Paradise Lust

This cautionary tale was composed while listening to Santa Esmeralda's cover of "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." That enduring classic can be accessed at YouTube.

Please excuse the absence of diacritics in the occasional snippet of Spanish conversation. I was not certain how they would appear. Better a stress mark go missing than typographical gibberish in its stead.

As always, please extend Nifty Stories some monetary love for the considerable service it provides for free.

PARADISE LUST,

by Skorpio

"I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."

• Nina Simone

It was snowing thickly. With shoulders hunched, Judd thrust his hands into his coat pockets for warmth on his way home from work. Between the train station and his apartment on the other side of tracks was this rundown neighborhood.

Judd could have taken a taxi or chosen a different route, but he liked coming this way because it took him past a dive called the Paradise Club. Through a large window lit by a flashing neon palm tree, he could see the figures inside. Mostly young Latinos, sitting at the long bar and shooting pool. Spanish music blared from the jukebox.

It always astonished Judd to see Latinos in wife-beaters in the dead of winter. He thrilled over the sight of their cinnamon shoulders and knew these hot-blooded cockerels could not wait for the first warm day of spring to strip to the waist.

Judd's first lover was a Chicano named Juan. They dated while Juan was stationed at Fort Dix, and lived together for three years after he became a civilian. Judd was deeply in love, but their relationship fell apart when he caught Juan cheating with a woman.

Had Juan slept with another man, Judd could have competed and won him back. Judd would have done whatever he could, whatever Juan wanted, no matter what it took. But with a woman for a rival, he felt helpless. He could not compete against a female.

It took time for the heartbreak to heal. Judd never had sex with an Hispanic man again, but with maturity he accepted the inevitability of females poaching on his territory. Judd was a bottom in the bedroom, and the kind of masculine stud he preferred always seemed to have one foot in the heterosexual world.

Judd's current lover was an Afro-Caribbean named Jesus who was upfront about his unquenchable bisexuality from jump street.

"I will never cheat on you with another guy," he promised. "Word is bond. You're my baby-boy, and you know that's not gonna change. But I can't go the rest of my life never fucking a woman again. That's not realistic. If you wanna keep seeing me, those are my terms. Can you handle that?"

"I guess so," said Judd.

"You need to be certain. What's it gonna be? I don't wanna lose you, but I can't change who I am."

"I love you as you are," Judd declared, pulling himself together. If only Juan had been this honest with him. "I can handle it."

"There's one more thing," said Jesus. "If you ever want to sleep with a female, that's cool with me, even though we both know that's never gonna happen. I just wanna be fair. What's good for the gander is good for the goose."

"I won't cheat on you with anyone," vowed Judd in earnest. It was not lost on him that Jesus was the gander, and he was the goose.

"Baby-boy, you better not." Jesus embraced his boyfriend, reaching down to grip the white man's buttocks as they kissed. "Nobody gets this booty but me," he said, affectionately.

The two paramours rented an apartment and lived in reasonable harmony. Every morning they made love without fail. Jesus would begin nibbling on Judd's ear, whispering how much he needed that sweet white ass, and for the rest of the day Judd would feel his lover's massive cock inside him.

There were lovers' spats now and then, but these often incurred as an excuse for passionate makeup sex. Jesus was insatiably horny and his iron crowbar cock did not take "no" for an answer. His stamina belonged in the "Guinness Book of World Records."

Judd did not mind that Jesus sometimes called to say he would be running late or when disappeared on the weekend, even if it did mean Jesus was laying some pipe on the side. At least the random pussy in Jesus' life gave Judd's throat and ass a chance to recuperate. There was that . The sound of Salsa and rapid voices from the Paradise Club tugged at Judd. Despite the chill, he slowed down to listen and think. Judd wished he had the nerve to go inside. Not to prowl for trade. He would never do that to Jesus. It would just be to admire the handsome Latinos up close, overhear them chattering in Spanish, and imbibe the aroma of machismo in the air.

This conjured memories of Juan. Handsome, sexy Juan. Judd remembered Juan crying out in Spanish during sex. How that man could fuck! Judd pictured Juan's uncircumcised, dark brown sausage. Absently, he licked his lips.

