Текст книги "Rough Trade "

Автор книги: Todd Gregory

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Missionary Road

Neil Plakcy

By the end of my first month as a freshman at the University of Hawaii, I knew I had made a terrible mistake. I was lonely and a thousand miles from home. The island I’d thought would be an exotic paradise turned out to be misty and rainy, full of people who didn’t look or talk like me, and who didn’t even notice I existed. If the handsome, sexy boyfriend I’d dreamed of meeting in college was somewhere on the Manoa campus, he certainly wasn’t looking for me.

I tried to fit in. I took a month-long freshman seminar called Introduction to Hawaii, where we learned about Hawaii’s earliest history, how the missionaries had brought their repressed ideas about sex to the happy islanders, about whaling and pineapples and Pearl Harbor. But everyone else in the class seemed to know it all already, making me feel even more that I’d made the wrong decision about where to go to school.

My parents died when I was just beginning to apply to colleges. They were on their way to a medical association dinner in Chicago when they drove through a railroad crossing where the signals were malfunctioning, and their car was hit by a train. Within the space of a few weeks, the railroad made a generous settlement, and I was suddenly a very rich only child. I decided I wanted to leave Chicago, where the winters were cold and the summers sometimes colder, and go to college someplace warm, where cute boys would have their shirts off all year round.

UH seemed to fit that bill. I had good grades and didn’t need financial aid, and I’m sure I fit some kind of diversity package—skinny white mainland boys aren’t too common around here. Right away, I could see I didn’t fit in. My roommate is a Hawaiian guy from the Big Island; he speaks a funny mix of English, Hawaiian, and Chinese, and I can’t understand him or his friends half the time. He’s straight, too, which was a big disappointment.

It’s not like I wrote on my application, “Horny gay virgin seeks sexy teen to initiate him into the ways of man-love,” but still, I was hoping to get a gay roommate, or at least make some gay friends. But I’ve been too scared to go to the coffee hour at the LGBTQ student center, or the welcome back to campus dance. I don’t know why—it’s not like I was worried about disapproval from my family, since I don’t have any, or my friends, since I don’t have any of those here, either. I guess I was most scared of not fitting in there, either, because then I knew I’d really be screwed.

So it was a Saturday night, and I was feeling really lonely and horny. My roommate and his buddies had all gone out to a party somewhere, and I was finally disgusted with myself for sitting alone in my room when I could be out getting a life. I took the bus down into Waikiki, figuring at least I would walk up and down Kalakaua Avenue and watch other people having fun.

Palm trees decorated with white lights swayed in a light breeze. The moon was nearly full, but I couldn’t see any stars. The sidewalks were crowded with tourists in matching his-and-hers aloha shirts, hustlers handing out flyers for heritage jewelry, and kids my age, all in groups. It made me feel even more alone. I must have walked past the International Marketplace at least three times when this guy came up to me and said, “You look lonely.”

I was electrified. It was like he’d looked deep into my soul to see how totally isolated I felt. He was cute, too, an Asian guy around my age, skinny like me, wearing a navy blue tank top and black nylon running shorts, with black flip-flops. “Yeah, I guess I am,” I said, sighing.

“Maybe we can hang out together, be friends,” he said. He hooked his arm through mine and started walking me down the street. “What’s your name?”

“Kevin. What’s yours?”

“I’m Tui.” He pronounced it twee, like something a bird would say, and it took me a while to figure out how to spell it. He kept up a light banter, chatting away happily, finding out that I was a student, where I was from, how long I’d been in Honolulu.

I was so happy—the happiest I’d been since long before my mom and dad died. The loud Hawaiian music spilling out of stores and the cars revving engines on Kalakaua seemed to be in sync with my heart, which was racing like a runner-up at the Indy 500, and I had a boner trapped against my thigh by the folds of my boxers.

We walked a couple of blocks together and then he stopped. “You want to come to a hotel room with me? I make you feel real good.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d met a really cute guy, and it was clear he liked me, too. And all in less than an hour!

“Yeah, sure, cool,” I said, my mouth dry.

“You have cash?” he asked. “Pay for hotel room?”

