Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 

   Chances are you came here for a reason, and your looking for this sorta
stuff.  If for some reason you dont already know, the following story
includes description of sexual acts between guys.  If that shit turns you
off, use your back button or close your browser.  If not, your in the right
place.

   If you want to check out any of my other stuff, check for my name under
the "Prolific Authors" section of the Nifty Archive.  Any feedback,
comments, suggestion can be sent onto me at wildstyle@iname.com

   Oh yeah.  The guys in this story might not be using rubbers, but they
aint real.  You are.  Practice safe sex.

   Keep it real.

   Anfernee "Wildstyle" Williamson of da Undaground Click.

   Do not distribute or reproduce this document, all or in part, without
express permission of the author.  (c) 31st December, 1998, Anfernee
Williamson

   --------

   DIVIDED LOYALTIES another Wildstyle joint

   "I tell you, son, thats what happened!"

   Jay-Ro glanced back down on John, listening as the rough youth recounted
his story.  The evidence of his disgust was obvious, in his dark face, in
the face of John, and the third youth, Sen Dawg.  The same dark looks that
were exchanged as John continued with his story, speaking of unmentionable
matters.

   "We were all there, son," John shot a look up at Jay-Ro from where he
sat on the fallen mason.  "Sen Dawg here," he tapped back at the lanky
youth, standing on the concrete.  "Me.  Stephon.  And that kid."

   "What?  You didn't know him?"

   John pulled a face, shaking his head.  "Nah, I didn't know him.  Stephon
knew him.  He said he was cool, so we let him spark up with us." The youth
motioned up at Jay-Ro, firm in his words.  "If Stephon hadn't have vouched
for him and shit, he wouldn't have been there, son.  You know how it goes."

   "Yeah."

   Jay-Ro ran his hand through his short, very thick gold dreads.  They
were as bright as the sun that parched the abandoned industrial block that
afternoon.  Even the light winds off the harbor did little to cool
Bradfords typical summer sun.  Jay-Ro glanced back at Sen Dawg, the sun
catching the lanky youths dark shades as he surveyed the broken wasteland
around them.  The teenager looked almost as if he was blocking, doing his
best not to hear the story unfolding before him.

   "We were sparking up, and that shit was cool," John relayed.  "Kid was
cool.  He didn't talk much or anything.  Just waiting for the blunt, right.
And we start to get high, and things be going like they go, son."

   Jay-Ro nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his oversized
black shorts.  John continued, motioning again with his hands from where he
sat.

   "Anyway, we get completely blitzed.  And I'm just chilling, taking care
of shit." Johns voice darkened slightly.  "I look over at the kids way,
son, and I swear, he got a hand on a nigga's leg."

   Jay-Ro raised his thick black eyebrow, his deep brow hardening slightly.
It gave him a look almost like Ice Cube in his youth.  He watched as the
big youth laughed slightly, as if he were still there, disbelieving his own
eyes.  "I swear, son, I checked dat shit.  Kid had his hand on Stephon's
leg, son.  Fuck, I was high, but I SEEN that shit, son."

   "No doubt."

   John raised his hand somewhat, almost as if grasping for the words he
couldn't find to describe his feelings.  He shook his head again, finally
continuing.  "Fuck, I just chilled.  Like, I ain't even seeing this shit,
son.  Fuck, nigga ain't doing THAT shit.  I think, nah, its just some
mistake.  I'm bombed.

   "But fuck, sure enough, Stephon like passes that blunt onto Sen Dawg,"
John tapped the lanky youths leg again for emphasis.  Jay-Ro glanced up at
the teenager, still looking away, showing no sign of listening.  "And FUCK!
I cant believe this fucking shit, son.  The kid ...  FEELS ...  a nigga's
fucking dick, son!  Fuck, I almost threw up."

   Jay-Ro groaned loudly, his heavy face hardening as his expression
betrayed his disgust.  The big youth cussed, John shaking his head again, a
partner to his friends emotions.

   "I mean this whole shit ain't like a nigga was doing this on accident,
son.  Fuck nah.  I SEEN that shit, son.  Fucking kid was GROAPING my boy! I
swear," John shook his head in disbelief again, his mouth working for
words, his mind still barely wrapped around the situation playing out
before him.  "And I'm thinking like, oh fuck!  This kids some sorta fucked
up faggot!  And the BITCH is feeling my fucking BOY!"

   John took a deep breath, glancing past Jay-Ro.  The big youth could see
the thoughts going through John's mind, his face still hard in disgust. 
His dark eyes flared briefly with his anger.  Jay-Ro could see the anger
obvious there, the youths street edge taking him.  John shook his head
again, staring at the dirt before him a second.

   "I just fucking lost it.  I leap over there.  I was gonna kill that
fucking faggot.  I mean, fuck, he was fucking feeling up my BOY!" Johns
voice almost broke, his tone high, stunned.  "Whats a bitch wanna do THAT
fucked up shit to MY boy?!  I was gonna fucking kill him, son."

   "Yeah, so what went down?  You didn't get the kid, right?"

   "Nah, cause I was so fucking blitzed, I didn't get to the bitch," John
glanced away again, biting his lower lip slightly.  "Nah, he knew I was
gonna fuck him up.  Fucking bitch ran, son.  I woulda fucked him up too,
you know that shit."