What if Juan were to come back into his life? What if Judd were forced to choose between Juan and Jesus? Wouldn't it be exciting if Juan and Jesus came to blows? Juan was lithe and quick, more of a wrestler than a boxer. Jesus played football in college. Judd easily imagined Jesus tackling Juan.

Judd often treated himself to fantasies of romantic intrigue, courtship, and betrayal. These flights were inspired by the soap operas and Harlequin novels he relished. In some ways Judd had the emotional temperament of a sixteen-year-old girl, forever longing for some irresistible rogue to carry him off.

Judd scratched his head, and for a moment had a passing wish that he and Juan were still together, but where would that leave Jesus? He could not imagine not waking up to Jesus every morning, even if now and then the former quarterback came home late smelling of pussy and perfume.

"Juan had his chance," decided Judd with a pang of remorse. "I belong to Jesus."

It happened that on this snowy Friday night Judd did not expect to see Jesus at home until late.

"I have to help out a friend this evening," said Jesus, while Judd was making breakfast. "Don't wait up. I'm not sure how long I'll be."

`Okay, cool," said Judd, appreciating his boyfriend's tactfulness.

Hurrying on, putting the tempting Paradise Club behind him, Judd speculated on where Jesus might go looking for a friend to help out. The most likely place was the Kit-Kat Lounge, a rowdy strip joint not a block from the Lavender Pub, one of Judd's old watering holes.

Judd was not sure when he last set foot in the local fleshpots. He did not care for the company of other homosexuals. Too many queens, he felt, scared off the real men. But, there would not be many out on a wild and wooly night like this, and it was early.

It might be nice having a cocktail at the old Pub, he told himself. Better than waiting at home for Jesus to come waltzing in at God-knows-when. If Jesus was cruising and carousing at the Kit-Kat Lounge, slipping dollar bills into garter belts, or whatever it was randy studs like Jesus did in there, Judd decided there was nothing wrong with stopping into the Pub for a drink.

"What's good for the gander is good for the goose."

The two establishments were only a few blocks away.

Judd pressed on through the falling snow. He felt a rush of exhilaration being out on his own, off his leash. Like the old days when he explored the lonely streets, letting strange men lure him into alley ways, hopping from corner bar to corner bar. Around every corner was a new adventure.

There was the little bodega known for the best Italian hoagies in town. There, the thrift shop where he found the rare Modigliani print now hanging in his bedroom. There, the corner newsstand which included gay periodicals in the adult racks which Judd was too self-conscious to purchase.

Judd didn't like coming out to strangers. He couldn't bear the humiliation of being looked upon with pity or disgust. Even worse was their stifled laughter. They did not see him as a man who loves men. He was a perversity to them, a freak of nature.

He knew all too well what strangers think of men who suck cocks. That was the horror with which he saw himself when the lust for cock first stirred in him as a boy.

Every night before bed, Judd would pray fervidly to God to be normal, to desire girls like the other boys, to be spared these sinful, tormenting thoughts.

Yet, every night, the youth would dream of his male classmates naked, frolicking in the locker room or skinny-dipping at the lake; and every morning when he woke, his underwear was sticky and wet with ejaculate.

God not only never answered Judd's prayers, he made the boy's craving for men more intense as he got older. Eventually, Judd stopped praying, stopped believing, and he accepted what he was powerless to change.

Judd turned a corner. With the Lavender Pub less than half a block away, the gay man saw something that defied belief. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be! It had to be a trick of light, a mirage in the snowy gloom, a phantasm of his overactive imagination.

Emerging from the gay bar was a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked like Jesus and beside him was a young white man with longish blond hair who could have been Judd's twin. Were they laughing?

Hiding behind a parked van, Judd peered through the falling snow. "It is Jesus," he gasped, as if someone punched him in the stomach. Stunned, he watched them walk to Jesus' cherry-red Mazda and drive off.

Judd stood transfixed, annihilated. How could this be happening? What a fool he was to give his heart to Jesus. He was a fool to trust any man.

"God! Fuck my life!" he cursed, trudging home in a daze, no longer feeling the cold.

Back at the apartment, Judd drowned his sorrows in vodka, blasted music, and chain-smoked, but found no surcease of anguish with Jesus' things looking back at him in every room, taunting him.

