to get a six pack to drink in the field out in back of the house. And of course there were the racks of Dad's home-made wine.

He fancied himself quite the vintner and had custom labels made up and liked to give the stuff away when he went out. When he decanted it from the barrel, he used all manner of bottles and consequently there was not particular rhyme or reason to it and it was easy to take the odd bottle from the garage.

I was as excited as anyone that summer, following the flight of the Eagle to the moon. They went in July of that summer and on July 20 at 4:18 p.m. EDT, the Lunar Module touched down on the Moon. At 10:56 p.m., Neil Armstrong jumped off the Lunar Lander.

In between I lay in my bed and gazed out the window where the moon hung silver in space.

I couldn't quite believe it. Interplanetary travel seemed to be possible. I wondered everything was the same way, possible. I was horny all the time. It did not take much to tent my trousers.

I wondered about a lot of things. Women. They were such impenetrable beings. I thought about the airbrushed Playboy images as I stroked myself, and thought about the strange fortress undergarments they wore under the mini-skirts when they shot us a look in High School. The all seemed to wear the same foundation garments, of a sort. It was the mid-West after all.

But the way they crossed their legs under the desks and that resolute aspect of their crotches filled me with wonder, and a certain amount of dread.

It wasn't like that with the guys. I used to love Phys Ed, and the shower afterwards. I could see that I stacked up pretty well with the other guys, and I often found myself thinking of what it would be like to see a guy as hard as I was.

I laid down on my bed and looked at the moon. I thought of Playboy images with airbrushed pneumatic women. But increasingly I found myself daydreaming about hard penises. I had found a copy of the shocking story of Fanny Hill in my father's remote library, in with the magazines I liked to look at.

Fanny was poked and prodded by all manner of lusty rakes. It was curious that I found myself wishing to be on her end of things. I inserted a candle in my ass one day, and pulled it in and out just like the fat cocks that filled up Fielding's heroine.

I didn't understand why this felt so good, or why I was so attracted to the idea of having it in me. It just felt good, and seemed to touch something deep inside me that tingled. God, it felt good. In fact, when I stroked myself I clenched my tight ring around the smooth intruder and when my balls boiled I shot Technicolor plumes that arced from the tip of my cock and hit me in the face.

This night, I looked at the moon and stroked my eager cock, thinking of astronauts and hard dicks. Mine rose to the occasion for the second time that day, spewing hot milk on my hand. I shuddered with the release.

In the silvery light I licked the back of my right hand, tasting my warm seed. It was slippery, with a slightly sweet musky taste and a hint of something else that made my throat tingle, seeming to close it of its own volition.

It was powerful stuff.

I knew that.

The Men's Department

I was up late with everyone else the night man landed on the moon and was tired when I drove my little red VW to the Mall the next day.

The department store I had worked for back home had an outlet here, and I was able to secure a job selling clothes. They were stricter here in the smaller town, more formal, but I got the same employee discount on clothes and I enjoyed interacting with the customers. I was a born salesman, and so long as I moved product, the management left me alone.

This morning the Manager of the men's department caught me early. I had a cigarette going in one of the dressing rooms, so I tried to sidle away from him and put it out. He was a nerdy type, a little old maid guy. He grasped me on the upper arm to keep me fixed in place.

"Listen," he said. "We have a new employee coming in today."

"O.K." I said. "I can handle that."

"No." He scowled. "This is different. He is a Negro."

I gave him a puzzled look. I had worked with black people all the time back home.

"Our first Negro," he said, as if I was supposed to understand the enormity of it.

"O.K.," I said again. "I'll try to be nice."

He gave me one of those looks. "I just don't want any problems that would reflect badly on the Men's Department."

I promised him that I would be on my best behavior and got back to stub out my cigarette before it fell out of the ashtray and caused a fire. Now that would reflect badly on the Men's Department, I thought.

I straightened up and killed time through the first hour of opening. Sometimes, on sale days, things started out with a rush. Sometimes the men's department was as silent as a tomb. Today was one of the latter, and it seemed like even if men where on the Moon, it was going to be an endless summer.

And it was not going to be one with surfboards, even if that surf documentary came around again.

I could see taking off for something completely different. I wanted to go.

Alexander the Great

The Negro my boss had warned me about arrived just before lunch.

I don't know what I had been expecting. He had been so concerned about the racial thing, I thought it might be some dark skinned H. Rap Brown thug. I knew that wasn't true. I had been working with the black guys on the loading dock and in the parking shack since I was fifteen and could get my papers.

I knew they were just people, and when the summer came with all the riots I gained a deep respect for what they had to deal with that I had no comprehension about. So even if this person was a tough guy I was confident I could get along with him.

I was selling a pair of jeans to a woman who had a disinterested pimply kid in tow when I heard my name being called. I completed the transaction, closed the register, and slid the pants into a sack with the Department Store logo on it and turned around.

My nerd manager had a tall young man with him. I took an involuntary breath. His skin had the rich color of caramel, just lighter than a the sweet rich cup of coffee au lait with which I started my mornings. His hair was a sort of light brunette in a million tight curls, cut close on the sides and rising a little on top. Style.

