Subway Boys

Subway Boys

by Jingjok

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WARNING: The following material contains depictions of explicit sexual activity. If the laws of your jurisdiction do not permit you to view such material, please leave here at once and go to where you can learn how to work to change the laws of your jurisdiction. If you are offended by such material, please seek psychiatric counseling to discuss why you are here in the first place.

On the other hand, if you simply don't care for the type of material indicated by the story codes, well, have a nice day.

gay, high school, interracial, mmm oral

DISCLAIMER: The following is entirely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. All of the parts in this drama are portrayed by mature actors who are masters of makeup and disguise.

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Chapter 1

I fell onto the bench out of breath, happy I had made the train before it left. I needn't have worried. I sat alone in the last car for a couple of minutes before two more happy passengers ran inside and fell onto the bench opposite me. They were right to be glad. The doors closed, and the "D" train pulled out of the station.

I surreptitiously checked out my riding companions. They didn't look like beach boys. Maybe they'd been to one of the arcades, or were just hanging out. I guessed they were both around my age, maybe fifteen. The one on the left was a caramel skinned beauty. His white shirt, hanging open, exposed a smooth chest and a flawless, flat belly, with an innie button that I wanted to lick. A curly brown afro crowned his tan face.

His buddy was darker, with hair that was short, black, and frizzy. He wore a plain green T-shirt with a pocket, and glasses with black plastic frames. Pretty weird for a black guy, I thought. He looked like a model from Nerd's Quarterly. Definitely needed a queer eye on his next shopping trip.

They both wore those disgusting baggy shorts that concealed the interesting parts. Their bare calves showed above their basketball shoes. My eyes flicked over their faces again, and for a couple of seconds, I locked onto those eyes behind the glasses. Better be careful, I thought.

The train reached the next station, and the doors opened and shut without admitting any newcomers to our car. I saw a transit cop standing on the platform, looking bored. The train moved out, and I sneaked another look at the boys.

The one on the left was sitting up straighter now. I could see the little ripples of muscles under the brown skin of his belly. His sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders and I could see the definition in his upper arms. Definitely a jock. Basketball, probably.

His buddy had a smooth, dark face and slim brown arms. Trim, but not an athlete. Like me, he probably spent some time in the school library. I looked at his face, and his eyes caught mine again.

The jock began to rub his hand over his bare stomach. I couldn't help but watch. He rubbed slowly, now and then circling lower to stroke across the waistband of his shorts.

I felt my cock filling in my briefs. It was bent and starting to really bother me, but I couldn't straighten it. Not in front of those boys. I wriggled out of my lightweight jacket and spread it over my lap, hoping my quick adjustment wasn't noticed. Then I looked at the jock. He was smiling, and his pink tongue flicked out across his lips, like a snake that had spotted its prey.

Suddenly, the train ground to a halt, stuck on the elevated platform somewhere between stations. I looked at the boys, and they looked at me. The athletic one moved his hand to his shorts and unbuttoned the fastener and pulled down the zipper. Reaching in, he found his hard black stick and brought it out. He slowly stroked it up and down.

"What you doin', man?" his companion asked in a voice filled with alarm.

I licked my lips, and tossed my jacket onto the seat beside me. I rubbed my hand over the hard bulge in my jeans. The boy and I stroked ourselves for a few seconds, and then he stood up, holding his loose shorts, and walked toward me.

"Jamal!" his buddy cried.

Jamal stood in front of me, and his baggy shorts dropped to his ankles. I stared, with the fascination of a mouse for a cobra, at the bobbing cock that thrust through the fly of his white boxers.

"Go on, pretty, white faggot boy," he said. "Take a hold of your Christmas toy."

It was May, and I'm Jewish, but I wasn't about to quibble. I'd waited fifteen years for this and I wanted more skin. I pushed his cock back inside his fly and yanked his boxers down his legs. I grabbed his smooth, brown hips with both hands and swirled my wet tongue around his cute little navel.

His belly tightened, but he was having none of such foreplay. His hands seized my head and pushed it back, and his hard, black cock slapped my lips. "Suck it," he demanded.

I took hold of the shaft and tugged at his silky skin. It slid halfway back over the head and exposed the tip of his cock. My wet lips slid over the hard knob and pressed against his tight foreskin. I swirled my tongue around the half exposed bulb, and my lips pressed the soft covering back and forth, until it snapped in place behind his plum.

