Ambidextrous
Ambidextrous
Hard Candy
Felice Picano
$3.95
Ambidextrous
Hard Candy
Felice Picano
$3.95
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Excerpt
He was leaning forward, grasping Junior Cook’s leg back, and he said in that slightly slurred voice I knew so well from our glue-sniffing sessions, “Got another cigarette?” When Junior Cook shook out a Camel, Ricky said, “Put it in, will ya?” When that had been done, Ricky made Junior Cook light it, and made a big show of blowing out the match. For a minute I thought they would kiss, their faces were so close, the air between them so thick with beer and cigarette and glue fumes, and I felt really uncomfortable. But Bayley began to laugh, and Junior Cook leaned back and turned to Bayley to bark out, “Shut it, or I’ll shut it for you.” Bayley got quiet really fast, and Junior Cook repeated his first question, “So what brings you back here today?”
Ricky puffed on his cigarette, then slowly said, “I told him about Bayley’s big dick, but he didn’t believe me. Wants to see it for himself.”
Now I’d seen Ricky Hersch in many situations in the months of our friendship: as a child among schoolchildren, with his family, with his friends, with grown-ups; I’d seen him compassionate, angry, merry; I’d seen him with come dripping out of the sides of his mouth, he was so sensual. But I’d never seen him like this: cool, hard, manipulative, challenging, playful yet dangerous, too. Evidently he considered himself at least Junior Cook’s equal—probably his superior—to toy with him as he was doing. It calmed me a bit, not much.
“Yeah? Is that all you came here for?” Junior Cook said back, and took Ricky’s cigarette out of his mouth, puffed on it, handed it back.
“Why else would I come here?” Ricky answered, and stamped the cigarette on the floor without putting it to his lips again.
Annoyed, Junior Cook said, “You heard him, Bayley. Whip out your meat for pretty boy here.”
Bayley jumped down from the milk boxes to stand right between us. He unzipped his pants, reached into his slightly yellow-stained jockey shorts and extracted an almost erect monster of length, girth, and redness.
“You like that?” Junior Cook asked me. “Go on, touch it, see for yourself. Go on. It won’t bite. Though it may spit at ya. Go on,” he prompted. I looked at Ricky to see what I should do, but he wasn’t paying us any mind. He was slumped back in his chair sniffing glue again.
I touched Bayley’s cock and it got stone hard, veins quivering all over in length.
“Go on,” Junior Cook insisted, “jerk it,” and I did, although not much, as I couldn’t get a purchase on its smooth thickness. “Use two hands,” Junior Cook instructed, and I did. “Ain’t nothing Bayley likes better than having a pretty boy jerk his meat,” he added, “unless it’s having someone with a ten-dollar bill jerk it. Ain’t that right, Bayley? Or even better, having a pretty boy suck on it. Go on. Put it in your mouth. Go on.”
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