STRAYS Chapter Two
I was happy when Teardrop and I finally arrived at the First Baptist Church's Community Center (aka "Miss Winnie's" on account of the woman who started the place and kept it running). I was equally disappointed to realize it was located only two blocks from Travis Park, where I often sat in the sun in the mornings to warm the autumn night's chill from my bones and slowly starving.
Teardrop stopped to talk to a few of the men sitting on the curb outside "discreetly" drinking 40-ounce bottles of beer ("forty pounders" in street slang) from brown paper bags and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. I pulled out my last cigarette out and lit up, quietly waiting for him. They were speaking Spanish, and my one year of Spanish in high school fell short of understanding them. I felt scared, out of place and obvious, despite Teardrop's occasional, clearly protective glances in my direction. I could have sworn he was occasionally undressing me with his eyes, smoothly glancing at me, his eyes lingering a little too long. When he nonchalantly took the cigarette from my lips and took a drag from it while keeping eye contact with me, I was certain of it. He held it to my lips and smiled, offering me a little wink. It wasn't until sometime later that I realized that in that one, silent moment between us, he let the others know I was with him. I was his.
Inside, we found seats together among the rows of folding chairs arranged in front of an old and battered wooden podium. It was surprisingly quiet inside with only the muffled voices of the men outside resonating through the large plexiglass windows that made up the wall facing the street. There were a few others sitting alone in other chairs, and a few more lying on the floor, presumably asleep. Feeling my eyelids grow heavy, I wanted to join them, but I was too scared of my new surroundings. Teardrop was my imaginary shield, my protection, my knight in plaid armor.
After about an hour of waiting (and fighting the urge to fall asleep), a small, frail looking woman entered through a large door to the left. She smiled at everyone who had filtered in as we waited, carrying a large Bible boasting may bookmarks. A couple of large and obviously drunk black guys bust in through the outer door laughing and carrying on.
"Gentlemen," the little old lady said with quiet authority. They stopped dead in their tracks and looked at her as she held a finger to her lips.
"Yes, Miss Winnie," said the one, quickly snatching the baseball cap from his head to hold it nervously in both hands.
"Sorry, Miss Winnie," said the other, bowing his head slightly in reverence.
I watched as they passed by on their way to what I had learned was the bathroom, then looked at Miss Winnie at the podium as she turned her attention to her Bible. I was amazed at the power this tiny woman held over such large men. When she began talking to us about God's many blessings, assuring us that he gave those blessings freely to everyone, I hung on every word and believed what she said.
After a closing prayer, in which she asked God to hold each of us in the palm of His hand and protect us in such an ugly, violent world, the room exploded with activity as everyone rushed to stand in line. Teardrop stood casually and guided me to the back of the line.
"Never be a pigeon," he told me.
"What do you mean?"
"Pigeons swarm and crowd when you throw a single crumb of bread onto the ground. Don't be like that. That's how scavengers behave. We may be needy, but we aren't scavengers. We're still human."
The line moved slowly, allowing the handicapped, seniors and women in first, and others filed in behind us as we moved steadily forward. I was served a tray consisting of spaghetti topped with cold salsa, green beans, day old bread, and a Styrofoam cup of the best oatmeal I have ever eaten. With the first few bites of food, I felt renewed energy flow through me. It might not have been a meal most would have wanted to eat, but in that moment, it was the best I had ever had.
Seats were first come, first serve and the room was full. Teardrop and I couldn't sit together, so I watched him from a distance as I greedily shoveled my food into my mouth, trying my best to avoid making eye contact with anyone else, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. Afterward, we met up outside, and he led me to a small line outside the front door.
"You can get a change of clothes here once a week, and you can shower any day." Teardrop told me, "The kitchen is open Sunday through Friday, but they don't open on Saturday. Don't worry, I'll show you where to eat on Saturday."
After a few minutes, during which Teardrop bummed a smoke from one of the guys and shared it with me, an older man emerged with laminated numbered cards made from yellow construction paper. Back inside, where all but a few chairs had been folded and stacked against the wall, and the kitchen line was only about six men long. I sat in one of the available chairs and waited for my number to be called. Teardrop disappeared into the bathroom.
When my number was called, I went to the open window of the clothing room. I gave my information to one of the volunteers, who made out a card for services. Then he presented me with options of a t-shirt, an overshirt (I chose a sweatshirt), pants, and a letterman's jacket. He also gave me clean socks, underwear, and a small baggie of travel-sized toiletries, along with a towel.