My lips slid down his shaft as he pressed himself forward, bashing the back of my mouth. I struggled to relax my throat, and his next thrust pushed him deeper. I worked my swallowing muscles, and he pulled back and shoved his big rod in deeper, grinding his coarse, wiry curls against my nose.

"Oh yeah, little white cocksucker," he said. "Go on. Suck it good."

As I flicked my tongue across his soft ball sac, I felt hands on my knees. I looked down and saw the tight black curls of the other boy's head. He crawled between his buddy's legs and looked up at me and grinned. His glasses were gone. My mouth was filled, so I couldn't respond.

His fingers fumbled with my belt. I heard Jamal's strained voice say, "What you doin', Malcolm?"

I sucked harder on the hot fudgsicle in my mouth as Malcolm's fingers undid my buttons. I lifted my hips, and he tugged my jeans down to my knees. His fingers brushed across my erection, which strained against the thin cotton of my shorts.

"Malcolm! Stop that," cried Jamal, jerking his cock out of my mouth. "You ain't no faggot. What the fuck you doin'?"

Malcolm peeled the waistband of my briefs over my cock, and bent forward and ran his tongue along its length.

"You fuckin' faggot!" Jamal yelled at me. He slapped my cheek hard with his open hand. "Look what you done to my bud."

Malcolm twisted around and hit Jamal hard in the stomach. Jamal's eyes were wide as he staggered backward. He pulled up his boxers and tucked his cock inside. He backed into the opposite bench and pulled up his shorts and fastened them. Then he sat down heavily.

I looked at his eyes. If looks could kill, I'd be fried like an egg.

Malcolm rose from between my thighs and collapsed onto the bench beside me. I pulled up my jeans and buttoned up. Jamal was glaring at both of us. I grabbed Malcolm's hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," I said.

He entwined his fingers with mine and held tight. "Don't matter," he said. "Bound to happen someday."

The train lurched and started to move again. I looked at Malcolm and saw a teardrop roll down his cheek. I wanted to put my arm around his shoulder and hug him, but I couldn't let go of his hand.

Malcolm looked at me. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Ezra Shapiro," I said.

"Malcolm Wilson," he said. "I hope we can be friends." He sniffled.

I squeezed his hand and said, "Me too, Malcolm."

After the next stop, a transit cop came through the door at the front of the car. He stopped in front of us and slapped the end of his billy club against his palm. I looked up at the cop, and then I let go of Malcolm and moved my arm around his shoulders and pulled him toward me.

Malcolm looked up, and I guess the cop saw Malcolm's tears. He slapped his club against his palm again, and walked to the back door. When the train stopped at the next station, he got off.

Several passengers came into our car. When they saw us, they turned their white faces toward the front of the car to find their seats. I watched them with contempt. Scared of Malcolm, I guessed.

The train rolled on, an express now, passing stations in a quick blur. I glanced across at Jamal. He was looking at the floor. When the train wheels squealed around a curve, Jamal got up and lurched toward us. "C'mon, Malcolm," he said. "This is our stop."

Malcolm looked at his friend. "Your stop, Jamal," he said. "You go home and think about what name you want to call me."

Jamal's hand moved toward Malcolm, and then pulled back. He turned and staggered toward the door as the train slowed to a stop. I saw it was the 36th Street station. Probably they'd change here to a local. The door opened, and Jamal stepped onto the platform without a backward glance.

When the train pulled away, Malcolm flung his arm over my waist and buried his face against my neck. His shoulders were shaking, and he was making muffled noises. I wrapped both arms around him, and felt my shirt getting wet. The other passengers were looking at us. Fuck 'em. Let 'em look.

After a while Malcolm pulled away and rested beside me. He tugged up the hem of his T-shirt and rubbed his eyes and blotted his wet cheeks. I willed my hand to stay, and not reach over to rub his smooth, dark belly.

When he appeared to have regained his composure, I said, "You guys are tight, huh?"

"Since first grade, man," he said. "Used to be tight. I guess he hates me now."

"He couldn't hate you, Malcolm," I said. "Not after all that time. He'll get used to the idea."

We sat in silence for awhile, swaying against each other with the motion of the train. Malcolm looked at me and asked, "Where are we goin', Ezra?"

"My apartment," I said without hesitation. "Upper west side. Nobody there until after six."

His hand found mine, and he squeezed it in assent. "OK," he said.