His eyes were the strangest shade of hazel and his aristocratic nose had just a hint of African flare. I was stunned. This was no Negro. This young man looked like the pictures of Malcom X when he was still Detroit Red.

"Bob," I want you to meet Alexander. He will be joining the staff here today and I want you to show him the ropes. How to open up and close out."

"I'd be happy to" I said, hoping I didn't look too startled. "Nice to meet you, Alex."

He smiled and I saw radiant white teeth behind his lips that were not much fuller than mine. Just rich and sensuous.

"I prefer Alexander" he said softly "But just don't call me late for dinner." He finished the joke with a smile and I grinned right back.

"Alexander it is" I said. "Sorry."

The manager looked at us and pursed his lips. "I'll handle the register here. Why don't you show him the break room and where he can get some lunch if he is hungry. We have a half hour for lunch here, no more, and two fifteen minute breaks."

"We are very organized here" I said. "We run a tight department."

The manager knew I was ribbing him but he let it go. He was such a wimp. "Come on, Alexander. Let me show you the ropes." He smiled and we walked off past the display counters and the suit racks. I pointed to the door between the slacks and sports coats. "Back there are the dressing rooms. We are supposed to keep an eye on them to make sure no one is doing any shoplifting or tag-changing."

"Do you have much of that here?" asked Alexander in that soft voice. His inflection rose on the word "that."

"Nah," I said. "Mostly we have hard-working blockhead Dutch in here. It is a boring clientele." I paused. "I'm sorry, are you from around here? I didn't mean anything by that."

"Goodness, no," he said firmly. "I am from Chicago. They sent me here for the summer."

"Who did? The family?"

"Yeah," he responded with a sigh. "There were some issues. We have kin here. I'll tell you about it sometime, if you are interested."

I found that interesting. I wondered if he had to cool off from something. But that could come in time. "Let me show you the break room. It has the only Coke machine on this side of the Mall." We took the escalator down to the basement where we sold tools and patio crap. I don't know why the heavy stuff was in the basement, but I just work there.

We looked at the Coke machine and the ultra-modern industrial microwave. "That thing will cook a hot dog in about three seconds," I said. "And sometimes the machine actually gets the ice right in the cup, unless it turns it over and spills everything."

He laughed, a melodious sound like water flowing over smooth stones.

"I've seen worse," he said, eyes twinkling. "Now why don't you show me how to work."

We went back upstairs and relieved the Nerd at the register. I showed him the buttons to mash for "no sale" and how to do the credit vouchers and how to place the card just so on the register plate so when you pressed the handle the name and account number came through on the carbon. I showed him the tally sheet we each had to fill out for all the sales we did, and how we would close it out at the end of the day.

Since it was slow, we chatted through the afternoon. I found out he was recently graduated, too. He was headed for college, though his family wanted him to attend a historically black school in Washington DC rather than the University of Illinois.

"Why is that?" I asked. I was headed there myself. I looked forward to the challenge of the big campus and all the activity.

"They want me to be Black for a while, so that I don't forget."

That stopped me dead. I didn't know what to say, and preferred to say nothing rather than something that might be inadvertently offensive. Thankfully a 44-short suit customer showed up and I taught Alexander how to mark up the cut job instructions for the tailor. That is the only part of the job that is complicated. People come in such a variety of sizes.

Selling a suit is a big deal, with a lot of interplay with the customer. I rang up the sale and then measured the stocky mans coat, marking with chalk the hump where the jacket had to be taken in at the collar, and the rise and inseam on the trousers. I always feel a little funny about that, particularly when the guy is such a toad. Alexander seemed to think it was amusing and grinned when I had completed the process, filled out the tag and instructions, and thanked the man for his business.

The chunky man ambled away and I turned and said "What's so funny?"

"You are, Bob. I don't think you liked that man, and I think you are afraid that I don't know I am a Negro."

"Shit, no, I didn't like him. He was a toad. But about the other part, I don't want to hurt your feelings by saying something stupid."

"Like whether I can get a sunburn?" He paused and smiled. "I can, you know. And that is because white men have been fucking the women in my family for three hundred years."

I must have blushed. "It's O.K.," he said. "I didn't say you fucked them."

"It's complicated" I stammered.

"Yes, it is." he said gently. "For white people it is. But relax. Don't for an instant think that we do not know what is going on around us. When you are as light as my family is, you get it from both sides. Not white, and not black enough to be authentic. In New Orleans, we were aristocracy. Up North we are just colored folks that look too white."

"Is that what happened to get you exiled here for the summer?"

"Something like that. Sometimes you get the double whammy."

I didn't know what he meant by that, but he touched me on the upper arm as I looked up to see a family looking at the shirt counter. "Gotta go sell," I said, grateful at the opportunity to avoid the sudden honest. "Maybe we can catch a smoke in a while."

"I'd like that," he said. Then he smiled and I felt my stomach tighten.

I was glad it was busy. Alexander made his first sale, and I admired the elegance of the way he bagged the shirts, the little flourish as he handed it over as though it were a prize of great price and not just a couple Arrow shirts. The late afternoon traffic stayed pretty brisk and it was coming up on dinner when the Nerd told me he would keep Alexander and show him how to close out, since he came in late and I had opened up. "OK," I said, though I wouldn't have minded staying.

