Author's note: If you are offended by gay sex or gay characters then
please do not read this story.
The hot sun beat down on his face through the window of his car. It
was a nice, hot, summer day in the middle of July in West Los
Angeles. Although he hadn't slept in how long had it been? 3 days? 5
days? Hell he couldn't remember. Apparently the extreme heat and
direct glare of the sun shining right on his face and closed eyelids
was so intense it even woke his impossible to wake up binging tweeker
ass, even after having stayed up for however the hell long he had
partied. As always, he was disoriented as hell after a long binge
which was the norm, not the exception for him. Turning on his side,
he semi consciencely curled into a fetal position and tried to get
some more zzzzz's, although a part of his mind knew for whatever
reason that any further sleep for the time being was going to elude
him. Dressed in his tight, expensive blue jeans his leather belt that
was pulled as tight as it would go. (He already had 5 holes that he
himself had added in order to pull the belt tighter to fit his ever
increasing very small waist that kept getting smaller and smaller due
to his steady, consistent diet of speed for breakfast, lunch, dinner,
and in between snacks. Amphetimines for meals when balanced out with
a rigorous 5 mile jog and 200 leg lifts daily to stay in shape and
keep his small tight ass and thighs round, firm, and sexy was a
healthy, beneficial routine all around so far as he was concerned and
the surgeon general could fuck himself.) Although it was only
10:00am, he was already sweating. The windows in his car were all
rolled up, and even though he was topless, the heat and the glare
were a bit too much.
He knew goddamned well that after he got up to roll the windows down for some circulation and hopefully a nice
breeze there would be no point in trying to go back to sleep. It
simply wasn't in the cards for him right now and he knew it. He was already well on his way to progressing from mild irritation to
becoming moderatly annoyed before he even had a chance to think about it. What was unusual was that while slowly coming out of his stupor haze (he had been asleep for 3 days although he didn't know that yet at this point) and coming to the world of the living, was a dull ache and persistent throbbing in the southern region of his body. He rarely got horny or hard without his tweek. He was becoming more and more aware of each throbbing pulse rate that seemed to radiate from his hard cock.
The combination of intense pleasure and pain of each beat he felt pulsating through his cock and the fact that he had to take a raging piss in the worst way caused him to get what he and his
bubbies called a piss hard on some years ago.
"Oh fuck!," he cursed aloud to himself. When he opened his eyes, the glare from the daylight stung them. Extremely disoriented, not
knowing where he was, where he had been, let alone what day it was, he finally sat up. The urge to piss was becoming stronger and stronger and the first order of business was to relieve himself. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were caked with 72 hours of sleep. Opening the door to his Ford Bronco truck, he immediately felt dizzy when he first tried to stand up and had to steady himself against his truck. Wondering to himself where the fuck he was, he unziped his fly and let rip what seemed to be a never ending stream of piss. Long pisses like that felt as good as an explosive orgasm. A bum pushing a cart in the alley behind the video store happened by and Roy Patterson heard himself asking the bearded man what day it was. The cart pusher however was so deeply involved responding to his own internal stimuli, that he was too preoccupied to have heard Roy.
"Fucking cocksucker," muttered Roy. As he was finishing his
piss, he heard another man shouting threats at him saying he was a
scum and was going to call the pigs and turn him in for indecent
exposure. This only produced a surge of anger in Roy. At the moment,
being disoriented and all, hair pointing is different directions,
being topless and nothing but skin and bones (or so it looked) his
facial expression alone would have killed the threat maker, if looks
could kill. He had all the charm of a maniacal serial killer as he
heard himself shout, "Get the fuck out before I shove your head far
up your ass and make you eat it for breakfast motherfucker!" The man
didn't argue as he got the hell out of dodge. Returning to his truck
and feeling much better now that he had pissed 5 gallons, he got a
look at himself in the mirror. He looked like an escapee from an
insane asylum. Picking up a bottle of water he kept in the
passenger's side of the truck on the floor, he wet his hands and
patted his head of brown hair until it was sufficiently moist.
Pulling a comb out from one of his back pockets, he groomed himself
and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. Other than the dark circles
under his eyes he actually looked handsome. Fishing around in his
glove compartment box, he produced a piece of a broken mirror. Taking
out his knife and reaching for his bag of dope in the far crevices of
all his pants pockets, he finally scraped up the last of his tweek.