   "No doubt."

   "Thats some damn fucked up shit right there, son."

   Jay-Ro nodded, tugging his big red sweatshirt away from his body.  The
youth was the biggest of the three by far.  Average height for his age, but
stocky, more overweight than athletic.  Heavy, expensive labels hung off
his big frame, a thick silver chain proclaiming to the world his wealth and
street status.  His body showing far too well his ability to keep it,
backed up by the blood red bandanna tied around his right wrist, speaking
of 'breeds.

   "So, wuddup with all this shit, anyhow?"

   "Yeah, well, see thats where you gotta come in, son." Johns tone leveled
slightly, sending another glance Jay-Ro's way.  It was still filled with
the anger he felt over the situation, fired, dangerous.  "I know I done
axed you all favors before.  I got to get you on this one though, son.  I
mean, you understand and all, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "I mean he was a fucking faggot!" John flared again somewhat.  "He was
groping and pulling on your shit, you know Id have your back no problem!"

   "No doubt."

   "So I know you and your boys got the whole city, son.  I know if you put
that word out you could find that bitch." John looked Jay-Ro in the eyes
again.  Those dark, lazy eyes stared back, seeming unseeing.  "I just want
to have a talk with that bitch.  Just him and me.  Show him what a real
fucking man is."

   Jay-Ro nodded, somewhat more sullen, seeming to be considering.  He
noticed Johns look, more expectant than anything.  Hopeful.  He had seen
that look hundreds of times before.  The big youth had whatever he wanted.
Respect.  Power.  Everything.  He knew that look came from those who knew
that.  Wanted him to do something for them.  Jay-Ro shrugged his big
shoulders, glancing out over the smoggy harbor.  A few moments later, he
spoke again, in that dark, deep voice.

   "Yeah, I can do that shit."

   "Fuck yeah, son!  I OWE you.  I mean it.  Anything.  You got that shit!"
John stood up, grinning.  He pushed somewhat at Jay-Ro's big frame,
thumping the youths big fist with his own, getting the same in return. 
Clockwork.  Street like.  "Show me the fucking bullet, Ill take it for you,
son."

   "Yeah, aiight, well what this faggot look like?"

   John shook his head, his mood somewhat lifted.  "I tell you, son.  I
didn't guess it when I first saw that fucking bitch, but when he did that
shit to my boy, fuck, I don't know how I didn't see it, son.  Yeah, he
looks like a fucking faggot through and through, no doubt."

   "So.  Like what?"

   "What you mean?  He looks like a fucking faggot, son," the youth's face
twisted somewhat, as he shrugged his shoulders.  "He's a weedy little
bitch, just like the rest of his fucked up fam."

   Jay-Ro leveled those eyes on John again, but the answers were already
flowing.

   "Light skin, son.  Weedy like fuck.  Shifty little mah-fucka," John
motioned with his hands, taking a step back slightly.  "Fuck, son, you KNOW
what a faggot looks like.  He like that."

   Jay-Ro paused a moment, his dark face showing his thoughts.  He glanced
at John again, nodding.  "Yeah, well Ill put the word out.  See what we can
do."

   "You know it ain't for me, son.  Its for my boy.  Damn, no faggot grabs
on my nigga's shit, you know that.  That ain't even happening."

   "No doubt.  Well, like I said.  Ill see what we can do.  Aiight?"

   "Yeah.  Aiight."

   The two youths exchanged fists again, thumping almost subconsciously. 
The big teenager glanced back up Sen Dawg's way, the lanky kid still barely
moved from his place atop the fallen mason block.  He acknowledged Jay-Ro
with a brief nod, his arms still folded over his chest.  The big youth
nodded back, his dark eyes lingering a moment on him, thick eyebrows
arched. He didn't trust a nigga with little to say.  What was his take on
this shit?

   Jay-Ro looked back to John, making his farewells.  The youth was more on
a hyped tip now, happy hearing that he was going to get help tracking down
the kid who had wronged his boy.  Jay-Ro couldn't care less, making his
exit from the situation, barely knowing if he would even bother keeping an
eye open, let alone tell the rest of his gang to look out for a light
skinned, skinny kid.  Fuck, half the city was fags on that tip.

   The big youth kept his pace slow, heading up the overgrown pathway that
cut its way alongside the link fence.  Beyond it, the massive inner harbor
of Bradford city.  Inside, the abandoned industrial blocks, looking more
like a city post war.  That which had long since given Bradford its heavy
smog of pollution, and served now as gangland to the ranks of inner city
soldiers that ruled the streets.

   Jay-Ro seemed to go hand in hand with his surrounds.  Rough. 
Downtrodden.  Abandoned by society so much like the ruins around him.  Long
since past his use in the world, his presence still deadly obvious, a
reminder of past policies.  Like the buildings around him, rank and
uniformed to the outside world.  Each building seen as a problem, long past
being seen as a individual with purpose.

   Jay-Ro rubbed at his thick dreads again, their roots deep black,
betraying along with his eyebrows and slight goatee the true color of his
hair.  The youth was big, rugged, his clothes lending a refined edge to his
intimidating presence.  A hooded red sweatshirt hung from large shoulders,
over an equally big chest, loose somehow on even his overweight frame. 
Large black shorts of equal size left big calves bare, hinting like the
rest of his attire at the heavy weight the youth carried.  Size beyond his
years.