The Nerd said he would be writing a new work schedule to accommodate Alexander's arrival and I said goodnight to the Nerd and told Alexander that I looked forward to working with him.

He extended his hand and I noticed for the first time how slender and graceful his fingers were. I did not clasp his palm in the death grip I usually use. His touch was firm and his flesh supple and warm. I walked out into the still-bright sun and found the car.

The vinyl seats were hotter than shit, and I roared home with the windows down, wishing the little car has air conditioning. I took a swim and found a place in the field out in back of the house to go drink a couple semi-cold Pabst Blue Ribbons. I was daydreaming out there as the shadows grew longer and night fell.

I was day-dreaming about Alexander's fingers. I wondered if it were true, about the proportional relationship between fingers and cock. And if all the Caucasian blood had any effect on how big it was.

Shoot, I thought. I wonder if I am a fucking homo?

When I lay in my bed later, I got rock hard and images of him flashed through my mind as I grunted and rubbed my throbbing dick. When I came, I thought of him shooting all over me. When I licked it up, I imagined it was his.

Shoot, I am a fucking homo, I thought.

Now what the fuck do I do about that?

The Passion Pit

I woke the next morning with an erection. I blushed when I thought about it and was running late and did not get a chance to do anything about it but thrash in the shower. In the water thrusting down from the faucet I thought about what I had been thinking the last time my dick had been this hard and came with a shudder with the scalding water cascading down around me.

I dressed in a hurry, chino slacks and a striped shirt and rep tie. They liked us to look prep at the Department Store, and I didn't mind. I thought I might grow my hair out in the fall when I went to school. But in the meantime I was happy to maintain a low profile and slide through the summer.

Everyone else was long gone. The store didn't open until 10:00, and they wanted us to open up by 9:45. I had slept late. I poured some of the cold coffee back in the top of the drip percolator and turned it on to give it a kick.

Then I was out the door and buzzing in the little VW down Westbrook Road to the Mall.

I made it pretty much on time and was at my place by the register when the Nerd came by to check.

"I want you to push those new wheat-colored jeans," he said. "And thank-you for your help with Alexander. I think I will have to watch him, but he seems clever and will do a fine job for us with adequate supervision."

"I think you are absolutely right, Boss." He took it as a sign of respect that I called him that. I don't think he knew I was laughing at him, the pompous shit. Alexander had more going on between his ears than he ever would.

"I have made up a new schedule for you. For the next week or two I am going to have you come in late and be with him to close up at 9:00 each night." I could see that he didn't trust the Negro to close up. But I didn't mind. That meant I could sleep in till eleven in the morning if I wanted to. It was a pity the only thing mildly interesting to do in town was go to the big double screen drive-in.

There was nobody to date and sitting alone in the car drinking a purloined bottle of my father's homemade wine was hardly my idea of a wild time. Still, it was out of the house and the buzz was good. It didn't get dark until then, and if I went to the theatre after we closed it was still light enough that they were only playing the dancing hotdogs trailer when I got there.

There were some truly awful movies out that summer. But I must have seen "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" about fifty times. I didn't mind seeing it over and over and after a while I started to memorize the lines and would recite them along with Robert Redford, looking back at the Pinkertons chasing them down.

"Who are those guys?" I would say. When it was over I let the rest of the crowd gather up their kids or put their clothes back on, whichever category of people they were. Then I would navigate sedately home, lurching over the mounds of dirt that pointed the noses of the cars up so they could see the screen better, trying to avoid the poles where the speakers hung down on the curly wires.

I had to wait patiently through the slow morning traffic for Alexander to arrive. I decided that the images I had of him were just private things. After all, I had never had a black friend and with the shortness of the season before we all moved on, it didn't seem like this was anything more than a work relationship. I was a little embarrassed by how I had felt, thinking about the feel of him, when I jerked off last night.

Private thoughts, private moment. Just be professional and aloof. You can deal with the homo thing when you get further from home.

That was pretty much how I felt, right up until Alexander actually showed up for work.

He looked just as good as he had the day before. He had a slim build that showed off his shoulders in his Norfolk jacket with the little sewed belt in the back. He had one of the big collar shirts and a wild floral tie. He had slacks that were tight at the waist, showing a suspicious bulge in the crotch and flared nicely at the knee. There was a slight break to the at the well-polished brown shoes. The whole thing was a package of grace and elegance.

"Hey!" he said. "I hear you are going to rescue me from the Nerd from here out."

"I'll do what I can. That means I get eleven hours today to get onto the new schedule. I think the Nerd doesn't want to stay late."

"And he doesn't trust the Negro- right?"

"I'm sure that isn't it. You are just new."

"Uh-huh." He shook his head with a knowing look. I think I blushed. I hate it when that happens.

"The Nerd says we are supposed to move the Wheat Jeans today. Let's get the stacks sorted and get ready for some selling."

"Yessir, Boss" he said. I gave him that look. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Alexander."

"Yessir." Then he gave me that gleaming smile and hit me on the shoulder and we started folding the jeans and stacking them by size.