I didn’t have much with me, but I had an ATM card. He knew exactly where we could find a machine. “I can only get $500 at once,” I said. “Is that going to be enough?” I had no idea how much a hotel room on Waikiki would cost, but I was sure it wasn’t cheap.

“Yeah, yeah, I know a place,” he said. “Come on, we take a cab, get there quicker.”

He hailed us a cab and gave the driver an address. Then we sat in the back and he ran his hand over my thigh, feeling my hard-on. “You excited,” he said. “That’s good.” Then he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth.

It was quick, and my lips were dry, but it was the first time another guy had ever kissed me. I’d fooled around a couple of times, mostly at summer camp, but I’d never kissed anyone other than my relatives, and then always on the cheek. My lips felt like they were burning up.

The cab drove away from the bright lights of Kalakaua into a darker, crappier neighborhood. No street lights here, trash in the gutter and loose dogs hiding in the shadows. I didn’t care, though—I just wanted Tui to kiss me again, to put his hand over my boner once more. I paid the driver and we tumbled out of the cab in front of the Surfsider Motel, a fifties-style relic that was ready for some urban redevelopment. I followed Tui into the lobby, which was dirty and smelled of cat urine. He went up to the fat old Hawaiian man behind the desk and whispered something to him.

“He says the room a hundred dollars,” Tui said, coming back to me. I gave him the money, and he traded it for a room key. Then he took my hand and bounced out the door, with me attached. “Now we have fun!” he said.

The room was seedy—there’s no other word for it. I’d stayed in motels and hotels with my parents all my life, and I’d never seen one that had just a big king-sized bed and a single nightstand with a cracked lamp on it. Where did people put their clothes away, I thought, as Tui led me to the bed. Why was there no TV, no phone?

Then Tui kissed me again, and I stopped thinking. For the first time in my life I shut my brain off and just experienced life. While he kissed me, Tui undid my shorts and dropped them to my ankles. Then he broke off momentarily to kick off his flip-flops, slide out of his nylon shorts—which he wore without any underwear—and pull his tank top off over his head. “Come on, you too,” he said, waving his hand.

Faster than I’ve ever done it, I kicked off my topsiders and the shorts that had fallen to my ankles. I pulled my polo shirt off over my head. I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough, though, because Tui jerked down my boxers, freeing my stiff hard-on, and dropped to his knees to take me in his mouth.

He licked the head of my dick a couple of times, lubing it up, then quickly took me all the way down his throat. In just a minute or two, I felt waves of passion surging through me. “Oh, oh, I’m going to come,” I said. I shot my load right down his throat and he swallowed it all.

Then he pulled off and stood up. I felt so drained—and disappointed. Was that it? Everything I’d been looking forward to, over in less time than a TV commercial?

“Now that over with, we can have fun,” Tui said. “You still got more load in you, I know.”

He kissed me again, and I could taste the salty sweet of my cum on his lips. I’d never tasted cum before, and I kind of liked it. He took my hand and pulled me down onto the bed with him, where we kissed and French kissed and rubbed each other’s body parts. He was really skinny, thinner than I was, and almost completely hairless. But the muscles he had were wiry, and his penis was long and skinny, though only half-hard.

No one had ever played with my tits before, and I’d never realized how erotic that could be. He took a nipple gently, between two fingers, and rubbed it till it was hard, then did the same to the other one. Then he went back to the first, sucking lightly, then nibbling, finally biting. By the time I felt his teeth on that nipple, I was arching my back in ecstasy and I was hard again.

When he finally finished with both nipples, he reached over to the bedside table and opened the drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a rubber. “Now we have more fun,” he said.

I could hardly speak. I was afraid anything I said would break the spell, that I’d wake up and discover this had all been a dream. Tui squeezed some lube into his hand, and lightly rubbed my dick, then slid the rubber on over me. Then he rubbed more lube onto the outside of the rubber.

“Give me your finger,” he said. He squeezed some lube onto my right index finger, and then he leaned back. “Go on,” he said, spreading his ass open in front of me. “Get Tui all lubed up for your big American cock.”

I started rubbing the lube around the entrance to his hole. “Deeper,” he said. “Tui want you deeper.”

I put more lube on my finger and reached inside his asshole. He must have known my mouth was dry because he leaned over and French kissed me. Then he leaned back and guided my dick to his ass. “This like the gay version of missionary position,” he said. “’Stead of man on top of woman, we do man on top of man.”