(At least what he had on his person. There would be more to be had
somewhere hidden around his truck he hoped.) After he dumped the
contents of the 3 small baggies he scrounged up, he managed to
produce 3 nice sized lines on his peice of broken mirror. Now all he
needed was a straw. Picking a crumpled dollar bill up off the floor
of his truck and rolling it up, he inhaled the first 2 lines, one up
each nostril respectively without stopping. He had long since been
accustomed to the burn. After pausing to breathe, he did his last
line and sniffed. In a few seconds he would feel human again and then he would have the motivation to go about finding out exactly where the fuck he was, what day it was, but most importantly where to score more tweek.
The tweek he scored from his last source, a fly by night dealer on
the street. (He preferred dealing with the 3 main sources he knew
well, but he sometimes had to score from the street in order to keep
up with his massive habit, even though he had not yet progressed to
slamming.) Goddamn it was gooood! Life was sweet right now,
especially after having had no meth or food for 3 days. Too bad he
couldn't score more dope from whoever and wherever he got this last
batch from. His mind was blank. He simply couldn't remember. Feeling
happy, he turned on his truck and popped in a Pink Floyed CD. The
song "Comfortably Numb" belted out of his $5000 stereo system. Since
he had been living in his truck for the last 2 years, there was only
one time a thief actually dared to try to break in and fuck with his
stuff. Feeling a smirk on his face, he started reliving his pleasant
memory of the one and only time some unfortunate broke into his truck
thinking no one was inside. Roy had been in the back hiding under
some black blankets late at night mentally daring some son of a bitch
to try to rip him off. Although he was average in height and stood
5'10", had a very slim build with thick wavy brown hair down to his
shoulders and a mustache, when it came to fighting, Roy was indeed a
force to be reckoned with. Heaven have mercy on some poor soul who
even thought about fucking him over. Roy had been a street fighter
from the time he was 12 when he had joined a Mexican gang.
He had
also been taught and fought with his father, an ex boxing pro and
knew where and how to punch and from his years as a gang banger he
knew which places would cause a slow and painful death, and which
areas would deliver a swift and easy death. Having been half white
(his father was white) and half Mexican earned him his fair share of
fights and "metals" (stab wounds and cuts.) He had served time in
Chino prison for 6 months. It was there that he learned/earned both
the respect from his homeboys that taught him invaluable lessons on
how to wheel, deal, steal, and fight. He also had earned his degree
in business and finance while serving his time both in prison and his
3 stints in LA county. Although he rarely stole anything from his
homeboys or family, or anyone unless it was absolutely necessary, he
became a maniacal enthusiast when some sorry cocksucker made the
mistake of attempting to steal from or fuck with him in any way. The
one time some punk broke his window and attempted to take Roy's
stereo equipment, Roy very patiently waited for the right time to
strike. In fact he got off on it. Just as the theif thought he was
getting away, Roy barked, "Leaving so soon motherfucker?" He would
have paid money to see the look on that about to be taught a lesson
punk asses face the moment before Roy broke his arm and cut him in
several places with one of his 32 oz beer bottles. "Alright time to
come back from memory lane," he thought to himself as he pulled out
of the ally and turned onto Santa Monica Bl. Now he knew where he
was.
As to how long he'd been out, well let's cruise for a bit and
park this puppy somewhere. Parking on the street and putting money
into the parking meter, Roy stepped out and took a leisurely stroll
down the street. LA was a fine place to look for entertainment,
parties, tweek, and fresh meat. Walking down the sidewalk, he indeed
enjoyed the show. He was wearing these mirrored sunglasses and
leather boots. This way he could get a good look at some fine booty
as well as check out the many horny males checking him out without
them knowing for a fact he was checking them out checking him out.
His slender body, his tan skin, brown hair, brown eyes, not to
mention a damn fine tight round ass earned him some looks of lust
from the tall, aggressive, masculine types he got off on. Roy was
smooth from head to toe. What little chest hair he had he shaved.
He shaved his legs, armpits, balls, and left only a little pubic hair
that was a neat little brown patch a few inches below his naval.
Other than the little bit of pubic hair and nice full head hair, he
was completely hairless. Roy boy was a bottom and he loved to stay
smooth, although he didn't mind hairy tops. One thing besides tweek
he dug on more than anything were kinky tops. However, right now he
needed to score some tweek. He also needed to find out what fuckin
day it was. Cruisin down the sidewalk, he finally decided to walk
into The Rage which was a happening bar. It was already getting past
12pm and the sidewalk was hot enough to fry an egg on, or so it
seemed to him. Seating himself at the bar, he ordered a tall glass of
beer, a colt malt liquor beer. Trying to walk into any place in any
of these damned bars at night, especially on weekends, was impossible
for they were filled with wall to wall MEAT!