I felt relaxed again. This guy had a sense of humor and his easy way with the jeans, the way he folded them back into out-of-the-box condition, made things go quickly. We yacked about a lot of stuff that day. He didn't know much about the city, and though I didn't know much more, I told him what I could. There was not much of a black population in town, and they seemed to keep pretty much to themselves. I told him how far away the lake was, and which places sold beer to the underaged with fake ID.

"Where do you go to drink?" he asked.

I told him about the field in back of my house. And them I told him about the Drive-in."

"Oh," he said. "The Passion Pit."

"Not here," I said. "You would need a hot date for that. I just like to go and drink in the car. No one bothers you there, if you are quiet. The block-head Dutch would never suspect there is anything going on there except solid respectable people watching a movie..."

"And young kids screwing their brains out!" he said, laughing. "I know what it was like back home. I thought it was funny, the way they would look at us when we drove out to Glenn Ellyn and they thought we had another five kids in the trunk."

"Did you?'

"Of course."

My ass was starting to drag around dinner time. The nerd gave me an hour for a dinner break and I took it. I had an idea. I drove home and got a gallon jug of the homemade wine from the metal storage chest in the garage and put it in the back of the VW. I stopped at the Mickey-Dees on the way back and got a sack of burgers that I shared with Alexander. We put them back in one of the dressing rooms and munched them between customers.

We got to the 8:30 slack time and started to do our tallies. It had not been a bad day, and we had moved some Wheat Jeans. The Nerd had been pleased before he rushed out to have dinner at home with the wifey.

We held down the last half hour on our own. We dealt with a crazy woman who had to have a pair of black slacks for her husband and he was a 40-30. It's an odd size. We had plenty of 40-34's, but she wanted them right away and we had to look through everything. We finally found one that was the right size but had a mark on them. She wanted a discount and I patiently explained we were not authorized to do that. She sniffed and bought them anyway.

She wasn't happy, though, and let us know it the whole time we made the sale. By the time she was gone and the register tape was removed and folded with the tally cards, the grillwork was coming down on the main doors and the place was closed.

"Whew," I said. "I don't know why it always gets like that at closing. Makes me all agitated."

"You handled it fine, Bob. But I would have just given them to her. They don't have any inventory control here. The Store would never have known."

I stood there, a little stunned. "I never thought of that." Jeeze, he was right. And we wouldn't be minutes late getting out of there.

He picked up his jacket and slipped it over his shoulders. "Got any big plans tonight?" he asked. "I am not looking forward to watching TV with my Aunt until it is time to go to bed."

I smiled. This was fantastic. "Well, I thought I might go down to the movies and catch Butch Cassidy again."

"Quite an original mind, Bob. I'm not much of a western guy, but that is a very pretty movie. Mind if I join you? I'll miss the bus, though, and you will have to give me a lift home."

"I'd be happy to, Alexander. It will be fun to see it with someone. The dancing hotdog reel for the snack bar is worth the price of admission alone."

"You don't know the half of that," he said with a smile. I didn't know precisely what he meant by that, but I had a feeling I was going to find out.

Midnight Cowboys

We found the red VW out in the parking lot, back in the rows where Management wanted the employees to park. I loosened my tie, and then unwrapped it.

"Too hot for work clothes," I said. "I wish I had brought something to change into."

Alexander looked at he and shrugged off his sport jacket. We stood on both sides of the car, doors open, letting the evening breeze blow the heat out of the car. He folded the jacket neatly and removed his tie and placed them in the backseat. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolled them up twice with careful precision. He unbuttoned his collar and two more below it, tugging the shirt so it bloused and hung as thought that was the way it was supposed to look all the time.

"It's just a question of attitude," He smiled. He pointed at the jug of home-made wine on the floor behind the driver's seat. "What is that?"

"It's wine my old man makes. He does fifty gallons every year. He puts it in any container he can, and he never can keep it organized. It is like a big likker lending library."

"Is it any good?"

"Well, it is California concentrate and Illinois Concord grapes. It is a little sweet, but it seems to work."

He looked a little doubtful. "We'll get ice and some cups at the drive-in. Trust me, it will be fine."

I got the feeling that homemade wine in paper cups was something he made a point of not doing. I completed my comfort conversion by doing just what Alexander had done. We climbed into the car and I turned the key, fired up the little four-banger engine and turned on the radio.

"Pick any station you want," I said. "Not that there is much to pick from. You can get both kinds of mucis here. Country and Western."

Alexander laughed. "Yeah, I get WLS from home at night when they clear the crap off the air at sundown and go clear-channel. It makes me homesick."

It was not far from sundown now. I was suddenly aware of how close we were in the VW. The failing light bathed his fair skin and brought out light highlights in his tight curly hair. I reached down to the great shift and brushed his arm as he was reaching for the buttons on the radio.

The touch was electric. For me anyway, he seemed unconcerned. I wondered if I would have the nerve to do anything.

I had a crush on a kid in my band class in junior high school. His name was Joe. It was an old fashioned name, and he wore straight-leg corduroy pants, lace-up shoes and a cardigan sweater with plaid shirts in the winter. His skin was sallow and smooth, like a girl. He had big expressive eyes and a sort of sadness about him that I found touching.