He raised himself up and down over me, as I felt my dick sliding in and out of his ass. I’d never fucked a guy before and the sensation was awesome. Tui’s hole was tight enough to hold me, but loose enough that I could move in and out without struggle.

I started to hear myself making sounds I’d never made before. Whimpering sounds, subverbal, as waves of pleasure coursed through me. I finally understood that connection between pain and pleasure I had read about in psychology textbooks as the orgasm washed over me.

Tui pulled off me with a squishy sound and lay down next to me on the bed. “You have a good time?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said.

“So maybe we have fun again some time?”

“That would be so cool,” I said.

“Maybe you give Tui some money?” he asked. “I have no job now. I have to ask my friends for help. You my friend, right?”

I guess I was just really dumb, or naïve. Finally I figured it out. I hadn’t really met the boyfriend of my dreams; I’d picked up a gay prostitute. But I didn’t care. I had plenty of money, and I wanted to do what we’d done over and over again.

“Sure, Tui,” I said. “You want the other four hundred I got from the ATM?”

“Kevin, you are really good friend!” he said. “You want to meet me next Saturday night?”

“Sure, but can we go to a better hotel? I’ll get more money.”

Tui gave me his cell phone number, and I gave him mine. When he called me on Wednesday night, I left the dorm to find a quiet spot outside. I tried out my idea of sexy boyfriend talk. “I want to fuck your ass again, Tui,” I said. “You have a really hot ass. You are so sexy.”

“You so sexy, too, Kevin,” he said. “I love your big American cock.”

I said I wanted to take him out to dinner Saturday night. “No argument, Tui,” I said. “You dress up nice, you pick a nice restaurant, and then a nice hotel for us. I’ll pay for everything and I’ll give you money, too.”

It was like dating, I thought. Back home in Chicago, I knew guys who spent a lot of money to take girls out, buying them presents, expensive drinks in fancy bars, lavish meals in top restaurants. And then sometimes they didn’t even get laid. At least with Tui, I knew we would end up in bed.

I saw him every Saturday night for a month. Somewhere in there, he introduced me to crystal. With crystal, I felt this crazy sense of happiness—like I was comfortable in my own skin for the first time. I felt so sexy, too, handsome, stiff-dicked and horny. Part of that was Tui; he always made me feel like I was the best lover he’d ever had, though I was sure I was far from it.

Tui suggested we meet once during the week, too. I had him come up to my dorm on a Wednesday afternoon, when I knew my roommate had volleyball practice. Just to be safe, I hung a ball cap on the doorknob—that was what my roommate did when he had a girl in and didn’t want me to disturb him.

It was a real turn-on to have Tui in my narrow twin bed. We even fucked on my roommate’s bed, on his desk, and on the floor.

During those weeks, he taught me a lot about sex. “You kiss me, and rub against me,” Tui said as we were lying on my bed. “No touch dick. Just rub.” I loved doing that, deep-tonguing Tui while I rubbed my hard dick against his thigh. Feeling his hot mouth clamped on mine as I came in hot spurts against his hairless skin.

That was frottage, I learned, reading about sex on the Internet after he’d gone. Sometimes when we met, he brought sex toys with him—once a big, black, double-headed dildo that we used to fuck ourselves with, both of us at the same time, my long, hairy legs intertwining with his bony hairless ones as we pulled closer together, then apart, then close again, pushing the dildo’s two big ribbed heads into both our asses at once. He wrapped his hand around my dick, and I did the same for him, and we jerked each other as we reamed our asses.

Once he brought handcuffs and a blindfold, and he cuffed me to the bedposts in the Prince Kuhio Hotel, face down, with a blindfold over my eyes. I was high on crystal then, and I think Tui brought at least three other guys into the room to fuck my ass while I lay spread-eagled on the bed. Maybe it was just Tui, three different times, or maybe it was just Tui with three different dildos, but I didn’t care. It felt so fucking awesome.

Finally I got tired of paying for hotel rooms and rented us an apartment a few blocks from campus, on a seedy street of pizza parlors and copy shops called Missionary Road. Neither of us lived there; we just met there for sex and to get high. First it was just a couple of times a week; then gradually Tui seemed to be staying there all the time, and I’d go over when I got through with class. Sometimes I wouldn’t go back to the dorm for a day or more at a time.