   Jay-Ro left the rough gravel for broken streets, humanity beyond.  His
mind traveled paths of thought, where his heavy feet beat paths across
wartorn sidewalk.  John's story had bothered him.  In more ways than he
could say.  He felt the youth's disgust.  The underlying anger.  Maybe
frustration, and confusion below.  More layers than he could work, wrap his
mind around, emotion far beyond the understanding of the brain.  John had
grown up like him.  Fuck.  John had grown up like every other youth like
him in Bradford.  Hard.  Jay-Ro steeled his mind again.  He knew how to be
a man.  He knew what it took to stay alive, to look after himself.

   His mind drifted as he drifted the streets beyond.  Troubled by the
story.  By the emotions he felt.  He toyed, tossing thought and feeling. 
It didn't mean fuck.  He didn't have a problem with those faggots.  Sure,
the shit they did was fucked up for sure.  No nigga who was a REAL man
would squeal and take it up the ass like some fucked up bitch.  No real man
would go down on a niggas dick.

   Jay-Ro dumped himself down in the back seat of the bus, feeling it lurch
forward toward the inner city districts.  He rubbed his hand over the
scratchy wisps of his goatee, firming his thoughts.  Yeah.  No doubt.  That
shit was fucked up big time.  Men don't suck mens dicks.  Niggas don't suck
niggas dick.  Fuck that, HOMEBOYS don't suck homeboys dick!  They sure as
fuck don't pull on a niggas shit either.

   Jay-Ro stared out on the city as it passed.  His mind was too lost in
the thoughts for his lazy eyes to take in much more than the blackness.  He
rest his chin on his big hand again, staring out as his mind surveyed the
thoughts before him.  As long as those faggots didn't bring their shit up
in his face, why should he give a fuck?  It was still unnatural though.  He
repeated the words over in his mind, mantra-like in their nature.  Real men
don't suck cock.  Everything he knew, everything that was dat nigga Jay-Ro
told him, reassured him.  That shit was fucked.  Faggots ain't shit.

   Jay-Ro swung himself down off the bus, almost feeling it pull away
behind him as he rejoined the streets he knew from birth.  He shoved his
big hands back into his pockets, face low, big shoulders set, marching to
the same beat of all his soldiers.  Another thought drifted though his
head. One that had niggled at him ever since he had heard it.

   "Light skin, son.  Weedy like fuck.  Shifty little mah-fucka."

   Jay-Ro glanced up, watching the two figures cross the road.  Hurried. 
He dismissed the thought again.  Barely gave it time to dwell in his mind.
He eyed the two, hands deeply placed in his pockets.  His lazy eyes took
them in, felt what they felt.  More obvious in their intent to the big
youth than the streets he stepped.  He dismissed the thoughts.



   Light skinned.  Smooth.  Lanky, yet still baring an athleticism born of
the street and his constant breakdancing.  Keith sucked in another long
drag of his blunt, holding, exhaling.  Adding to the thick haze that hung
in the trashed lounge that was his part time dwelling.  The youth's eyes
were lost in the same haze of the weed, his gaze all but unseeing from
under the low rim of his floppy fisherman's hat.  His lips parted again in
another soundless mutter.  Lost in the embrace of the drug, far away from
where he was.  Far away from the thoughts and realities that had consumed
him.

   "Hey KEITH!" a shape loomed before him in the mist of his minds eye, and
the now long dark lounge.  "Ah fuck, mah-fucka!  Open up some damn windows
in here!"

   Jay-Ro picked his way through the mess on the lounge, waving his hand in
front of his face.  His big hand cut through swirling mists of light smoke,
dancing patterns through the air.  Coughing slightly, the big youth righted
a lamp, switching it on, shedding light on the mess in an otherwise sparse
room.  He pushed the window open, letting in a sudden cool air, like water
from a floodgate.  The room began to give up its thick fog.

   "Mah-fucka!  You been smoking weed all day?!"

   Jay-Ro's dark brow furrowed as he stared at his friend in disbelief. 
Keith was sprawled on the couch, a piece of furniture that should have past
in life long before now, still clinging somehow.  Keith's lanky body
sprawled its length, his oversized, sleeveless black tee shirt clinging to
a sweaty body.  Thick gray sweatpants didn't help his body in the least,
only drawing further the heat of the room.  Jay-Ro recognized that tee
shirt, the same one Keith always wore, the graffiti design of his crew on
its front.

   Jay-Ro shook his head, picking his way across the room, dumping Keith's
feet off the couch, sitting down.  He glanced back down at the youth who
was grinning stupidly, with that same smooth, partly goatee'd grin.  The
big youth managed to catch a glance of those dark, sparkling eyes under the
low rim of his hat.  They seem more lost than he could have imagined,
something he had never seen in all the days he had smoked with Keith.

   Jay-Ro caught sight of the bottle down beside couch, his expression
hardening.  He leaned forward over Keith's prone body, reaching out for the
bottle.

   "Nigga you been DRINKING too?!" Jay-Ro heard Keith's smokey voice
chuckle somewhat.  The big youth groaned.  "Oh FUCK!Tell me THIS shit ain't
true!  You fucking been smoking MY weed?!"