The other kids made fun of him because he was slight in build and called him queer. For some reason that excited me, and I looked at him as he sawed away on his violin. His Dad had been a football player, or that was the word, and maybe it his gentle manner came as a reaction to that.

I never had gym class with him. I schemed sometimes on how I could let him know that I liked him, maybe an anonymous note that said I might be wearing some article of clothing, maybe a tie or something, and see if we could start a secret friendship.

I would jerk off, thinking about him, wondering if his dick was long and thin, whether he would moan like one of the girls, and if I could moan like that, too.

I always chickened out, thought and never did anything. By the time we got to high school I was hanging around with the other jocks and my infatuation with the slight boy with the delicate manner had passed.

Or so I thought. Now here I was sitting with a beautiful young black man. I wondered if I would chicken out this time, too. He was so cool looking. And suppose I was wrong? Suppose he was just a nice guy and I didn't understand.

Then the word would get out that I was a homo and the rest of the summer would be spent with icy coldness from my folks and total isolation at work and it would drag on forever.

I decided it was better to just play it straight and put the homo business aside. It was such a hassle. That would be easier. I could wait to explore this at college, when I was on my own for real. I sighed, pleased that the decision had been made.

"What's up Bob?" asked Alexander. "Something on your mind?"

I turned and looked at him. Damn, he was good looking. "Nah, I just have some things going on with my folks. I can't wait to get going for college."

"Yeah," he said. "I'm eager to get on with it, too. I have to make up my mind about Howard or the University of Illinois."

"It would be cool to see you on campus," I said. He smiled and we started talking about the movies.

We were rolling down 31st Street toward the expressway. "It is a western theme," I said. " A double feature with True Grit and Butch Cassidy."

"Maybe you better take me home now," said Alexander. "I'm not sure I can do two westerns in a row." I slowed as we neared the Expressway Twin Drive-In.

"Well, there is Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider on the other screen."

"Let's do that," he said. "Though I hate to pull you away from the horses."

"Pull away, Man," I said. "I have seen Redford enough. Let's check out Jon Voight. I haven't seen that one."

I turned into the entrance lanes and pulled to the right side. There was a line of ticket booths, set up like toll-gates on the turnpike. The two on the right side served Screen Two, where Midnight Cowboy was going to show.

There were more cars in the Screen One Lot, which was on the other side of the Snack Bar that served both from its position smack in the middle of the compound.

The teen-ager in the booth gave a cursory look in the back seat to make sure there was no one huddled there and I gave him three bucks for the admission. I put it in first and drove slowly along the perimeter road, looking down the lanes.

"Where do you want to park?" I asked.

"Not in the middle. Let's get over to the side where we can drink in private."

"Sounds good. Let me pull up near the Snack Bar and we can get ice and some cups." I pulled up in the back row next to the entrance and we got out and walked in through the glass door. There were two girls working the counter and some kids running around with a harried-looking couple getting a cardboard platter of hot-dogs. Alexander rolled his eyes at me, as if to say "how pathetic."

"We have to get something to eat with a drink or they won't give us the cups," I said in an aside. "I get the Sprite and pour it out and rinse the ice in the water fountain."

Alexander nodded. When the couple got out of the way I ordered a hot dog and a big Sprite, plenty of ice.

"Make it two," said Alexander. I could tell the girl was checking him out. He was a pretty exotic looking guy in this blockhead Dutch town. I envied him that.

We walked out of the Snack Bar, drank some of the Sprite and poured the rest out. The cool sweet liquid tasted good. I swirled water from the cooler over the ice and cupped my fingers over the top of the cup as I poured it out. He did the same and we climbed back in the Beetle. I drove slowly over the inclines until we were on the far left side of the parking area, well away from the knot of cars in the middle and not on the way to the Snack Bar or the bathroom.

I shut the car off, rolled the window up enough to hook the big gray metal speaker into the driver's side. The speaker was big enough to intrude a little into the space in the tiny driver's side and I had to squirm a little to get comfortable. I brushed Alexander's shirt.

"I love the car," I said. "But it is a little small. Could you reach the wine in the back?"

"Sure. But I don't mind the size of the car. At least you have one." He turned and reached between the seat. I looked down the past the unbuttoned shirt and got a glimpse of smooth hairless honey-colored chest and a nipple that was a dark bud. I smelled him, too, something beyond the faint scent of his aftershave. Something rich and tinged with sweat and something else.

He unscrewed the metal cap on the bottle and I produced my cup from between my legs. He filled it half up and then he did the same for his. We settled in, and unwrapped our hot dogs.

It was not full dark yet, but the projector started and the screen was bathed with pale images of coming attractions. There were three or four of them, but I was fascinated by the way Alexander was eating his hot dog. He brought the bun to his lips and opened wide, seeming to tease the frankfurter with his tongue, and then gently and delicately severing it with his pearly teeth.

I gave shivered a little. It was so erotic. I ate mine without the same grace, but the symbolism was clear. I looked down at the cup between my legs, finished the dog in a couple gulps. I crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it in the back seat.