Scoping out the goods in the bar which were slim pickens compared to
the night action, he took a huge gulp of his beer and actually downed
half the tall glass in one swig. Homeboy was definately thirsty.
Passing the bartender a $5 bill and fishing out some change for a
tip, he ordered another beer. Damn he wanted to go about the business
of scoring some more tweek fast. The problem was he had only one more
$5 bill and some loose change on him. He needed money. Damn. As good
as the last of his dope had been, he was lucky he had perhaps another
4 hours or so before his high wore off and he'd feel "generic."
Another 2 to 5 hours he'd start jonesin. He couldn't have that. No
way, not him. Roy had a number of ways of making money, both
legitimate and illigitimate. As far as his legit ways went, they were
all well and good except for one problem. Since he was a full time
tweeker, he had this tendency that most employers found quite
annoying. At times, he'd start tweeking and get all rapped up in
whatever he was doing from staring at himself in the mirror, listenin
to some awesome tunes (they sounded 10 times better when he was
tweeking and besides it was then that he got his greatest inspiration to write more music.) However, his employers were unable to appreciate his reasons in the least.
Therefore, he had long since resigned himself to the fact that all employment and living situations were like extemely temporary to say the least. At the moment Roy boy did not have a legit job, therefore he thought to himself that he might as well get a move on and begin his hopefully one hour's work of hussling up a few fast bucks to score some more tweek. Gulping down the last of his 2nd drink in less than 10 seconds, he slapped some coin down on the counter and with that he was out of there. Michael Jackson could be heard demanding that the world "Stop fucking with me! Stop fucking with me! Stop fucking with
me! It makes me want to scream....."
Yeah I know the feeling you androgynous sex god/goddess, Roy thought with a smirk on his face. It was at the tender age of 16 that Roy learned that he could walk the street of Santa Monica Bl and usually earn a few quick bucks if he wanted to. Even now at age 30, he looked very young for his age. In fact at times he was still asked to show his ID when trying to cop some booze at places he was not well known, especially liquor stores.
please do not read this story.
The hot sun beat down on his face through the window of his car. It
was a nice, hot, summer day in the middle of July in West Los
Angeles. Although he hadn't slept in how long had it been? 3 days? 5
days? Hell he couldn't remember. Apparently the extreme heat and
direct glare of the sun shining right on his face and closed eyelids
was so intense it even woke his impossible to wake up binging tweeker
ass, even after having stayed up for however the hell long he had
partied. As always, he was disoriented as hell after a long binge
which was the norm, not the exception for him. Turning on his side,
he semi consciencely curled into a fetal position and tried to get
some more zzzzz's, although a part of his mind knew for whatever
reason that any further sleep for the time being was going to elude
him. Dressed in his tight, expensive blue jeans his leather belt that
was pulled as tight as it would go. (He already had 5 holes that he
himself had added in order to pull the belt tighter to fit his ever
increasing very small waist that kept getting smaller and smaller due
to his steady, consistent diet of speed for breakfast, lunch, dinner,
and in between snacks. Amphetimines for meals when balanced out with
a rigorous 5 mile jog and 200 leg lifts daily to stay in shape and
keep his small tight ass and thighs round, firm, and sexy was a
healthy, beneficial routine all around so far as he was concerned and
the surgeon general could fuck himself.) Although it was only
10:00am, he was already sweating. The windows in his car were all
rolled up, and even though he was topless, the heat and the glare
were a bit too much.
He knew goddamned well that after he got up to roll the windows down for some circulation and hopefully a nice
breeze there would be no point in trying to go back to sleep. It
simply wasn't in the cards for him right now and he knew it. He was already well on his way to progressing from mild irritation to
becoming moderatly annoyed before he even had a chance to think about it. What was unusual was that while slowly coming out of his stupor haze (he had been asleep for 3 days although he didn't know that yet at this point) and coming to the world of the living, was a dull ache and persistent throbbing in the southern region of his body. He rarely got horny or hard without his tweek. He was becoming more and more aware of each throbbing pulse rate that seemed to radiate from his hard cock.
The combination of intense pleasure and pain of each beat he felt pulsating through his cock and the fact that he had to take a raging piss in the worst way caused him to get what he and his
bubbies called a piss hard on some years ago.