   Jay-Ro grabbed the small box, leaning back on the couch in disbelief. 
The box was empty, of both papers and weed.  He shook his head, staring
back at Keith who was now laughing slightly more, waving Jay-Ro's
expression down with a weak hand.

   "Shit nigga.  You done fucking smoked all my weed!" The thought came
quickly to Jay-Ro's mind.  "How the fuck did you FIND that shit!?"

   Keith managed to stop chuckling a second.  That smokey, low voice caught
Jay-Ro's ears.  "Homeboy, your weed ain't hard to find." He pointed at the
big youth, grinning.  "Keeping that shit under the bed right at the back.
With those nudie magazines."

   Jay-Ro cussed, mourning the loss of a complete stash of his best stuff.
He felt Keith's hand on his big arm, grasping at his baggy red sweatshirt.
He grabbed a fist of Keith's shirt, hauling the youth upright, watching him
flop against him like some homeboy dressed rag doll.  He smelt the stink of
alcohol on his heavy breaths.

   "If you weren't my best boy, I'd fuck you up serious, Keith.  You know
that shit.  Why you go and fuck with my stash, nigga?!"

   "Lighten up, Jay." The big youth felt the words light on his ear,
Keith's head flopped against his big shoulder.  The teenagers weight felt
heavy against him.  "I just been in some stress.  Needed to clear my mind."

   "Oh yeah, smoke my damn stash.  That'll clear your mind."

   "I just wanted to get away from the shit a while, Jay." Jay-Ro felt that
chuckle against his shoulder, those words in his ear again, low, smokey. 
"Lose my shit...."

   "Nigga, your completely fucked up." Jay-Ro pushed Keith up off him,
letting him flop back against the couch.  He slouched back against him
again.

   "Heheheheh ...  yeah, you got that shit right, Jay."

   Jay-Ro steeled his tone.  "Your ass should be in bed, nigga.  Your
shit's fucked up."

   Keith muttered again slightly, Jay-Ro doing his best of haul the youth
up off him again.  The youth's brow furrowed again, something shooting
through his heavy body as he felt Keith's hand drop onto his leg.  He tried
to get himself and Keith up off the couch, instead letting him flop back,
all but wrestling with Keith's dead weight.  His concern for his close
friend just wanted to get him where he would be safe.  Jay-Ro knew he'd be
able to find out whatever happened the next morning.  When he wasn't drunk
and blunted off his face.  Keith's hand dropped back onto his lap.

   "C'mon, nigga, your shit's flopping all over me."

   Keith muttered something again, his head hard against Jay-Ro's big
shoulder.  Frustrated, Jay-Ro pushed him back again, raising his voice
slightly.

   "I can't work out a fucking word of what you saying at me, nigga."

   "I SAID ..." Keith steadied his tone a little.  "I didn't put it there
by accident."

   "You crazy, nigga.  You need to get your ass in bed."

   "C'mon, man.  I wanna get me some." Keith's smokey voice was low, almost
out of Jay-Ro's hearing again.

   "You ain't going no where else tonight.  Girls will have to wait."
Jay-Ro put his arm up around Keith, ready to try and get him up off the
couch again.  "You can do your bid'niss when you get in bed."

   "Nah, I mean I want me some of this good shit, Jay."

   Jay-Ro's face hardened again slightly, confused.  He pulled Keith's hand
off his leg again, moving to get the lanky youth up.  He felt something
unnerving in Keith's closeness.  With having his hand so close to his dick.
Something strangely seductive suggested silently in the deep pits of his
being, hinted at in his size.  They were lost swiftly to the uncomfortable
feelings he was beginning to feel with Keith's body against him.

   "C'mon, nigga.  You just blunted.  You ain't seeing shit straight."

   The lanky youths reply came quiet, as smokey as always.  "Nah, I'm
seeing shit straight nigga.  I want you."

   Jay-Ro cussed loudly, cringing, his whole body recoiling from his
friends touch.  He pulled his arm from around Keith's shoulders.  The
sentiment hit him like a whip, the idea completely beyond what he wanted to
hear from the lips of his best friend.  Let alone a GUY.  The words sounded
wrong coming to him on the tones of a male voice.  Jay-Ro felt the pain of
that whip in the disgust that rose inside him.

   "Get your fucking shit straight, nigga.  You more fucked up than I
though you were!"

   Keith flopped over again, Jay-Ro unable to do much else than let him
fall against his big arm.  He let him stay, not moving to right him, let
alone touch him.  His voice was quiet still.

   "Nah, I wanna get me some good shit, Jay."

   Jay-Ro's mind fought, corrected, put everything back into its right
place.  He found himself trembling slightly, not knowing why.  He grabbed a
fist of Keith's breakdancing shirt again, pushing him upright.

   "Look, nigga.  Straight up.  Weeds got your mind fucked good.  You want
you some bitch, and I'm your nigga, Keith.  I ain't a bitch aiight?" He
slapped Keith's smooth, light skinned cheek a little.  "C'mon, Keith.  You
gotta get your ass in bed.  Your fucked."

   "I ain't fucked," Keith retorted.  "I want you, nigga."