Eventually I stopped going to class and I didn’t go back to the dorm either. My money was in a trust, and I ran through that year’s allotment, but I called the trustee back in Chicago and explained how expensive everything was in Hawaii. He was just a bank officer and didn’t know me or really care how I spent the money, so he authorized another year’s allocation.

I was living in my dream. Sometimes Tui and I would go up to the roof of the building, get high, and then get naked. We’d lie and bake in the sun, and when the clouds came we’d stay out there and get soaked through, then go downstairs and warm up together in a hot shower. He’d cover my whole body in lather, massaging my shoulders, my tits, my ass, and everything in between, then he’d have me stick a soapy finger up his ass and get him all lubed up. Then I’d fuck him, holding him tight, feeling him slip and slide all over my lathered body.

I got off a lot more than Tui did. At first I figured it was because he was having sex with lots of different guys, saving his boners for the guys who wanted to be fucked or wanted to suck him. But even later, when we were holed up in the apartment together all the time, all he wanted to do was jerk me off, suck me, have me fuck his hairless ass. I thought I’d truly know Tui was my boyfriend, not just a prostitute who was with me for the money, when we started being more democratic about sex, blowing each other and fucking each other equally.

Tui would just laugh when I asked. “Kevin, you horny all the time,” he said. “Eighteen years, you get boners one after nother. Tui older, Tui’s dick work very hard last years. Sometimes Tui’s dick need a rest.”

I never asked Tui about his life as a prostitute, but occasionally he’d say something. I learned he was Thai, that he had grown up in Bangkok and learned English by fucking American GIs from the time he was twelve. He wasn’t my age, I figured out; he was almost thirty, but he was so skinny and had such soft, clear skin that he looked hardly over twenty. He had come to Honolulu on a tourist visa three years before, and decided never to go back. “Now I have you, Kevin,” he said, snuggling up against me in bed one night just before Halloween. “I never go nowhere.”

One day when we were feeling domestic, we went to Liberty House and charged up five hundred dollars’ worth of dishes, glasses, and silverware on my gold American Express card. We bought a $200 set of Japanese knives that the cute sales guy said were the best on the market. We bought a set of pots and pans, spatulas and colanders and all kinds of kitchen crap. Then when it showed up at the apartment on Missionary Road we left it boxed up in the kitchen.

I had these fantasies. We would get him a visa, and he would come to school at UH with me. That is, when I started going to classes again. We would get some furniture for the apartment, beyond the futon bed and the milk crates we used as tables. Maybe even a dog.

The days started to blur together, since I wasn’t going to classes. We hardly left the apartment, except for cash, food, and crystal. We didn’t need to do laundry much, because in the apartment we were always naked. We’d let the trash pile up for days, then go on cleaning binges, both of us wearing little frilly aprons and nothing else. We’d take the trash out to the dumpster, our naked asses sticking out, boners tenting the lightweight fabric, and laugh at anyone who gave us a dirty look. Then we’d come back and fuck all over the clean floor.

The crystal made me feel so good about my body—I thought I was the sexiest fucking stud in Honolulu. My boners lasted forever, and after coming I’d be ready for sex again almost immediately. Daydreaming in snowy Chicago, my hand working furiously as I salivated over some naked guy in a magazine, I’d never imagined sex could be this good.

One Saturday night in the middle of December, though, we had a fight. Tui was feeling cooped up in the apartment. He wanted to go back to Kalakaua, meet somebody new for a change. He would come back, he promised. Maybe he would find somebody to join us—three was better than two, he would show me.

I got paranoid. I was afraid that if he left, he’d never come back. I’d be all alone again, and I didn’t think I could take it. He went in to take a shower, and I knew I couldn’t let him leave the apartment. I went to the kitchen and opened up the knife set.

I found the biggest, sharpest knife and waited for Tui to come out of the shower. But when he did, he wasn’t scared at all. “You so funny, Kevin,” he said, walking past me, and I realized I couldn’t stab him. I was just what I’d been called in high school—a big fag. I couldn’t find a real boyfriend and I couldn’t even hold on to a prostitute I spent thousands of dollars on.