When we finally came to Columbus Circle, I led Malcolm off the train, still hand in hand. We walked the four blocks to my apartment, the warmth of his grip making my heart glow. I said hello to George, our stone faced doorman, and led Malcolm to the elevator.

I had to let go of him to dig out the two keys for our door. Inside, Malcolm looked around and said, "Wow. This is really a nice place."

I led him into my bedroom and closed the door and locked it. Malcolm's face was moving as if he was nervous. We sat on my bed and took our shoes and socks off.

Malcolm smiled and pulled me up. We watched each other as we stripped off our T-shirts and dropped our pants. I'd never seen anything as hot as Malcolm's trim, dark body. I reached over and pulled down his white boxers, careful of his hard cock. He peeled my briefs away from my erection and dropped them to the floor.

We climbed onto the bed and wrapped our arms around each other. All those years I'd hungered for the feel of another body next to mine, and now we were pressed tightly together from chest to ankles. Our cheeks rubbed softly, side by side, affirming our affection. I felt my hard cock press against Malcolm's satiny skin, along side his own hot stick.

Our faces came together, and we nibbled at each other's lips. I pressed my hand upon his soft, warm butt and ground my groin against him. He moaned in pleasure and tickled my teeth with his tongue. Our tongues played tag while he dug his hot, hard cock into my belly.

Suddenly Malcolm pushed my shoulders away from him. His eyes darted over my face, and his mouth was twitching.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, Ezra," he said. "I'm so sorry. I just can't do this."

"Malcolm, baby," I said, "it's all right. You wish I was Jamal, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Ezra," he said. "I just dreamed for so long that he would be my first. I like you so much, Ezra, but I think if I squirted my sperm with you now, I just couldn't put my heart back together."

"It's all right, Malcolm," I said. "Just relax, and we'll just hold each other. OK?"

"'K," he said, snuggling against me and digging his cheek under mine.

We lay together for a long time, more than an hour, I guess. I didn't mind at all that we hadn't had sex. After fifteen years I was holding a boy in my arms, someone I cared about, who cared about me, and he was holding me. It was as close to heaven as I'd ever been, and I didn't want the feeling to stop.

The sinking sun reflected off the mirror on my wall into our eyes. Malcolm raised himself and looked at the clock beside my bed.

"It's five thirty," he said. "I'd better go now."

"You don't have to go," I said. "You can stay for dinner, and then we'll rent a movie or something."

"My mom's expecting me," he said. "I have to go."

"You can call her," I said, turning over and stretching for the phone.

"We don't have a phone anymore," he said in a soft voice.

Malcolm started to climb over me. I rolled to the edge of the bed and stepped off and gave Malcolm my hand. When we were standing together, we hugged again and softly kissed before we stepped apart.

We dressed in silence, and I led Malcolm to the door.

I asked, "Can I see you tomorrow, Malcolm? Maybe we could go to a movie or something."

"I'm sorry, Ezra," he said. "I've got church in the morning, and then my aunt's throwing an anniversary party in the afternoon."

"OK," I said.

"You be sure to come to the beach next weekend," he said.

I wrapped my arms around Malcolm and hugged him. "I'll be there," I said.

He stepped back. "Take care," he said, and turned to push past me through the door and run down the stairs.

"Take care, Malcolm," I said softly to the vanished boy.

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Chapter 2

I called goodbye to Mom as I dashed out of the apartment at ten the next Saturday morning. I felt like dancing as I made my way through four blocks of morning shoppers to the subway station. While I was waiting for a "D" train, I looked around the platform, remembering my vow not to look away if I happened to lock eyes with a guy.

The train came, and I found a seat in the first car between a couple of old ladies. As the train rattled along the tracks, I replayed the events of last Saturday in my mind. I hoped for Malcolm's sake that he and Jamal had made up. Then I felt guilty about hoping, for my own selfish reasons, that they didn't. Then I worried that maybe Jamal had outed Malcolm at school, and Malcolm was dead. That made me really feel guilty.

I hadn't been out to Coney Island for quite a while before last Saturday. Now I was becoming a regular commuter, on a very long subway ride. Passengers left the car along the way, and by the time we reached the end of the line I was alone.

I checked out the people along the boardwalk, but didn't see anyone who looked like Malcolm. I took off my shoes and walked down to the water's edge and strolled along for a while, letting the last reach of the biggest waves wash my toes. After a while, I went over to Nathan's and ate a hot dog.