"Oh fuck!," he cursed aloud to himself. When he opened his eyes, the glare from the daylight stung them. Extremely disoriented, not
knowing where he was, where he had been, let alone what day it was, he finally sat up. The urge to piss was becoming stronger and stronger and the first order of business was to relieve himself. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were caked with 72 hours of sleep. Opening the door to his Ford Bronco truck, he immediately felt dizzy when he first tried to stand up and had to steady himself against his truck. Wondering to himself where the fuck he was, he unziped his fly and let rip what seemed to be a never ending stream of piss. Long pisses like that felt as good as an explosive orgasm. A bum pushing a cart in the alley behind the video store happened by and Roy Patterson heard himself asking the bearded man what day it was. The cart pusher however was so deeply involved responding to his own internal stimuli, that he was too preoccupied to have heard Roy.
"Fucking cocksucker," muttered Roy. As he was finishing his
piss, he heard another man shouting threats at him saying he was a
scum and was going to call the pigs and turn him in for indecent
exposure. This only produced a surge of anger in Roy. At the moment,
being disoriented and all, hair pointing is different directions,
being topless and nothing but skin and bones (or so it looked) his
facial expression alone would have killed the threat maker, if looks
could kill. He had all the charm of a maniacal serial killer as he
heard himself shout, "Get the fuck out before I shove your head far
up your ass and make you eat it for breakfast motherfucker!" The man
didn't argue as he got the hell out of dodge. Returning to his truck
and feeling much better now that he had pissed 5 gallons, he got a
look at himself in the mirror. He looked like an escapee from an
insane asylum. Picking up a bottle of water he kept in the
passenger's side of the truck on the floor, he wet his hands and
patted his head of brown hair until it was sufficiently moist.
Pulling a comb out from one of his back pockets, he groomed himself
and wiped the sleep out of his eyes. Other than the dark circles
under his eyes he actually looked handsome. Fishing around in his
glove compartment box, he produced a piece of a broken mirror. Taking
out his knife and reaching for his bag of dope in the far crevices of
all his pants pockets, he finally scraped up the last of his tweek.
(At least what he had on his person. There would be more to be had
somewhere hidden around his truck he hoped.) After he dumped the
contents of the 3 small baggies he scrounged up, he managed to
produce 3 nice sized lines on his peice of broken mirror. Now all he
needed was a straw. Picking a crumpled dollar bill up off the floor
of his truck and rolling it up, he inhaled the first 2 lines, one up
each nostril respectively without stopping. He had long since been
accustomed to the burn. After pausing to breathe, he did his last
line and sniffed. In a few seconds he would feel human again and then he would have the motivation to go about finding out exactly where the fuck he was, what day it was, but most importantly where to score more tweek.
The tweek he scored from his last source, a fly by night dealer on
the street. (He preferred dealing with the 3 main sources he knew
well, but he sometimes had to score from the street in order to keep
up with his massive habit, even though he had not yet progressed to
slamming.) Goddamn it was gooood! Life was sweet right now,
especially after having had no meth or food for 3 days. Too bad he
couldn't score more dope from whoever and wherever he got this last
batch from. His mind was blank. He simply couldn't remember. Feeling
happy, he turned on his truck and popped in a Pink Floyed CD. The
song "Comfortably Numb" belted out of his $5000 stereo system. Since
he had been living in his truck for the last 2 years, there was only
one time a thief actually dared to try to break in and fuck with his
stuff. Feeling a smirk on his face, he started reliving his pleasant
memory of the one and only time some unfortunate broke into his truck
thinking no one was inside. Roy had been in the back hiding under
some black blankets late at night mentally daring some son of a bitch
to try to rip him off. Although he was average in height and stood
5'10", had a very slim build with thick wavy brown hair down to his
shoulders and a mustache, when it came to fighting, Roy was indeed a
force to be reckoned with. Heaven have mercy on some poor soul who
even thought about fucking him over. Roy had been a street fighter
from the time he was 12 when he had joined a Mexican gang.