   Jay-Ro's mind panicked somewhat as he dragged Keith's hand away from him
again.  Why was he doing this?!  He didn't know weed could do this to a
nigga's mind.  Keith was starting to scare him.  Maybe it was the alcohol.
The big youth glanced at the bottle, wondering what he had been drinking
that had got him so wasted.

   "I wanna give you some smooth shit, Jay."

   Jay-Ro steeled himself, saying it outright.  "C'MON Keith, I'm a guy,
aiight.  And you ain't no faggot.  The weed is fucking with your head,
nigga.  I'm your boy, remember?"

   "Yeah, I know its you, Jay."

   "Then you don't wanna mess with me, ok?  C'mon, nigga, you acting up on
my ass like some sorta fucking faggot."

   "I wanna go down on you, Jay." Keith's head flopped against his shoulder
again, his voice sleepy.

   "Look, KEITH." Jay-Ro's mind swum, as he tried to think of a way to show
his boy that he was messing up.  "You AINT a faggot aiight?  So stop trying
to say you wanna go down on me.  Your gonna be regretting you said all this
shit in the morning."

   "I ain't.  I just wanna give you slowneck, Jay.  Why you ain't letting
me do it?"

   Jay-Ro all but squealed as he felt Keith's hand tugging at his shorts.
His cock thumped as his best friends hand eased near his big flesh, his
male nature not decerning the gender of the touch.  The big youth's mind
panicked, screamed, his body rebelling as he comprehended what was going
down.  The big youth worked on instinct, responding to the revulsion he
felt.

   "Get your fucking hands off me Keith!!"

   Jay-Ro shoved Keith hard, the lanky youth falling hard off the couch. 
He hit the ground, the discarded alcohol bottle tipping over, rolling
before it hit a short crate that made up the remainder of the rooms
furniture.  Jay-Ro's whole body shook, his breath coming in pants as he
come to terms with what had just happened.  His brain was screaming inside
him, saying what was so obvious, what Jay-Ro refused to hear, to believe.
His best friend tried to grope him.  His best friend was a faggot.

   Jay-Ro shook his head, his mouth working in disbelief.  His put his head
in his hands, trying to fight what was happening inside.  He felt sick.  He
felt like he was going to black out, his head swimming.  His breath came in
hard pants, his big chest rising and falling under his sweatshirt. 
Somewhere beyond the rushing in his ears Jay-Ro heard a sobbing.

   Almost as if the big youth had forgotten, the sobbing seemed to remind
him of what had happened, what he had done.  He saw Keith lying on the
floor, writhing ever so slightly, as if struggling.  Jay-Ro felt a new
panic, a guilt deep inside.  What had he done?  His concern suddenly set
in, as he quickly moved over to Keith.  Had he hurt him?  Please, fuck! 
Don't let him be hurt.

   Jay-Ro pulled Keith over, the lanky youth wrapping his arms around his
chest, trying to roll away from the big youth.  Jay-Ro could see Keith's
face, already streamed with tears, his hat falling off his short haired
head.  The big youth cussed, lost, confused.  He had no idea what to do,
what he had done, what the fuck was happening to him.  Lost like some
airplane crash victim, roaming the realities of his emotions.

   "Leave me alone!!  Get off me!!"

   Jay-Ro heaved Keith up, all but dumping him back onto the couch.  The
lanky youth flopped over at the end, Jay-Ro avoiding him, sitting back down
at the other end.  The emotions inside him fought and blinded him.  He
stayed silent in his confusion, breathing more steady, his big body still
shaking.

   "I ain't never seen that shit in a nigga's eyes!"

   Keith wept quietly, still tangled in himself, long arms around himself.
Jay-Ro stared at the youth.  This was his friend?  This faggot?  Nah, there
was some mistake.  He hadn't heard him straight.  Nothing had happened. 
His mind flew with questions, no answers, beyond his belief.  He stared
silently.

   "I never seen a nigga look back, Jay!  I ain't never."

   Keith writhed slightly at the end of the couch.  Jay-Ro barely heard
him. Barely saw him beyond the rebellion in his mind.  The same thoughts,
the same words kept flowing through the mist.  The same beat drummed
through his mind.  Faggot.

   "And he was there, and we knew that shit was on.  I could see that shit
in his eyes, Jay.  It was like for the first time I SEEN it!  It was like
....  fuck, it was like ....  "

   Jay-Ro stayed silent.  He watched Keith manage to get himself up upright
slightly, lay back against the couch.  He saw the tears glisten on his
cheeks, caught in the light of the lamp from across the room.  His face was
hard, labored with his grief, the pain of his emotions.  The two stayed
silent, Jay-Ro feeling the storm of emotions renewed at the sight of his
friends tears.

   "I always wanted to do that shit, Jay." Keith's voice was almost too low
to hear.  "Wanted to do that shit, now I can't.  Cause they gonna fuck me
up before I even find that kid again.  I finally got it, Jay.  And that
shit gets fucked up."

   Jay-Ro swallowed slightly.  He didn't want to look at that face.  Those
deep, still sparkling eyes.  Somewhere, something dawned in his mind, still
fought by rational thought, drawing parallels, mating Keith's words with
John's story.  Keith's voice broke his thoughts, broken somewhat by his
tears.

   "And I think about all the times I dreamed of doing that shit for you,
Jay."