Back on the boardwalk, I started checking arcades. When I walked into one of them, I saw Malcolm and Jamal standing very close together, while Malcolm peered through his glasses at the game and frantically pressed buttons. I hesitated, undecided whether to approach them or not.

When their game ended, Jamal spotted me and turned Malcolm around toward me. Malcolm's face lit up with a big smile, so I went on in. To my surprise, when I got near them, Jamal ran to me and wrapped his arms around me.

"I owe you big time, bro," he said. "Because of you, I woke up from a ten year sleep and found I always had what I was looking for."

Malcolm was wearing a grin I was afraid would break his face.

"So you two are an item now?" I asked.

Jamal released me, and the two boys wrapped their arms around each other.

"Sure are," they chorused together, and then broke into a fit of giggles.

"I'm really happy for you," I said. And I was sure that I meant it. Malcolm deserved to have his dream guy.

They whispered together, and then Jamal asked me, "You want to come with us? We've got something to show you."

"Come where?" I asked.

"To Greenwich Village, to my gay Uncle Eric's apartment," said Jamal.

"You have a gay uncle, Jamal?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes," he said. "He has a white boyfriend. They've been together about ten years. My grandmother and I are the only ones who ever talk to him now."

"He never mentioned him to me until this week," said Malcolm.

"I've never met anybody gay who lives in the village," I said.

"Well, come along," said Malcolm.

We walked to the station and sat in the last car of a "D" train, waiting for it to leave. Jamal and Malcolm were holding hands.

"Jamal," I said, "if you get along with your gay uncle, how come you went off on Malcolm last week?"

"'Cause I didn't want to think about myself being gay," he said, "but I didn't want him touching you. Dumb, wasn't I?"

"Well, I'm glad you got it figured out," I said.

The doors closed, and the train started off. Jamal continued, "Yeah. I went home and lay on my bed. At first, I just thought about how much I hated you because Malcolm wanted your dick. Then I kind of nodded off, and I was dreaming about Malcolm sucking my cock. I woke up, and then I thought about being naked with Malcolm. And then I thought about Malcolm's cock."

"When I got home," said Malcolm, "I found a note from Jamal in an envelope wrapped all up in scotch tape. I could hardly get it open."

Jamal giggled.

Malcolm said, "Inside was a card with just four words. It said, 'I love you Malcolm' and it was signed with just a 'J'. I told my mom I was going to watch a movie at Jamal's house, and I might sleep over. I got out the door before she could answer."

"And the rest is history, as they say," said Jamal.

"That's beautiful, guys," I said.

We rode on, joking about wedding plans and places to go on their honeymoon. It seemed like no time at all had passed before we came to the West 4th Street station in the village and got off the train. We walked a few blocks to a brownstone building in a nicely kept neighborhood. Jamal rang a bell, and we were buzzed in through the front door.

We climbed to the third floor and found a good looking black man, about thirty five, standing in a doorway. We went inside to a beautifully decorated apartment. Jamal introduced me and Malcolm to his Uncle Eric.

Eric brought out some ice filled glasses and a big bottle of Coca Cola. Jamal and Malcolm sat on a love seat in the living room, and Eric and I took chairs.

"I've heard about you for years, Malcolm," said Eric, "but I guess I've been a family secret all that time."

"Never heard a word about you until last week, sir," said Malcolm.

"Forget the 'sir' please. I'm Eric. And my lover, if you stick around long enough to meet him, is Bill."

"Is that you two when you met?" I asked, indicating a framed photograph of a younger Eric and a white guy on the coffee table.

"We'd been together about a year then, so nine years ago," said Eric. "Bill has lost a little hair since then, but he's still hot."

We all sipped our cokes for a moment. Eric said, "Ezra, I really want to thank you for getting my favorite nephew to finally wake up and smell the lavender. I've known he was in love with Malcolm for the longest time."

"Well," I said, "I didn't exactly set out to do that."

"So I heard," said Eric, laughing. "Listen, Ezra, now that you've discovered gay life in the village, be careful. There are a lot of older guys around who would love to eat you up like candy."

I grinned, and said, "I'm going to save my candy for a while, I think. I'm going to start by checking out all the guys at school, and if I pick up any vibes, I'm gonna go for it."

"You should start with your friends," said Eric.