"Easy, Bob. You gotta make things last" he said. He resumed his consumption of the hotdog and licked his lips. I sipped the wine as the dancing hot dogs appeared on the screen. The speaker crackled and buzzed, since this segment was shown over and over again. Alexander took a sip of wine, grimaced, and then said "Well, the price is right."

"Aw, c'mon. It's not that bad. It will grow on you, promise."

The dancing hot dogs finished counting down the ten minutes to the feature film, and the wine began to spread a warm glow through my middle. I thought the dancing dogs looked just like thin erect cocks in warm little jackets. I didn't say anything. I wondered what Alexander was thinking.

"Have you seen this before?" he asked. "I enjoyed it."

"I heard it was kinda dark," I said. "I mean, you know, depressing."

"Stop it. Don't be so sensitive. It is a real story from the big city. Jon Voight is just like one of the blockheads from here who gets to the big city and has to do what he has to do. Ratso is the Dustin Hoffman character. He teaches Jon the ropes."

The theme music and the credits started. "Everybody's Talkin' `bout me..." sang Nillson. I liked the song. So far nobody did talk about me, but maybe that was going to change if I jung around with Alexander.

Alexander completed the line: "Can't hear a word they say!" He smiled."Do you smoke pot?"

"I'd like to," I said. "I tried it before we moved here and it felt pretty good. I think it was, anyway. We were pretty drunk." Alexander squirmed around in his seat and produced his wallet. He extracted a thin hand-rolled cigarette.

"I only brought a little with me from Chicago, so I only get to smoke one a day. I might be able to find more, but it will take a while to make connections."

He punched in the lighter on the dash. When it popped out it bathed his face in red. He applied it to the end of the joint and inhaled deeply. "You ever had a Chicago Shotgun?" he asked.

"A what?" I asked apprehensively.

"Don't worry. Here, let me show you." He took the joint from his lips and inserted the lit end into his mouth. The butt end protruded from his lips and he leaned over to me. I was startled and drew back in surprise. He touched my shoulder and brought my face close to his. He began to blow through the joint and an intense plume of smoke came out. I got the point and leaned in close and began to inhale.

Our lips were so close it was almost a kiss. and the smoke as cool and rich and thick. I sucked it down deep into my lungs. When I had a full breath he stopped and delicately removed the joint from his mouth. "Now that is a shotgun" he said with a smile.

I was stunned at the intimacy of the ritual. I wanted to do that again. I wanted to see those lips that close. I exhaled slowly, the sweet smoke leaving me giddy.

"That was fantastic! Can I do it for you?"

He smiled and passed me the joint. I inserted it in my mouth as he had, backwards, and leaned close to him. I looked him deep in the eyes and began to blow air into the joint as if I was whistling. A thin rope of smoke came from the butt and he gulped it in eagerly, our lips nearly touching. When he was full I leaned back, and realized my hand had brushed his thigh. I looked down and in the dim light of the screen I thought I saw there was a bulge in his crotch.

Alexander let the smoke trickle from his mouth. "Yeah, that feels good. Relaxing."

We passed he joint back and forth until it was too small to pass. Alexander inhaled deeply and popped the roach in his mouth.

He gestured to me to lean over toward him and I did. He closed his eyes and began to exhale the last cloud from his lungs and I drank it in, getting closer and closer. Close enough to kiss him.

The sweet smoke from his sweet lips was overpowering.

His eyes opened, and then he pressed his lips against mine and blew out the last.

He pulled away and breathed in deeply.

"So what do you think about the Chicago shotgun?"

My head felt pleasantly expanded and all my nerves tingled. "I like it a lot," I said. "I'd like to do it again."

Double Feature

We sipped some wine and let the buzz take hold. I was sitting next to this handsome man and I needed to do something, but I didn't know what. He had as much as kissed me and I had desperately wanted to kiss him back. It seemed like now or never. I thought of an excuse to brush his leg, or something, but with the single joint gone I was not going to get another chance for a shotgun unless I tried it with a Marlboro and that sounded gross.

Ratso was trying to convince Jon to do something in Times Square. I felt dreamy from the marijuana and relaxed from the wine. "So why was it that your family made you come here for the summer, Alexander?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, it is a bit of a story. But I can make it simple. They did not like my choice of girlfriend." He looked back a the screen where Jon Voight was wearing a little cowboy hat pushed back on his blonde hair. Dustin Hoffman looked like a junkie

My stomach knotted at the words. I had been on the verge of a huge mistake. God, I felt like such an idiot. The closeness had only been a way to smoke the pot. I could have been a complete fool.

I didn't say anything, and took a sip of wine. I tried to sound sympathetic, though my stomach felt like I had been kicked. "Was it a white girl?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah, the problem was that she was a white guy."

I spit out some wine. "What?"

He reached over and put a hand on my thigh. "Yes, you head me right. I got beat up at school because some of the brothers called me Queer and I told them to go stuff themselves. I tried to keep them from finding out why but Daddy got on his high horse and went to school and the counselor told them the word was that I was a pansy. A fruit. They decided to get me out of there so I wouldn't get hurt."

"Jeeze," I said lamely. "That is terrible."