It was too much to bear. He should have known better. Jesus was too good to be true. Judd had to get out, run away, go somewhere, anywhere to forget. He thought that he could run from the pain, that it would not follow him wherever he went.

"I know," he exclaimed, finishing the last of the hundred-proof. "The Paradise Club! Why the hell not?"

With that ill-advised, inebriated decision, Judd grabbed his heavy coat and retraced his steps to the dive with the flashing neon palm tree in the window. A juke box was blaring "La Vida Loca."

With Dutch courage, Judd walked into the crowded joint and ordered a Corona which everyone seemed to be drinking. It was hot as hell inside the bar, too toasty for the winter coat, but Todd did not know what to do about it. Most of the men were in short sleeves or wife-beaters. One peripatetic youth was shirtless . The air was heavy and sweet with smoke. Latinos of all ages perched on stools, others milled around the pool tables in the back. Now and then, Judd caught a word of English, but mostly Spanish was spoken. The language of passion, the silver tongue of the Latin lover.

Despite three years of high school Spanish and two Spanish-speaking boyfriends, Judd could barely understand more than the occasional word. He could conjugate some verbs if he put his mind to it, count to thirty, and clumsily recite a few idiomatic expressions, but that was the extent of his ability.

Deep down inside, Judd felt he should not have to learn another language. Yet he loved hearing it spoken. He could get lost in not knowing what was being said. It was exotic and magical and volatile.

Being in the midst of so many brown-skinned, black-haired men with flashing eyes, speaking a rapid, mysterious tongue, gave the gay white man in the winter coat a nerve-tingling thrill. These hombres made him feel like the opposite sex.

"Sup, blanquito?" inquired a cocky voice with an accent that crackled like electricity in Judd's ear.

Judd turned round to face the bare-chested Latino.

The young man was barely out of his teens, and his smoldering torso was inked with intricate designs. A Sacred Heart adorned one pectoral, while fiery swords, thorny cruciforms, and grinning skulls illustrated his shoulders, arms, and back.

"I've never seen you here before," said the friendly stranger, flashing a smile.

"Um, it was cold outside," stammered Judd, trying not to stare.

"I know, right," laughed the Latino, putting out his hand. "You came to the right place, blanquito! I'm Mateo." He shook Judd's soft hand with a decisive grip.

Judd gave his name, clumsily adding, "Me encanta conocerlo," as an afterthought.

"Do you even know what that means?" Mateo arched a brow.

"Um, pleased to meet you?"

"Something like that," chuckled Mateo. He had a disarming laugh. "It's a little formal. You said you're enchanted to make my acquaintance. I might say that to a female if I'm trying to make an impression, you feel me? Entiendas? Next time, just say, "Mucho gusto.'"

"Thanks, I will," said Judd. "Mucho gusto!"

"That's better, blanquito. You don't mind me calling you that, do you?"

"I don't mind."

Mateo bought them both a shot of Bacardi, and Judd returned the favor, along with a round of "cervezas." They chatted awhile about the weather and the song on the jukebox, until was painfully obvious to Judd they had nothing in common. That did not stop Mateo was rambling on about girls, sports, cars, and gambling.

By now, Judd was so drunk that all he could was nod and smile with an insipid look on his face, while taking in the sound of Mateo's energetic voice, admiring the firm contours of his strapping physique, intrigued by the religious iconography.

"I gotta take a piss," said Mateo. "You gonna be here when I get back?"

"Sure," said Judd.

"Don't go nowhere, aiiight? I'll be right back, blanquito! Wait for me!"

Was Mateo really coming back? "Maybe I should go," Judd told himself; but it was the alcohol which insisted: "One more look at that gorgeous body. Then, you can leave. One more look, that's all."

Judd could not help wondering about Mateo's cock. The stud's trousers were too loose-fitting to afford a clue to what he was packing. But Judd was certain it was substantial. He had an instinct for sizing up men's hidden assets.

Half an hour passed before Mateo returned, wearing a red tee-shirt under a light jacket. He was accompanied by two young men who looked barely old enough to be served. They were introduced as Flacco and Angel.