After Tui left I sat there on the futon holding the knife. I thought about killing myself. That would make Tui sorry, I thought. He’d feel really bad about leaving me. He’d probably cry, and the police would come to investigate, and he’d admit that it was all his fault. The police wouldn’t arrest him, but they would put him on a plane back to Bangkok, for sure.

Finally I just decided to go back to the dorm. I got up and got dressed—my clothes stunk, I realized; I’d have to do laundry back at the dorm. I was walking toward the campus when I saw President Bush coming toward me.

I thought I had to be high. I was totally freaked out; what if he had come to arrest me for having sex with a prostitute? Was sodomy illegal in Hawaii? I didn’t know. I couldn’t move; I just stood there as he came closer. Then I saw he was walking with Madonna and Snow White, and I realized they were just Halloween costumes. But what the fuck were they doing wearing Halloween costumes in December?

I decided I was really fucked up and needed to get back to the dorm fast, so I ran all the rest of the way there. When I reached the lobby, panting, my heart racing, I saw a sign for an end-of-term Christmas costume party. That made me feel a little better.

My roommate was out—probably at that costume party. I gathered up all my clothes and went down to the laundry room in the basement of the dorm, where I dumped them in a washer. I took off what I was wearing and threw that in, too.

I was sitting by the washer in a haze when this Chinese kid came in, carrying an armful of dirty clothes. “Dude, you can’t sit there like that,” he said. “You gotta put some clothes on.”

“I put all my clothes in the wash.”

He pulled a pair of shorts from his pile and smelled them. “Here, these are still pretty clean,” he said, tossing them to me. “Put them on.”

I did what he said. “Dude, are you high?” he asked.

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure, I said. He came over and sat down next to me. “I’m going to a Christmas party at eleven,” he said. It was eight then. “So I’ve got three hours. You want to tell me your troubles?”

I did. I started talking about being alone—being gay, being orphaned, being a stranger in Honolulu and not having any friends. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. I told him about Tui, about all the hot sex we had, and about the crystal.

“Man, that’s bad stuff,” he said. He told me his name was Jimmy, and he’d fooled around with crystal some. “I was a hooker myself for a while,” he said, in a quiet voice. “When I was sixteen, my dad found out I was gay and kicked me out of the house. I didn’t know where else to go so I went to the beach. This older guy picked me up, promised me he’d take care of me. But I had to help myself, too, he said.”

“He was like your pimp?”

Jimmy nodded. “For like six months, I lived in this crappy old abandoned building, and I picked up men on Kalakaua for sex. Every day I cried and wanted to kill myself, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How’d you get out of it?”

“This cop I knew, Kimo. He kept telling me I was a good person. He didn’t lecture me—but it’s like he was the good kind of missionary, the one who shows you a new way of looking at life. He convinced me to go to this gay teen center on Waikiki. They made me feel better. Then he got this old couple he knew to take me in. Sometimes I think about going back, you know; all those men who wanted me. That’s like a drug, too, you know—feeling so sexy, knowing as you walk down the street that men are looking at you, that men want to fuck you. Feeling like an outlaw, like you don’t care about law or anybody else’s morality, that you can fuck any guy you want to, that men will pay for the privilege of fucking your ass or having you suck their dick.”

“Wow,” I said. By then our laundry was finished, and we put everything into the dryers. “You are so awesome.”

Jimmy shrugged. “I’m not awesome at all. I’m just really lucky. Lucky I found somebody who cared enough to help me get back on my feet.” He looked at me. “Say, you want to come to this party tonight? It’s at that gay center in Waikiki. Lots of guys there.”

I just looked at him. I couldn’t believe anybody could be so nice to me. After all, he said he had been a hooker once. Maybe this was just another scam to take advantage of me. “How much is it to go?” I asked.

“Doesn’t cost anything,” he said. “And just so you know, I stopped taking money for sex a long time ago.” He leaned over to me. “But dude, if you’re going to go, you need a shower in the worst way.” He wrinkled up his nose, then he took my hand. “Come on, there’s a shower on the second floor that’s big enough for two. And if you’re lucky, I just might drop my soap and have to bend over.”