"Oh, there is worse I suppose." I touched the back of his hand, stroking it gently. "It must be terrible to be treated that way." I thought back and wondered if I had just looked on when Joe was teased in junior high School. Let him be made fun of when I really liked him. I felt awful. "Have you always liked boys? When did you know?"

"I've always known I was different. I always was comfortable with the women in the family, and I liked the girls at school. I just wasn't attracted to them. As soon as I started to mature I knew what I wanted, and it was other boys. When did you know?"

I was stunned. "Well, I'm not sure I do know."

"Oh, come on. You are as queer as I am. I could tell the moment we met. Us queers can tell."

I sat quietly. "I have been trying to figure it out. Lately I have been thinking of men when I jerk off. And when I met you...I don't know. I thought you were very attractive. Does that make me queer?"

"Well, you asked me to the Drive-in Movie where we could be alone," he finished for me. He raised his glass to me and took a drink. "So what do you want to do about it? Here we are."

"I don't know," I stammered. Alexander laughed and leaned over and kissed me full on the lips, lingering.

"Now you know," he said. And then he kissed me again, and I felt my lips open and my tongue touched his. It was like velvet, and the taste was sweet from the wine and rich with the marijuana. I felt his arms come around me and I leaned into him and I could feel something like a freight train in my head.

And it literally was a freight train, since the tracks ran not far from this side of the theater. But when the ground shuddered I could not tell if it was from the movement of the train on the tracks or my heart thudding against my ribcage. God it felt good! My mouth was open wide to him as his tongue probed my teeth and my palate. I sucked at his tongue, trying to capture it and hold it. I twisted in his embrace so that I faced upward to him. My arms clung to him for support and I felt I was falling upward into his eyes.

I don't know how long we made out but Nillson was singing "Everybody's talking at me" again and the movie must have ended. Alexander looked up and said the dancing hot-dogs were on the screen again. I squirmed around, still leaning against him. The arc lights had come on at the base of the screen to show people the way to the snack bar. I screwed up my eyes against the sudden brightness.

"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked.

"I think we are just fine right here," he said. I heard the sound of a zipper opening and I shivered. He pulled open the front of his trousers and skinned them down with his white briefs. He reached for my hand and drew it toward him. I could see him in the darkness, dark flesh much darker than his skin.

It was the first erect cock I had ever seen, other than old Faithful. It was long and narrow, curving slightly up the right. He was uncircumcised, the tip of it just protruding from the foreskin. Something on the tip glimmered. I gently placed my palm on the side of it, toward the base, and slowly wrapped my fingers around it as if I were griping a bat. He squirmed. I took the pressure off my grip and ran my hand gently upward. He had to be nearly eight inches in length, but his cock was as slim and expressive as his fingers.

The story seemed to be true. I continued to gently, so gently, run my hand up and then down the length of his cock. I leaned over and kissed him again, and then looked down at the precious dark lance protruding from my hand.

"You need to put that sweet mouth of yours on that, you know" he said softly. "If you are going to be queer you may as well be a cocksucker."

"I'd love to suck your cock, Alexander,' I said reverently. The words hung in the air like balloons. "I'm going to suck your cock." I was amazed by the sound of it, the words spoken for real.

Bob, I thought to myself, tonight you are a cocksucker. Then I shivered and began to lower my face toward his lap.

Easy Rider

After the dancing hotdogs were gone the arclights went out and the speaker cracked with the noise of big motorcycles. My tongue was licking the tip of Alexander's cock. I could not tell the color now, but from the glimpse I had before the second feature started it seemed to have collected all the melanin from his golden body and concentrated into a stiff black pole.

I held it by the base and swirled my tongue around it. There was not much taste to the slippery fluid that had collected on the piss slit, but I lapped it up and then French-kissed it to make sure I had gotten it all.

Then I worked my tongue around the flesh that surrounded his heart-shaped knob and took him in my mouth where I could work my tongue on the velvety shaft.

"That's good, Bob. No teeth, gentle is good for now." He seemed willing to let me go at my own pace and I felt empowered by my submission to his manhood. I was sucking a black man's cock and it was wonderful. The pot and the wine enhanced my desire and I ran my tongue down the side of his elegant cock and down to the nest of wiry hairs that covered his balls.

The smell bathed my enhanced senses and I licked his sack and teased the orbs within. "Suck them, Bob, suck my balls," said Alexander.

I sucked one into my eager mouth. The tender teste floated softly within the wiry covering of the silky flesh. The smell of him was making me wild. I opened my mouth wide managed to get both precious balls in my mouth. I ran my tongue between them, separating them into my cheeks. I felt his shaft rub my cheek in the darkness and the roar from the speaker matched the squirming of his hips.

I felt transported. Alexander's slim fingers caressed my hair, pressing me down into him. I sucked his balls, my mouth gaping and aching with the effort not to let my teeth interrupt his pleasure.

The voices from the speaker blurred in my eagerness to serve him. His voice blended with that of the movie. I was sucking young Jack and violent Dennis as I sucked Alexander. I left his balls with a slurp and licked upward, worshiping his shaft. When I reached the top I plunged down on him till the throbbing tip lodged in the back of my throat. I felt my gag reflex begin and Alexander cupped my ears.