Flacco was tall and thin with a dark, pockmarked face. He wore a coat over his wifebeater and saggy jeans. Angel was small, compact, light-skinned, with an unruly black mane, and a baby-face behind gold-plated Versace glasses.

"We're gonna head over to the set," said Mateo. "You wanna come back with us?"

"C'mon," urged Flacco, smiling with missing teeth. "It's not far." His accent was very thick.

Angel chimed in: "The fiesta is just getting started."

Was it Judd's salacious imagination or were Flacco and Angel flirting with him?

Mateo tugged Judd toward him to whisper into the gay man's ear: "You wanna suck some juicy Puerto Rican dick, blanquito? My shit is hard right now thinking about your pretty mouth. My boys are down. What do you say? You coming?"

"I guess so," said Judd. Heartbreak fueled by beer and rum, ignited by his lust for cock, left the homosexual helpless to resist temptation.

A strange character held the door for Judd and the three amigos as they exited the Paradise Club together. He was a tall black man, but his face had an almost ivory hue which the neon glare of the flashing palm tree licked like a lambent flame. He smiled knowingly.

Barely feeling the winter chill, Judd trotted along behind Mateo, Flacco, and Angel through the falling snow. Their winding trek turned a corner to an alley which led to another street and yet another, until Judd lost all sense of location. He did not realize they were taking him farther and farther into the labyrinthine intestines of the barrio.

Eventually, they came to a rundown row-house with shuttered windows.

"This is it," said Mateo.

"Told you it wasn't far," said Flacco.

"Let's do it," said Angel.

Judd's temples pounded excitedly as he followed inside. His nostrils were met at once by the sweet stench of marijuana.

A gloomy hallway opened on a spacious room where flickering candles stirred the shadows. Half a dozen brown-skinned men lounged languidly on ratty sofas and cushions. Some were smoking blunts and drinking from forties. Some appeared to be sleeping, sprawled out like great cats upon the floor.

Mateo spoke briefly in Spanish to a heavy-set fellow, before signaling to Judd and the others to follow him up a dark flight of stairs. In a bedroom on the second floor, Mateo lit some candles. There was a queen-sized mattress on the floor, a bureau absent drawers, and several black milk crates which apparently served as chairs and tables. The wallpaper was peeling.

"Get comfortable," said Mateo. "You can take that coat off. It's not bad up in here."

He was not wrong. It was not as cold at all, although maybe Judd was insulated by the alcohol in his system. He sat down on a crate in his shirtsleeves. Flacco took a squat beside him, so close their shoulders almost touched. Angel sat cross-legged on the edge of the mattress. At once, Mateo doffed his jacket and shirt, showing off that stunning, tattooed body. He handed out Corona tallboys from a brown bag which Judd noticed for the first time . Off came the shirts of the other two Latinos. Their taut, brown bodies glowed in the candlelight. Flacco produced a blunt and took a long deep pull before passing it to Judd, who coughed and sputtered.

"You all right?" asked Angel . "I'm okay," said Judd, although his head was spinning.

"What are we waiting for?" muttered Flacco.

"I'm down," said Mateo.

"Yo tambien," agreed Angel, with a mischievous glint.

Mateo turned to Judd: "You ready for summa what I talked about?"

"He's ready," grunted Flacco, standing up to unzip his trousers. Out came his dark brown cock, long, thin, and uncut. "Get it hard, blanquito!" Instinctively, Judd's jaw dropped and his lips parted, already salivating with anticipation.

The tall, skinny Latino stepped forward to hold the whiteboy's head with both hands and insert his flaccid, hooded member with a thrust.

"Chupalo!"

That imperative was all too familiar.

Like an infant with a pacifier, Judd suckled contentedly. The limp member lengthened until it resembled a long baton, slender and hard like the man himself. Moist heat radiated from the low-swinging testicles.

Although this was Judd's first experience giving head while others watched, he was too drunk, too high, and too horny to feel self-conscious. The instant his lips slid around that pole of tumescent flesh, nothing else mattered.

It was awhile before Judd came to his senses and could heard the threesome conversing nonchalantly.

"Pienso que el gringuito se gusta bicho!" exclaimed Angel.

"Creo que si," smirked Mateo.

Judd had no idea what they were saying, but he knew they were talking about him, and that made his blood hot as brandy.