   The big youth felt his body tremble more deeply, barely hearing, barely
wanting to comprehend Keith's words.  Those eyes turned on him, cutting
through the haze of his confusion and emotions.

   Keith shook his head, almost chuckling darkly, recalling with heavy
eyes. "And fuck.  All that time we be sleeping in the same bed.  And you
ain't known about my stuff.  And you ain't known I knew you was doing it. I
wasn't asleep like you always thought I was."

   Jay-Ro's heart thumped, the big youth taking another deep, labored
swallow.  He felt those emotions of wanting to black out again.  His heavy
body shook.  He didnt want to hear what he was hearing.

   "And fuck, I wanted so bad to reach over and help you, Jay.  Like ... 
fuck ...  you ain't known how bad ...  how close I got.

   "You my boy, Jay.  And you ain't never gotten with girls and shit, and
you gotta do that shit to get off.  And I just think I can help you out ...
even if I was straight, nigga.  Id still do that shit for you, cause you my
boy!"

   Jay-Ro saw the sobs subside ever so slightly.  The words pounded in his
head, slammed in beat with his heart.  Even if I was straight?  It
superseded the sentiment Keith was otherwise relaying to him.  Eclipsing
everything else of the situation and words.

   "But I knew you weren't like that.  I never saw that shit in your eyes,
Jay.  My boy would fuck me up if I pulled that shit on him."

   Jay-Ro choked back what he could, feeling as if he had to say something.
Make Keith know.  His voice wouldn't come to him, the big youth coughing up
barely a husky "yeah".

   "It ain't nothing else, Jay.  You gotta let them get close to you,
nigga. Fuck, you got it all.  I wish I could show you that shit."

   Jay-Ro glanced back at Keith, seeing the lanky, light skinned youth
looking back at him.  There was something in those eyes.  Something like
sorrow, something that tugged at him.  How the hell did his boy know his
shit?  What the fuck was he saying to him?  Why was he still listening. 
Jay-Ro's ears rushed, he felt a lump heavy in his throat.

   "You like me, boy.  You ain't never felt that shit either.  But you can
get that shit, Jay.  You just gotta let them.  Don't be scared of them,
nigga." Keith's smokey voice lowered greatly, as he breathed out silently.
"You phine, Jay ...  you gotta know that shit."

   "Nah ..." Jay-Ro breathed heavily, bluntly aware of the emotions and
feelings coursing his heavy body.  The feelings hanging in the air like the
still present smoke.  "Nah.  I ain't."

   Jay-Ro flinched slightly, pulling back instinctively again.  His mind
was a complete blank.  He saw Keith pull back, his face scared, like a
child fearful of being struck.  In time Jay-Ro felt that hand again, saw it
on his shoulder.  Saw those eyes.  Felt them.

   "Let me do it, Jay.  We know what we about."

   Jay-Ro's reply was choked, his emotions still thick.  He felt the
smooth, seductive fingers ride upon him, his body uncaring, unlike his
mind, of the origin of the feelings.  He spoke low.

   "You don't want to touch me like this, nigga.  You ain't a bitch."

   "Just let me do it."

   "You ain't a faggot."

   "Shut the fuck up and let me do it, Jay."

   Jay-Ro stayed silent.  The sound of silence still roared in his ears. 
His mouth was opened slightly, unmoving as he breathed, his eyes transfixed
forward.  His body melted as that hand eased down over his big chest,
brushed against his thick silver chain.  His mind screamed.  His whole
being came to conflict.  His boy touching him like this.  The powerful want
to be touched, no matter by who.  Knowing beyond fear that he could get it,
if only he could contain the words to still that hand.  If only he could
hold the will to move his own to stop it.

   "Just once ..."

   The words came close to his ear, soft, needing.  Those hands were
already well on their way across him.  Erotica's seducing mistress
beckoning him, slowly taking him, uncaring of gender and way.  Jay-Ro felt
her hands playing the songs he needed so badly to hear, their soft notes
dulling him to the reality of the players identity.  His best friend.  A
guy.  A faggot.

   Jay-Ro's mind became lost, whether blocking what was happening, or lost
to a pleasure his body had begged so long to feel, he didn't care.  His
flesh was firm, large, begging release long before Keith's slow hands
reached his zipper.  Sensual hands eased around his heavy body, pulled him
slowly towards the crowning pleasure, taking his body so willing, silencing
his mind from the truths it tried to speak.

   "Just once ..."

   Jay-Ro barely realized the words were not his friends as he groaned
slightly, questioned that smokey voice.  His heart thumped.

   "Take your sweatshirt off, Jay ..."

   Jay-Ro gulped, feeling those iron like inhibitions rise around him. 
Universal, even beyond the perversion in his mind of a guy pleasuring
another guy.  His own nigga.  Feeling on his hardening cock, his hands
rubbing and exploring so softly.

   Jay-Ro felt those hands, impossibly his own beside them, more beyond,
easing back his sweatshirt.  His body cried out, his shame making him shun,
want to hide.  He felt it consuming him completely as Keith got it off his
big torso, making his body shake uncontrollably.  His mind swum with the
realities of what was happening, his breathing ragged, his body sweating in
a consuming chill.  Keith's hands tugged at his black basketball jersey
below, his whole being resisting.

   "Its cool ..."

