Here’s a sample from the beginning of Downlow Thugs on City Streets, a new story by Calvin Freeman, about the sexy man-on-man shenanigans that go on in urban Baltimore!
Chad didn’t try to act tough, and he made it very clear he was gay. He had been living in rough urban ghettos for most of his life, so he knew that was the best way to go — if he tried to be tough, people would challenge him. If he acted like a sexy flamboyant gay man, the thugs, addicts and drug dealers who lived around here would treat him more or less like a woman they weren’t attracted to: they’d ignore him.
That was what Chad wanted. So he didn’t worry about the eyes following him whenever he came into the courtyard of the Baltimore housing projects he lived in. He knew he looked good — slim, pale skin, blond hair, lithe and leanly muscled body visible beneath the bare midriff t-shirt and short shorts he wore. He heard snickering from the black men and women who filled the courtyard, but Chad didn’t care.
“Want some rock, Pinkberry?”
There were two young black men sitting on a couch in the middle of the courtyard. They were there all the time. They offered Chad crack every time he walked past. It seemed they didn’t know of any other reason a gay white man might be here in the projects. They had to have figured out that Chad lived here by now, he thought, but they still acted like he was just hanging around looking for drugs.
“I can sell you whatchoo want, boy,” said the younger one, Brodie.
“You want tina? I can get you tina too,” said the older one, Marcus.
That impressed Chad enough to make him giggle as he passed them by. “Tina? Somebody’s been doing research.”
“You smoke meth?”
“No,” Chad said. “But I appreciate you looking up gay lingo online.”
“We aim to please, whiteboy.” Brodie said. He was younger, with a harsh, arrogant face — he looked like he was supposed to be a jock and bully, but had gotten sucked into a life of crime instead, so his jutting face was lined with premature wrinkles even though he wasn’t even old enough to drink. He had deep dimples and dark, flashing eyes. Chad had thought he was sexy since the moment he first saw him (Marcus was sort of hot too, in his way, but he was portly and scruffy; Brodie could have been a model, Chad thought). Brodie tried his best at a charming smile. “Cuz you look like you need a pipe in ya mouth, boy. Yo’ mouth is needin’ something to fill it, that’s for sure.”
They both guffawed and slapped hands with each other. Chad stood there and smiled, jutting his ass out so they could see how plump and round it was. They both glanced at it, then fell quiet and avoided looking at each other.
Finally Brodie added, “So wuzzup, you want that rock or not? Or meth?”
“I said no.”
“You ain’t actually say no about crack. You said no about meth.”
Chad made a big dramatic show of pondering the issue. He tapped on his forehead with one finger. “Well, Brodie, I’ll give you a simple yes or no answer, if you pull your cock out and let me take a look.”
Brodie sniffled and his eyes bugged out, but he affected a look of a nigga who ain’t care. He shrugged, flashing an annoyed look at Marcus — who seemed to think that was hilarious. Marcus screamed laughter, clapped his hands and ran in a little circle around the couch they were both sitting on.
“So…” Brodie winced and looked at Marcus. Brodie rolled his eyes. “Uh…” It was hard to say anything over the sound of Marcus screaming peals of laughter.
“Do it, nigga, c’mon. Don’t Stringer say do what you gotta do to make the sale?”
“He ain’t say he gonna buy somethin’, he just gonna tell me whether he into it,” Brodie said. “And we already know he ain’t cuz we asked him before.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Chad smiled and crossed his arms over his much more delicate chest. His skin rippled, visible because of that bare midriff his t-shirt exposed. “So you asked me before and you remember my answer? You already know whether or not I smoke crack?”
Brodie nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I know you don’t.”
“So why did you ask me again?”
“Cuz you might’ve started, man!” Brodie threw his hands in the air. “I don’t gotta do it.” He looked at Marcus, who was quieting down. “I ain’t gonna do it, nigga. It ain’t about a sale. He just wanna look at my dick.”
Chad nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. It’s kind of chilly today anyway, your dick is probably small right now. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
“I’m sure no one will ever find out I was considering buying some crack and only didn’t cuz you were too scared to show my your dick.”
“You ain’t considerin’!”
“You don’t know that. Every crackhead has a first time, Brodie,” Chad said.
“I ain’t scared. My dick ain’t small,” Brodie said.
“Well, then, ugly or whatever, I don’t know. Obviously there’s a reason you don’t feel safe whipping it out. That’s understandable. Gay men are catty bitches. If your dick doesn’t pass muster, I will critique it thoroughly,” Chad said, making Marcus erupt in laughter again.
“Man, fuck you, whiteboy,” Brodie said. He sucked on his teeth and glared at Marcus. He did that several times, like he kept deciding to do it, then changing his mind before talking himself into it again. “Man! Fine! Whatever, nigga! Marcus, shut ya face! Man, Marcus! Marcus!” He shook his head because Marcus ignored him. “Marcus, don’t act like a fuckin’ fool! Hey!”
“I’m waiting,” Chad said with an exaggerated yawn.
Brodie snarled. He unzipped his fly and reached in. He let a suitably massive cock flop out, making Chad blush a little and gasp. Brodie looked around, but no one was looking in his direction — Marcus danced around the courtyard laughing and attracting attention — so he swung his hips, making his cock bounce around.
Chad reached for it, wrapped one hand around it and squeezed. Brodie gasped. For just a moment, it felt like Brodie was going to allow this, and Chad would be able to give him a handjob. But then Brodie tucked his dick away and pushed Chad.
“Alright, you got ya peek, whiteboy,” Brodie said. “So go ahead and say yes or no.”
“He did it! He did it!” Marcus screamed, his face exuberant as though he had been waiting for this. “He whipped it out, nigga!”
“Marcus, shut up!”
Chad smiled. “Are you the kind of dealer who makes his customers suck him off sometimes?”
“No. I got females, nigga. Can’t use a crackhead’s blowjob to buy food for my mama, can I?”
Marcus scoffed. “You don’t buy food for ya mama-“
“It’s just an example, Marcus.”
Chad shrugged. “A pity. Well, my answer, Brodie, is no. I do not want to buy crack, but thanks for giving me a peek at your cock. It’s very nice. A little smooth for my taste, but I bet it gets veinier when it’s hard.”
Chad turned around. “I’m not going to give you permission to watch me walk away.” He shook his ass. “But I know you will.”