"I did, last week," I said. "I think they're all straight. I only got just a hint of a vibe from a guy I've known since fifth grade. I'm going to keep checking him out."

"Sounds like you're on the right track," said Eric. "So what's your best checkout technique?"

"I've taken to pulling up the hem of my T-shirt and rubbing my chin and looking all around to see if anybody's watching," I said. "So far, I've only caught some girls. But I know this will work, 'cause I know a cute black boy I couldn't help looking at when he did that."

I reached over and poked Malcolm's shoulder. He grinned and pulled up his shirt. Jamal reached over and rubbed Malcolm's brown belly, and the shirt dropped to cover Jamal's hand.

"By the way, I think the boys have something planned for you today," said Eric.

"Can we go in your room now, Eric?" asked Jamal.

"It's all yours," said Eric. "Don't worry about anything."

"Come on, Ezra," said Malcolm. "Jamal and I want to show you something."

I followed the two boys into another room. Nicely decorated, it was dominated by a big king-size bed. Malcolm closed the door. Jamal walked over to me and held my shoulders and kissed me wetly on the lips. Before I could recover from the shock, Malcolm took his place and gave me a soft and gentle kiss, just like last week.

"What was that all about?" I asked after we broke apart.

"We owe you big time," said Jamal. "And we figure we have some unfinished business."

"And we both think you're a really good friend, and a pretty sexy guy," said Malcolm.

Jamal walked over to the bed and lifted off the heavy bedspread, and then he pulled the blanket down over the foot of the bed.

"Uncle Eric says this bed is big enough for three naked boys to have a good time on," he said.

"Jamal has it all figured out," said Malcolm. "How we can all make a circle and suck each other." He took off his glasses and laid them on the night stand by the bed.

I had recovered from my shock and surprise. "Really?" I asked. "You mean it?"

They both walked over to me and wrapped me in a joint hug, and then nuzzled my cheeks. I felt two pairs of hands lifting my T-shirt. It went up and over my head and off my arms, and then they stepped back.

"See," said Malcolm to Jamal, "I told you he was cute."

We all sat on the edge of the bed and got out of our shoes. The boys lost their shirts, and we all shed our pants and undershorts. We stood for a moment, with our cocks pointing toward the ceiling, and just looked at each other.

Jamal's body was like a statue of some Greek god. Ganymede, maybe. Or some African god, I mused. Malcolm didn't look like a god. He just looked like a hot, sexy boy.

Jamal rubbed his flat belly and circled a finger in his navel. "Ezra," he said, "today you can lick me anywhere you want."

After a naked group hug, I told the boys, "I want to finish what we started on the train."

I turned around a chair in front of the computer desk and sat down and beckoned to Jamal. He licked his lips and walked toward me until his hard brown cock bumped my nose. I slid down its length until I nuzzled his wiry curls, and then I licked the hard lumps I found in his soft silky sac. I thought of an old forty-niner with a bag full of gold nuggets. The treasure I'd found was richer by far.

I slurped up his thigh and over his hip and around in circles on Jamal's hard flat belly. Then I licked lower until my cheek touched his shaft, and I moved my tongue to wash its hot, soft covering out to the tip. I held the hot flesh in my hand, while I slid my lips over the slick head of Jamal's cock.

I felt Malcolm's arms slide around my waist. His bare chest wriggled forward between Jamal's legs until Malcolm's armpits rested where my hips met my thighs. He lost no time in finding my cock and nibbling at its exposed head. I felt his soft hands rubbing circles on my back just above my buns.

I ran one hand over Jamal's firm butt and up his back. My other hand found Malcolm's bare shoulder. This was better than the subway. Warm skin was everywhere. I thought of a statue of a Hindu god I had seen. His name was Shiva, and he had six arms. I wished I could borrow a few of them now.

I pressed my lips tightly together and rubbed them down Jamal's hot stick until the head of his cock bumped against the back of my mouth. There was more meat to eat, and I took a breath and tried to swallow his hose into my throat. My fingers traced the damp, sweaty valley between Jamal's buns. When I scratched across his bud, I felt his dick twitch.

My other hand brushed Malcolm's soft hair, and then it found the back of his neck. My gentle fingers rubbed his smooth skin, as his mouth slid along the shaft of my cock. I felt his chin bump against my balls, and then my whole length was soaking in a hot, wet cave. I could never have imagined that anything could feel so good.