   Jay-Ro felt his emotions stronger than the air he breathed.  He felt his
sudden exposing.  Felt Keith's eyes.  His shame.  Felt those hands quickly
on his big body again, slowly running the stocky, partly overweighed curves
of his muscles.  He lowered his head, panting, seeing his heart thumping in
his big chest, eclipsed as Keith's hand stroked fiery love over his big
chest.  Beyond, reality of his body's feelings, so obvious.  His huge cock
bulging in his shorts.

   "Don't touch me like this, nigga."

   "Its cool, Jay ..."

   Jay-Ro groaned, felt his whole body respond beyond his cock as Keith's
hand eased down again over his groin.  Silently, he let it happen, let
pleasures merciless mistress take him completely.  Staring, panting, as
Keith worked his fly.  Unbuckled the belt on his long denim shorts.  Tug at
the button that remained the last bastion of his physical protection.

   "Please don't touch me like this nigga ..."

   His cock throbbed, a giant, aching shaft of living stone.  The big youth
all but cried, feeling his friends hand ease into his tented boxers,
retrieve his most private place.  Pulling it free, to join the rest of his
body, exposed to Keith's eyes.  Exposed to the world where he always kept
himself covered.  Hidden.  His most male, most hidden, private part, tight
inside his friends fist.

   "Your so fucking huge ..."

   Jay-Ro gasped a breath, struggling to take his breaths in the panicked
storm of sensations.  He felt his penis so hard, so obvious, as if his
whole body was nothing, only his huge phallic shaft, tight in Keith's hand.
His head had long begun weeping his fears, his inhibitions, deeper, rawer
sensations of need and lust that his mind didn't allow him to feel in the
presence of this male stimulus.  His huge shaft was sticky, slicked with
his ample, weeping precum.

   A dull, aching pleasure filled his big body as Keith ran his fist
downwards.  His head hurt, tight foreskin tugging back over a huge, flaring
head, darker than any part of his body.  Rough pubes, joining further
testimony to his dreads fake hues, scratched Keith's hand.  Brief as an
upstroke bled thick beads of precum from Jay-Ro's thick member.  Keith's
head dipped, sucking a big nipple into his hot mouth.  Jay-Ro panicked at
the touch.

   "Don't!  Damn nigga ...  don't do this ...  you ain't a faggot ... 
please, Keith, you my boy!"

   Jay-Ro's mind begged, trying to combat emotions and confusion, to speak
reason to his friend and his body.  The pleasure, so intense, so unfelt
before, so REAL beyond the pleasure felt from his own stroking hand.  His
cock raged with a wildfire, consuming, burning intensely, spreading to the
deep forest beyond that was his big body.  His sticky precum slurped
rhythmically, his huge shaft alive, so ripe with flowing, fluid pleasures.

   Jay-Ro fought, groaning, crying out in words that came only in moans. 
His heavy, deep english a language lost inside the language of sex and
lust. He saw Keith slip off his sleeveless tee shirt, baring a smooth,
athletic chest.  Jay-Ro tried to call out, warn his friend of what he was
doing, his mind singing reason lost within the songs of smooth lust. 
Beyond gendered sex.  He watched his friend move between his legs, his
sweatpants bulging, tented heavily.  Massive cock standing, Jay-Ro felt his
body portray in a look everything he felt, everything he wanted beyond
inhibition.

   Keith's hands eased him open, slipped onto his soft, warm skin.  A far
more gentle moan escaped Jay-Ro's lips as those caressing hands slipped
upwards, stroking his soft body, harder muscle below his size.  He let out
a last whimper of protest as the lanky youth gripped his thick organ,
tugging gently, exposing his weeping head.  Jay-Ro took in his friends
street hard body, soft, light toned skin.  He had seen him shirtless
before. This new context scared him, scared him like the hand around his
throbbing cock.  Like Keith's mouth moving downward.

   Like a kid riding a rollercoaster to its top, Jay-Ro felt the fear
mounting, seeing the inevitable before him.  His mind lost, time seeing to
slow as Keith's head dipped.  Then like that eventual, sudden plunge beyond
the climb, Jay-Ro felt it.  A warm, wet, all consuming sensation, taking
his big head.  Further, traveling downward, taking every inch beyond his
cock as that smooth, sensual warmth took his body.

   For a moment, the big youth's head dropped back, gone like his mind on
the first drag of weed.  For that moment, he didn't feel Keith's touch, his
warm, swallowing mouth.  Only gentle wisps of pleasure, drifting his body
like smoke from a blunt.  Finally, a release beyond what he had only
dreamed.  That seductive mistresses hands took him far beyond the thoughts
of his best nigga giving him head, lulling him deeper into the misty
pleasures of his needs.

   Jay-Ro groaned a deep and needy sound, as Keith pulled back, his tongue
taking his broad head.  His eyes, clouded with the sudden realization of
his unfelt pleasures, took in Keith's form.  The athletic, but lean youth,
his right arm shifting rhythmically under his own leg, the movement an
implication not lost.  He felt Keith moan on his huge cock, taking it deep
again, scratching an itch Jay-Ro had never been able to touch.