"Not yet, Bob, you'll take all of me, oh yes you will. But you can't take me deep at that angle. You'll have to be on your knees in front of me!"

I squirmed around and gripped the base of his cock and began to vigorously plunge my soft palate over his silky hardness. My mouth was getting sore from holding it so wide open but now I could focus and found a little rhythm that seemed to please him. The sweet liquor of his seed was beginning to flow, slippery on my tongue and the rich smell drove us wild.

I thought what it must look like to look down from above, to see me bobbing on that magnificent spear.

I heard him moan and I heard Jack yelling something at Peter about Dennis and then Alexander's hands pressed against my ears and froze me in my downward movement. "Damn!" he said. "Your gonna take a load!"

His words made my tongue, the only thing he had not frozen in place with the firm pressure of his hands.

It might have been the buck of his hips, or maybe it was the backfire of a Harley from the speaker, but he came in my mouth then, a mixture of sound and passion. Jets hit the back of my throat, warm and salty. A hint of chlorine. Acrid and sweet at the same time.

It was almost more than I could take all at once, but I nursed on him as he held my head in place. His semen leaked from my mouth but I greedily captured it between my lips and my hand, and kept sucking until he was dry and clean.

"Ooh, Baby" he said as I suckled on him. "You are going to be one fine cocksucker."

It thrilled me to hear him say that and I was hard as a rock. He stroked my hair as I imprisoned his softening shaft in my mouth.

"You keep that up I might get hard again.'

I thought that sounded just fine.

Knights in White Satin

I finally sat up, blinking. The Red Necks were chasing down Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper and I was a cocksucker.

I sought Alexander's lips with mine and he kissed me gently, our tongues meeting and sharing the residue of him that lingered on my teeth. I took a sip of wine from his cup. Mine was knocked over on the floor. "Do you want me to do you?" he asked with a smile. I reached over and felt my aching cock. The fabric of my slacks was slick with pre-cum I had been leaking while I suckled on him.

His touch was electric. "I'll come in a second," I said. I felt very strange. I thought that once I came I would be overcome with the significance of the moment, the strange new reality I had gobbled myself into.

I had the otherworldly feeling that I was not Bob, suburban teen anymore. I had walked through a door I had always known was there, but now I was on the other side. I was a queer cocksucker. I was still weak with desire and I did not want that to change. I wanted his lips on me, and I wanted more. I wanted him to make me completely his, complete the transformation.

"I want more, Alexander. I want to fuck."

"Well, we could try it here, but we will be the only ones left in the Drive-in."

"We have the rest of the summer," I said with wonder.

"Yes we do." I liked the sound of the "we." I was part of something with him. "but we will have to find a place to hang out with some privacy." He was very practical.

"I think I have one. My folks have a cabin in Michigan. It is on a little lake. I bet we can get there."

"Sounds good to me. I'd like that a lot." The credits were rolling on the film and brake lights were coming on from the cars clustered in the middle of the parking area.

"So I guess I'll run you home and see you tomorrow at the mall." He leaned over and kissed me. "I want to sleep with you, Bob. We need to do that. Soon."

"Me too" I said. I untangled myself and popped the trunk-lid with the little handle under the dash-board. I put the speaker back on the post with the spiral cord hanging down. I got out and put the bottle of wine in an old cardboard box I kept there to keep it from rolling around. I was still hard and I would have to avoid talking to my parents when I got in and not let them see the stains on my pants. I got back in and closed the door.

He smiled at me in the bright glow of the arclights that said the show was over. He touched my thigh, caressing it. I knew this show wasn't over. It was only beginning.

I drove back up 32nd street past the Mall and another couple miles to the in-close suburb where the black community was clustered. The trees were full and the bungalows were old but well-kept. There was no ghetto in this town, except possibly the mental one that keeps us all imprisoned in our boxes. I was still grappling with being outside of my box, a little giddy at the prospect of having made a small logical step and seeing where would take me.

"It is this one up here, on the left." I pulled across the oncoming lane and stopped at the curb in front. A single light burned downstairs behind a substantial porch. I was glad there was no one rocking on the chair there to greet us.

"I'd like to ask you in," said Alexander earnestly. "But it is late."

"Do you mean that?" I asked. "Are you saying you want to be public?" the thought was a revelation.

"Public about what? We are just friends and you are showing me the ropes. What else would anyone think? And who cares anyway?"

I was quiet, wondering about having Alexander meet my parents.

"Just relax, Bob. All you did was natural. Pure nature." He leaned over and kissed me again, quickly, and was gone into the house. I gunned the engine a little, let out the clutch and drove home where the houses were more modern and the lawns a little larger.

There was no one awake to greet me except the dog, and she though she sniffed me with a quizzical nose, she was not that interested.

When I got into bed I thought of Alexander's cock in my mouth and I had no more to do than touch myself and I came in great wave of semen that pooled on my belly, filling up my navel and running off to the side. I scooped it up and licked it off my fingers, marveling in the difference in taste between us.

I slept and when the light was coming up and after the folks were stirred and cars started to take them to their jobs, I drifted off again. You know what I dreamt. A night spent on white satin, with caramel skin against mine.