"Te gusta mi herramienta? Es dura como acero," growled Flacco. "Chupamelo! No se detenga!"

This time, Judd knew the incandescent words were fired directly at him.

"He wants to know if you like his tool," translated Mateo. "He says it's hard like steel. He wants you to keep sucking it just like you're doing. Don't stop!"

Judd mumbled unintelligibly with his lips pressed against saliva-coated baton of steel.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," laughed Mateo. "Just nod your head. You got a job to do. We're not gonna interrupt."

"Que mariconito blanco!" snickered Angel, rubbing his crotch.

"Angel says you're a little white faggot," said Mateo. "That's what you are, right? A little white faggot? Nod your head, blanquito."

Judd's head jerked a little. The word faggot pierced like a burning bullet. He was a vulnerable teenager again, taunted in the schoolyard by bullies. Yet, it gave him a twinge of excitement.

"That's okay," said Mateo. "We don't got nothing against little white faggots."

"Yeah, we treat little white faggots real good," snorted Flacco.

"That's if you treat us good," added the youth in the Versace glasses. His baby-face belied the sinister undertone of his voice.

"Blanquito's gonna treat us real good," assured Mateo.

"Como esta hacienda?" inquired Angel of Flacco.

The thin man gave one final thrust and pulled out with a grunt of satisfaction. Drool and semen foamed on the cocksucker's lips and dripped from the long, brown shaft.

"Get you some," offered Flacco, stepping away.

"Come over here and get busy, mariconito," said Angel, laying back on the mattress to wriggle out of his trousers and underwear.

From an overgrown patch of glossy black curls and a sleek, bulging nut-sack, the tawny cock pointed upwards, disproportionately thick and long for such a small-framed body.

Judd stretch his mouth around the shaft until the muscles in his face ached, but the girth was more than his throat could accommodate.

"Puede hacerlo," coaxed Angel. "You can do it!"

That giant cock was not going to fit down Judd's throat no matter how hard he tried. And try he did, wildly sputtering and choking much to Angel's amusement.

"Damn, guerito!" laughed Mateo. "You're such a whore!"

It did not take long, however, before Judd focused on pleasuring with his tongue the sensitive, uncircumcised head and frenulum, that band of elastic tissue on the underside of the shaft below the corona.

This treatment made Angel squeal, "Aiiiii, si, si, si..."

Without warning, the impossibly large cock spurted like a geyser. Gobs of white-hot sperm spattered Judd's panting face and clung to the yellow bangs sweeping his forehead.

"Looks like you got the best for last," said Mateo, letting his trouser drop. "You're gonna fall in love with my dick, blanquito."

The Latino reached down to stroke himself to erection. The uncut sausage went from plump and juicy to a throbbing column in seconds.

"You're dying to taste this dick, aren't you?" said Mateo, his words crackling like voltage. "This is what you came looking for in Paradise! Little white cocksucker needing some hot Spanish dick on a cold, winter night! Yeah, you came to the right place. You had the right idea!"

Judd snuggled between the sturdy, muscular thighs and gulped. The brown, burnished phallus was mesmerizing. It exuded a presence, a personality all its own. Needy and demanding, it cried out to be touched and caressed.

"Ahhhhhhh," gasped Mateo, feeling the whiteboy's soft-as-silk lips deftly pull back the foreskin. "Ohhhhhh, shit. That feels so fucking good. Chupalo!"

"Not quite yet," thought Judd, resisting the command.

Like any true-born cocksucker, or any whiteboy, gay or straight for that matter, who found himself in this situation with a squad of Latino gods, Judd knew innately how to pleasure each individual.

He knew exactly what Mateo's imperious cock wanted. It wanted to be worshipped. It expected to be worshipped.

Teasingly, Judd lapped and nibbled the succulent, brown knob, flicking his agile, pink tongue along the meatus. He attended the frenulum with adoring, sloppy kisses before lubricating the pulsating shaft with glistening saliva.

Slowly, he engulfed the large head in his mouth and descended. Halfway down the column of smoldering flesh, he stopped to work his tongue. Slowly, he went back up, and then he plunged all the way down, taking the cock into his throat to the hilt.