I entered the bathroom hesitantly. Flashes of high school Phys Ed flashed across my mind, certain these men would know I was gay just as the students I had to shower with did, all of them feigning mock terror and fleeing from the communal showers when I arrived. To my relief, the showers (of which there were only two) were individual stalls. To delay my having to strip in the crowded room of half dressed and naked men, I decided to shave at the sink, above which was a mirror that gave me a direct view into the shower stall behind me.
I only glanced behind my reflection on occasion, mostly because the Latino showering had left the curtain open and had his back to me, a back that was tattooed with a large outline of The Virgin of Guadalupe. Having some natural talent as an artist, I found the image interesting and was envious because I knew I would never be good enough to do tattoo work. It didn't hurt any that the guy had a broad, muscular back and a fine set of glutes. I nearly blushed crimson when he turned and I saw it was Teardrop.
It wasn't until that moment that I realized I had not seen the dick that ravaged me earlier, nor the naked body of the man who made me feel things I had never felt before- and it was a sight to behold. With a strong build and heavily tattooed mocha colored skin. A thin treasure trail led my eye to a thick black bush that crowned an impressive flaccid cock and a heavy, full ball sack. He caught me checking him out and gave me a knowing smiled, shaking his hips to make his dick swing side to side. I returned to shaving and pretended not to have seen anything.
Teardrop finished showering before I managed to scrape my face clean. Stripping down, I claimed a shower and turned on the water. The first blast of arctic cold water hit me like a fist to the gut, and I nearly screeched. Clenching my teeth to prevent them from chattering, I soaped up as quickly and thoroughly as possible. By the time I finished washing my hair and body, I was numb, and unsurprisingly wide awake. Dressing with haste, I gathered my things, dropped my dirty clothes and wet towel into the trash can turned hamster and exited back into the main room where Teardrop was waiting.
"Have a nice shower?" he smiled.
"You could have warned me."
"Get used to cold showers," he told me, "You're not going to find any luxuries out here. Consider it your baptism into a life of hardship." His eyes searched my face. "How old are you?"
Twenty-two," I answered with confusion, "Why?"
"You don't look nearly that old," he said with a frown, "You might want to consider growing the beard out again. There are a few predators out here that might confuse you with a kid and do God knows what to you."
He handed me a map of downtown with a list of services on the backside. I took it, while glancing around at the guys milling about. A few were looking in my direction, older guys mostly. I felt like I was in very real danger, my heart threatening to choke me to death.
"Don't worry about them," Teardrop reassured me, "They'll have to get past me to get to you."
On closer inspection of the map, I realized he had made notes to indicate what services I could find at every spot, which he also marked on the map. He discussed the different places, what I'd need to give them in the way of identification, and which services I should reserve in case of emergencies.
La Villita was the next stop, where we were given a sack lunch of two peanut butter sandwiches and a choice of an apple or orange for the price of our names. I chose the orange, rationalizing it would be juicier than an apple and help me swallow all that peanut butter.
We took a tour of Hemisfair Park afterward, peeking into the windows of the empty historic houses lining the closed off driveway that led into the park. After we decided which house we would "buy" together, we then found a bench on the far side of the park to have our lunch. We talked about nonsense and our lives before meeting. He wasn't as open about his life as I was. I knew he had been in prison (often) and he really wasn't a very nice man by his own admission. He was a native to San Antonio, and had lived his entire life there when he wasn't behind bars. If his father wasn't still alive and living there, he might have left long before. He had been married, father to a teenaged son after knocking up his "Baby Mama" when he was sixteen. Then he changed the subject and started explaining the plusses and minuses of each of the two homeless shelters in town. We were going to go to San Antonio Metropolitan Ministries (SAMM shelter) for the night. The rest of the day was basically waiting until SAMMs allowed us on the property.
We ate in silence, and I could only eat one sandwich, the orange untouched, before I felt like I was about to pop. It was a quiet, peaceful spot, and the next thing I knew, Teardrop was shaking me awake, informing me that we needed to go soon. He said he wanted to visit the nearby bathroom, and he wanted me to come with him. I needed to pee anyway, so I had no problem with heading to the john.
He went to the urinal, but I went to the stall. I was pee shy, and even more shy about anyone seeing my dick. That he had already seen my dick in full hard-on was completely lost on me. I wasn't so much pee shy as much as I was penis shy. In my own twisted way, the only person who should be aware that I had a dick should be me- and only me. While I didn't know the first thing about transgendered people, I typically thought of myself as female, and my having a penis was a threat to that delusion. As long as he didn't try to suck me off or ask me to fuck him, I was okay with our situation.
After I finished peeing, I opened the door to find him standing outside, his pants unfastened with an impressively thick, uncut seven-inch erection pointing up at me. It was the first time I saw the fully erect cock that had fucked me earlier that day, and I was more than happy with the sight of it. He didn't need to say a word.