I sucked up and down Jamal's dick, licking it, nibbling it, until I felt it throb in my throat. I pulled back and received a burst of his seed on my tongue. I swallowed fast, trying to keep up with the spurts of cream that were filling my mouth. Jamal held my head and rubbed my ears, and I nibbled and sucked until he was dry.

Malcolm was working on my cock, and I could feel my orgasm approaching. I pushed his head away from me. I wanted more boy cock. I released Jamal's wilting pole and pulled Malcolm to his feet.

I moved to the bed and climbed into the middle of it and stretched my feet toward the far top corner. I patted the mattress beside me, and Malcolm crawled onto the bed. He lay with his head near my groin and his hard cock next to my mouth. We grasped each other's dick and nibbled with our lips.

Malcolm's shaft was hard and ready. He must have been rubbing it against Jamal's leg. I slid my lips over the head, pushing his skin behind the crown. I sucked up and down a few times, and then tried to gobble the head into my throat. I gagged and gasped for air the first time, but then I got it. I could feel Malcolm doing much the same to my own cock.

I felt the bed rocking and watched Jamal spoon behind Malcolm. His hand caressed Malcolm's chest. When I rubbed my palm over Malcolm's smooth butt, I felt Jamal's hip press against my knuckles. I looked up and saw Malcolm's ball sac move, and I figured Jamal's cock was pushing against it.

I pressed my lips tight and sucked up and down along the length of Malcolm's dick. When he pressed into my throat, I could feel his shaft dig a little deeper when Jamal bumped against him.

Malcolm was slurping all over my cock, and then swallowing it all into the warm wetness of his throat. I felt my excitement rising. I pulled on Malcolm's butt, as I sucked faster and faster along his tube, trying to bring us off together.

Malcolm began to moan and hum around my cock. I felt his ball sac bump my forehead when Jamal thrust forward. I slid my wet lips along the soft skin of Malcolm's dick and felt it expand and throb in my throat.

I pulled back and caught a spray of his hot cum against the back of my tongue. I answered with my own eruption in his throat and felt him gulping to swallow it down. We traded spurts of jism, clutching tightly to each other's butt. When our offerings slowed to a trickle, I looked up and saw a puddle of Jamal's white cream spreading over Malcolm's brown thigh.

We lay together, exhausted from our release and feeling warm and loved, as our hands lazily caressed our three bodies. We might have fallen asleep, but the tantalizing aroma of cooking began to drift into the room.

Malcolm was the first to mention it. He let my limp dick slip from his lips and said, "I smell food."

"Pizza," said Jamal. "Uncle Eric's homemade pizza."

I nibbled at Malcolm soft cock and reluctantly released it. "Smells good," I said. Then I moved my face and lapped at Jamal's sweet cum on Malcolm's leg.

We untangled ourselves and got dressed. I think we were all of the same mind about not wanting to wash away any of the residue of our pleasure. I knew I wanted to wear it home and savor it.

In the dining room we found three places set with plates and napkins. A large round platter held the source of the delicious pizza smells that had summoned us. Covered with rich, red tomato sauce and melted cheese, sprinkled with clear slices of onion, it was cut into six big pieces.

We each added toppings from bowls of hot ground sausage and sauteed mushrooms. We chorused, "Mmmmm!" appreciatively after the first bite, and when we were done, not a crumb remained on any of the dishes. We all rubbed our bellies, while Eric sipped a cup of tea and smiled paternally.

Reluctantly, we all got up and hugged and kissed Uncle Eric goodbye. He handed each of us a card with his name and telephone number.

"Anytime you boys want to talk about anything," he said, "you just give me or Bill a call."

We left and walked together to the subway, down the sidewalk, three abreast, holding hands with Malcolm in the middle.

Inside the station, at the top of the stairs, it was time to part. They would go downtown and I would go uptown. I hugged each of the boys in turn. Jamal and I kissed each other on the cheek, and Malcolm pecked me on the lips. Then we parted, and I watched them go down the stairs. When they turned their faces to me, I waved, and they responded. Then they were gone. I went down to the uptown track and caught a train home.

That night when I climbed into bed, I wondered if I would cry myself to sleep like I did a couple of times last week. I hugged my pillow and rubbed my cheek against it. I couldn't help but smile as I thought about the afternoon. Knowing that the last eight days had made my world a much better place, I fell into a peaceful dream.

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The end.