He had
also been taught and fought with his father, an ex boxing pro and
knew where and how to punch and from his years as a gang banger he
knew which places would cause a slow and painful death, and which
areas would deliver a swift and easy death. Having been half white
(his father was white) and half Mexican earned him his fair share of
fights and "metals" (stab wounds and cuts.) He had served time in
Chino prison for 6 months. It was there that he learned/earned both
the respect from his homeboys that taught him invaluable lessons on
how to wheel, deal, steal, and fight. He also had earned his degree
in business and finance while serving his time both in prison and his
3 stints in LA county. Although he rarely stole anything from his
homeboys or family, or anyone unless it was absolutely necessary, he
became a maniacal enthusiast when some sorry cocksucker made the
mistake of attempting to steal from or fuck with him in any way. The
one time some punk broke his window and attempted to take Roy's
stereo equipment, Roy very patiently waited for the right time to
strike. In fact he got off on it. Just as the theif thought he was
getting away, Roy barked, "Leaving so soon motherfucker?" He would
have paid money to see the look on that about to be taught a lesson
punk asses face the moment before Roy broke his arm and cut him in
several places with one of his 32 oz beer bottles. "Alright time to
come back from memory lane," he thought to himself as he pulled out
of the ally and turned onto Santa Monica Bl. Now he knew where he
was.
As to how long he'd been out, well let's cruise for a bit and
park this puppy somewhere. Parking on the street and putting money
into the parking meter, Roy stepped out and took a leisurely stroll
down the street. LA was a fine place to look for entertainment,
parties, tweek, and fresh meat. Walking down the sidewalk, he indeed
enjoyed the show. He was wearing these mirrored sunglasses and
leather boots. This way he could get a good look at some fine booty
as well as check out the many horny males checking him out without
them knowing for a fact he was checking them out checking him out.
His slender body, his tan skin, brown hair, brown eyes, not to
mention a damn fine tight round ass earned him some looks of lust
from the tall, aggressive, masculine types he got off on. Roy was
smooth from head to toe. What little chest hair he had he shaved.
He shaved his legs, armpits, balls, and left only a little pubic hair
that was a neat little brown patch a few inches below his naval.
Other than the little bit of pubic hair and nice full head hair, he
was completely hairless. Roy boy was a bottom and he loved to stay
smooth, although he didn't mind hairy tops. One thing besides tweek
he dug on more than anything were kinky tops. However, right now he
needed to score some tweek. He also needed to find out what fuckin
day it was. Cruisin down the sidewalk, he finally decided to walk
into The Rage which was a happening bar. It was already getting past
12pm and the sidewalk was hot enough to fry an egg on, or so it
seemed to him. Seating himself at the bar, he ordered a tall glass of
beer, a colt malt liquor beer. Trying to walk into any place in any
of these damned bars at night, especially on weekends, was impossible
for they were filled with wall to wall MEAT!
Scoping out the goods in the bar which were slim pickens compared to
the night action, he took a huge gulp of his beer and actually downed
half the tall glass in one swig. Homeboy was definately thirsty.
Passing the bartender a $5 bill and fishing out some change for a
tip, he ordered another beer. Damn he wanted to go about the business
of scoring some more tweek fast. The problem was he had only one more
$5 bill and some loose change on him. He needed money. Damn. As good
as the last of his dope had been, he was lucky he had perhaps another
4 hours or so before his high wore off and he'd feel "generic."
Another 2 to 5 hours he'd start jonesin. He couldn't have that. No
way, not him. Roy had a number of ways of making money, both
legitimate and illigitimate. As far as his legit ways went, they were
all well and good except for one problem. Since he was a full time
tweeker, he had this tendency that most employers found quite
annoying. At times, he'd start tweeking and get all rapped up in
whatever he was doing from staring at himself in the mirror, listenin
to some awesome tunes (they sounded 10 times better when he was
tweeking and besides it was then that he got his greatest inspiration to write more music.) However, his employers were unable to appreciate his reasons in the least.
Therefore, he had long since resigned himself to the fact that all employment and living situations were like extemely temporary to say the least. At the moment Roy boy did not have a legit job, therefore he thought to himself that he might as well get a move on and begin his hopefully one hour's work of hussling up a few fast bucks to score some more tweek. Gulping down the last of his 2nd drink in less than 10 seconds, he slapped some coin down on the counter and with that he was out of there. Michael Jackson could be heard demanding that the world "Stop fucking with me! Stop fucking with me! Stop fucking with
me! It makes me want to scream....."
Yeah I know the feeling you androgynous sex god/goddess, Roy thought with a smirk on his face. It was at the tender age of 16 that Roy learned that he could walk the street of Santa Monica Bl and usually earn a few quick bucks if he wanted to. Even now at age 30, he looked very young for his age. In fact at times he was still asked to show his ID when trying to cop some booze at places he was not well known, especially liquor stores.
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