Mateo pressed down on Judd's head, holding him in place, keeping his cock deep inside the cocksucker's throat. Pubic hair tickled Judd's nostrils, filling them with a heady scent, and oversized testicles banged his chin . "That's some good head, am I right?" said Flacco.

Mateo grunted in agreement. From the mattress, Angel, still naked, said: "He's way better than the last mariconito blanco we had up in here."

The three men fell silent as the sound of the slurping echoed in the room. One of the candles sputtered out. The other candles were burning low.

Nothing more was said while the whiteboy worshipped Mateo's cock. Mateo lit a cigarette and tossed the pack to Angel. The three men smoked in abject silence as if communing without speech while their latest little white faggot in a long succession of little white faggots did what he was supposed to do.

Up and down worked Judd's head. His lower body had no rhythm. He could not dance on beat, and the few times the whiteboy tried topping, he could not get the hang of moving his hips, that autonomic, relentless thrust-reflex which most men take for granted.

Above the shoulders, Judd was limber and animated. All of his vital energy was there, twinkling in his blue eyes, playing nervously upon inviting pink lips. His deep, receptive gullet seemed designed for penetration. Why was his tongue long and flexible? Why did it come so naturally, bobbing his head like a pullet?

By slow degrees some of the alcoholic stupor began to lift, rendering Judd's head clear enough to feel a rush of confused emotions.

What before had seemed almost a waking dream, standing in the crowded, noisy Paradise Club, stumbling through the mazy, snowy streets with three hot Latinos, smoking pot in an abandoned house, going down on three irresistible cocks, one after the other, was in fact a reality.

"God, I am such a slut," he thought, with a pang of shame. Almost at once, an inner voice rose to his defense: "Maybe I am a slut, but it's Jesus' fault. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. How could I have trusted him? I'm a fool. I'm a fool and a slut."

Be that as it may, Judd did not stop worshipping the pulsating cock in his mouth for a single heartbeat. He had a job to perform. Nothing was going to stop him from completing this task.

Maybe this was where he belonged. Not with Lotharios like Juan and Jesus, not with perfidious Romeos who pitched woo with vows of everlasting love and promises of fidelity they had no intention of keeping.

Maybe this was better. Roughnecks like Mateo, Flacco, and Angel might be crude and unsophisticated, but they were not liars. They had no reason to lie. Their game had no shame. They did what they wanted, took what they wanted, without apology, without explanation, and fuck anyone who got in their way.

"Awwww, you motherfucking cocksucking... unhhhhh," groaned Mateo, unable to complete his thought. His head was thrown back and his eyes were shut. The black and crimson ink on his chiseled chest and abdomen and arms seemed to writhe and bleed in the candlelight.

Judd knew this volcano was about to erupt. He felt the lithe, brown body become taut; and yet beneath that tension he sensed a deep, churning vortex of power. It was coming: enough fiery seed to impregnate a thousand women, enough to feed the hungriest cocksucker.

"Cabron, you gonna make me nutt," panted Mateo. "Chupa mas duro! Suck it harder!"

"Get that nutt, you little faggot," said Angel, wearing trousers but still shirtless.

Looking on, Flacco stood with arms folded across his lean, dark chest. He glanced over at Angel who returned the eye contact with a sly smile. Then, it happened. Mateo howled, "Aiiiiiiii...," and suddenly, Judd tasted hot, salty, buttery sperm on his tongue.

"Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit," groaned Mateo loudly.

He pulled his powerful cock from Judd's mouth, but with each "Oh, shit!" the fountain of Latino manhood continued to spurt. Again and again.

Opening his eyes, Mateo roared with harsh, derisive laughter.

The wide-eyed cocksucker had copious amounts of molten jism oozing down his face. There was semen encrusting his blond locks, dripping from the tip of his pointy nose, in his thick eyelashes, trickling from the corners of his pink lips.

"That's a paint job!" said Flacco.

"That's a nasty bitch," muttered Angel.

"That's what I'm talking about," said Mateo. "Damn, faggot, didn't I say you were gonna fall in love with this Puerto Rican dick? I know you did. Let me hear you say it."

"I love your Puerto Rican cock."