On my knees, I took his big brown cock into my mouth, enjoying the feel of the soft skin enveloping the hard shaft beneath, the way his foreskin moved against my tongue as it enveloped and pulled away from the brownish-pink head.
"That's a good boy," he cooed to me.
His bush was thick and I combed my fingertips through it as I inhaled his manly scent mixed with the smell of the cheap motel sized bar of soap he showered with. His testes weren't as hairy, large and refilled with cum, begging for my attention. I lick and suckled at them as I stroked his cock with one hand, working at soaking them with saliva to sort of mark my territory with my own scent, then suck them gently into my mouth one at a time.
"Careful," he whispered.
I responded by opening my mouth wide and sucked them both into my mouth, cradling his baby makers. Looking up at him, I saw an expression on his face of concern and realized he was holding his breath when I allowed them to slip out and he exhaled.
"I'm in control now," I told him, smiling up at him.
"Oh really?" he laughed playfully, "Just make sure you don't do anything to revoke that privilege."
I returned to his cock, doing my best to deep throat him. Everything I knew about sex came from reading stories in gay porn mags. I knew guys liked being deep throated, and I wanted to please him. As I pushed the big head of his thick cock down my throat, I realized it was easier to read about deepthroating than actually doing it. Still, I pushed his cock into my mouth until my nose was buried in his thick black pubes, his natural musk overwhelming. My cock was hard as a rock, but it didn't matter. I was somehow getting off on a whole other level than I ever experienced with the brief release of orgasm. My skin tingled slightly, my mind consumed with the feel of his body heat against my face, the swollen hardness stretching the tight confines of my throat. Pulling off to manage a breath, he gripped the back of my head with both hands and rammed his cock back into my throat. It took me by surprise, and I coughed, but did not gag.
With his dick buried in my throat, he thrust in and out, fucking my mouth and throat raw, then mercifully released his grip enough for me to gulp in a frantic breath through my nostrils before slamming his pelvis against my lips again to face fuck me once more. I tried to fight him off, but didn't really want him to stop. My mind whirled with an increasing wooziness and I thought I might pass out.
Then he started cumming, the first volley of cum hitting the back of my throat forcefully before more flooded my mouth. I gulped it down in hard swallows trying to keep up and not drown in his manly juices. After he finished, I continued to suck at his cock a little while longer, making sure I didn't miss a single drop, then let his softening prick slip out of my mouth.
"I will always be in control," he told me, "You're my little fag, my play thing. You belong to me, but I will never belong to you."
He pushed his cock and balls back into his pants and fastened them. I remained on my knees watching him, uncertain about how I had managed to get into this, then remembered I told him I'd do anything if he helped me. That was all I was to him. A convenient sex toy, a cumrag. I had no doubt at all that I was as disposable to him as any actual cumrag might be.
We walked to SAMM's and he talked me through what to expect. We waited in the back for nearly two hours before security came out to hand out bed numbers. Throughout the whole time we waited, he didn't say so much as a word to me, preferring to speak to the other guys there he knew, specifically one called Casanova, an impossible handsome Latino with amber eyes and the sexiest smile I'd ever seen. Another guy in the little group was a mousey Latino who was even more heavily tattooed that Teardrop. His hair was slicked back with some sort of gel, his clothes were a little baggy on his slender frame, and his dark eyes had a shifty, untrustworthy quality about them. While attractive, I didn't really care much for him, especially when compared to the handsome Casanova and muscular Teardrop.
We ate dinner before being escorted into a room full of chairs and oppressively warm with the body heat of nearly two hundred people crowded together. A group of volunteers entered and sat behind a row of folding tables to begin processing us all into the shelter for the night. A prayer followed the reading of the rules, which included a no smoking policy and a now readmittance if you left the building. Once you were inside, you were there to stay until being awakened at five in the morning and out of the building by five-thirty.
Showering was mandatory before receiving bed linen, so I faced another cold shower, this time in a communal shower setting. I stripped down and entered the shower, expecting some kind of reaction from the other men, certain they knew I was gay. Nothing happened. I kept my eyes to myself and faced the shower wall as much as possible to hide my junk. When I turned to rinse my hair or my back, I closed my eyes, then departed and dressed as quickly as possible.
I spent the rest of the night in my bunk, watching Teardrop work the room like a salesman at a convention. Sleep overtook me before the lights went out, and five o'clock came far too quickly, but I had some rest, was no longer hungry, and exited the three-story brick building hoping to have my ass ravaged by Teardrop once more.
I didn't have to wait long before he had me bracing myself against a dumpster in a dark alley for a quick fuck and cum dump.
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