"No, blanquito, pay attention," scolded Mateo. "You don't just love my dick. You're in love with it. There's a difference, you sick motherfucker. Haven't you ever been in love before? Now, say it again!"

"I'm in love with your Puerto Rican cock."

"See, I knew that was gonna happen," Mateo beamed.

"What do you think we should do with the faggot?" said Flacco.

"I think we should fuck this bitch up," said Angel, curling his lip.

Judd froze like a rabbit which senses it has been spotted by a predator. His head was clear enough to know he was in trouble. His heart pounded.

"Nah," grunted Mateo, lighting a cigarette. "Blanquito, you need to go. We're done here. Get your coat and get the fuck out of here."

"Yeah, why are you still hanging around, faggot?" said Flacco.

"You got what you came for, bitch," said Angel.

With not a second to lose, the frightened whiteboy grabbed his coat and bolted from the gloomy bedroom. Peals of laughter rang out in his wake. Rushing down the stairs he almost stumbled and fell.

No one stirred in the large, barely lit room downstairs as he passed. It seemed everyone was asleep.

A moment later, Judd was outside in the dark and cold, running as best he could manage up the snow-covered sidewalk. The falling snow was turning to a fine, silvery sleet.

It did not matter which direction he took, because he had no idea where he was in the barrio. All that mattered was putting distance between himself and his new friends. He ran until he was out of breath.

A corner street sign proclaimed the intersection of Second and Center.

Fumbling in his coat pocket, Judd was relieved to find his phone, along with his wallet and house keys.

Teeth chattering, he called a taxi and waited almost twenty minutes for it to arrive. When Judd reached for the back door, the Jamaican behind the wheel rolled down the window and told him to sit up front.

Soon, Judd glimpsed familiar city landmarks, and before long, the vehicle pulled up in front his apartment building.

"How much do I owe you?" asked Judd.

"You know what it costs," the Jamaican purred suggestively.

A short ride through the city usually cost seven dollars, but Judd gave the black man a twenty and clambered out.

"Next time, batty boy," said the driver, laughing as he drove away.

"I'm home, I'm safe," thought Judd, looking up at the familiar edifice. "Thank God."

Inserting a key into the door lock, Judd heard music and voices coming from inside the apartment. Jesus was home! All Judd wanted was to curl up safe and loved in his lover's embrace.

"I'm going to forget this night ever happened," he decided.

Upon entering, Judd discovered Jesus and the dude with long blond hair from outside the Lavender Pub sitting side-by-side on the sofa. They were leafing through the scrapbook of photos Judd and Jesus took when vacationing in Bermuda. Santa Esmeralda was on the stereo.

"Baby, what happened to you!" exclaimed Jesus, springing to his feet. He stared at Judd intently.

Judd touched his cheek and felt crusty semen. In his desperation, he had forgotten all about the paint job he received from Mateo, Flacco, and Angel.

That was why the taxi driver came on to him, that explained the laughter.

Jesus spoke again, slowly this time, emphasizing each word: "What's...that...on...your...face?"

Defensively, Judd cried, "What about you? Who's your friend? I can't believe you would bring this whore into our home!"

"Hold up, man! Chill! It's not like that," said Jesus. "This is Luke. You know, Leroy's lover? Leroy, my buddy from work? I told you about them. They've been having some trust issues, so I told Leroy you and I could take him out for some drinks tonight. I picked him up at that gay bar you used to go to. We've been waiting for you all night. Where were you?"

"But, I thought..."

"Never mind what you thought," snapped Jesus, angrily. "And you don't need to tell me what you were doing. The truth is painted on your face!"

"I m-made a m-mistake," stammered Judd.

"No, I'm the one who made a mistake." The handsome Afro-Caribbean shook his head in dismay. "You were just being yourself. I should have seen this coming."

"Jesus, please!" implored Judd.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Jesus turned to Luke. "I can't be here."

"Jesus, no, please! You have to understand. You have to forgive me!"

"I can't forgive you," said Jesus. "It's over. It's finished."

The door slammed behind Jesus on his way out with such force a portrait of Jesus and Judd fell from the wall.

The phonograph needle skipped a track, but resumed playing:

"Sometimes I find myself alone regretting Some foolish thing, some foolish thing I've done; I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."

THE END