   Jay-Ro felt the sweat on his body as the slow, easy movements became
nature for him.  He saw Keith move down again, a still good half length
outside his mouth, grasped tightly in his left hand.  The big youth's
breath rasped as Keith's hand and mouth played his huge instrument, sending
the words and songs of pleasure through his body, drawing a deeper sweat in
the heat of their lust.  He saw Keith's right arm speed, his hand working
out of view, the mounting changes conveying easily to the oral speech of
pleasure he spoke upon his engorged organ.

   The big youth felt his own changes mounting, his body dancing in the
rising crescendo of the sucking.  Keith's hot mouth took him, again and
again, rising a symphony of feelings through his big body, numbing his
mind, drawing his climax closer with each bobbing stroke.  Jay-Ro somehow
sensed release, the elation and quiet satisfaction beyond, feeling Keith's
motions pause slightly.  His arm stopped, his hand shifting, tugging at his
sweatpants.

   Lost to his own impeding release, Jay-Ro let his head fall back,
willing, begging his climaxes approach.  Finally.  A pleasure beyond his
own, so deeply consuming beyond his highest dreams.  Like the euphoric lost
state of the drugs he so often smoked.  So often with his best friend, now
partaking in a new drug.  Smoking a blunt that sent him into the giddy
highs of pleasures sensual smoke.  Finally, ultimately, the bomb exploded
within him, releasing pent tension.  Letting in fresh demons that burned
his mind like the ultimate of pleasures that took his throbbing cock.

   Jay-Ro groaned, all but whimpered as his huge penis erupted again into
Keith's eager mouth.  He cried out, a deep, burning frustration.  A
disbelief beyond the fading, brief pleasures.  His seed colored Keith's
senses, his own mind returning him to the base reality of what he had done.
What he had fallen to.  What he had let his boy do to him.  He felt his
juices burst again and again, filling Keith like he had never released in
his life, reward to the insistent pleasures his mouth had supplied.

   "Ah FUCK!!!  SHIT!!"

   Jay-Ro let his head fall back again, cussing, staring blankly upwards as
his cock subsided.  He felt the pleasures slip gently from his heavy flesh.
His body was suddenly cold, the sweat making him clammy and uncomfortable.
As quickly as as if the light of pleasure had been turned off, Jay-Ro felt
the changes through his body and mind.  His thoughts returned in the same
torrent his huge shaft had released.

   Jay-Ro moaned, screwing his face in the total realization.  He glanced
back down, aware, finding some justification as his mind raged with a new
storm.  His lazy eyes took in the scene that was unfolding before him, the
context disgusting him as much as it had before lusts soft hands had
seduced him.  He felt the sudden shame, of himself, and of seeing Keith as
he pulled his sweatpants off completely, exposing his semi erect male
organ. Jay-Ro cringed at seeing his friends complete maleness, a sight
unseen and uncomfortable beyond words.

   He panicked, quickly pulling at his own shorts, covering himself.  "What
the fuck you doing, nigga?!  FUCK!"

   "I wanna --"

   "NAH nigga!  NAH!  You ain't doing no shit, nigga!" Jay-Ro struggled,
pulling at his shorts, grabbing at his basketball jersey where it had
fallen aside.  "Put your fucking clothes back on!"

   Jay-Ro did his best not to look at what he couldn't help but see.  He
clambered off the couch, shoving Keith's tee shirt back at him, grasping at
his own slipping shorts.  Jay-Ro's mind burned, his whole body shaking
beyond belief as he felt the shame, and pain of having engaged with his
best friend.  A GUY!  His best friend, admitting to him he was ...

   "Put your shit back on nigga.  I ain't doing anything with you,"
Jay-Ro's breaths came in heavy pants as he struggled to get his basketball
jersey back on.  "This shit is fucked!  I said put your SHIT back on!"

   "Man, its cool.  We didn't hurt no body.  No one gonna --"

   "Stop talking," the big youth turned on Keith suddenly, his eyes
penetrating straight through his slow, druggy gaze.  "Put your shit back
on. You fucking drunk and high off your nut, nigga.  You gonna go to bed."

   Jay-Ro walked over to the window, feeling the cold night air against his
body.  He was shaking.  Sweating without heat.  He put a hand against the
sill to steady himself, glancing back, seeing Keith slipping his sweatpants
back up slowly.  Jay-Ro rubbed his eyes, not believing, barely
comprehending what new truths assaulted his senses.  He didn't!  There was
no way.  He didn't believe what he had did.  What he had heard.  This was
all some fucked up dream or something.  Maybe he was high.

   "I didn't mean anything, Jay."

   Jay-Ro stayed silent, breathing heavily.  He glanced back from the
darkness beyond the window.  His eyes lowered.  He tried to avoid looking
over those smooth, athletic shoulders, still naked.  His eyes caught at
Keith's baggy groin, reminding him of his and his own release.  A deep
sexual tension relieved beyond extasy.  He stared back at the darkness, his
mind struggling with thoughts he tried to block.

   "I didn't ...  I'm sorry, man."

   Jay-Ro glanced back.  He didn't see anything beyond the emotions he was
feeling, baring down on him like an avalanche.  The big black felt his pent
emotions baring on him again.  He didnt want to deal with it.  He didnt
HAVE to deal with it.  Jay-Ro shoved his world inside him, blocked beyond
everything as he drew in a deep, self consuming breath.  His voice came to
him as he exhaled, dark, leveled.

   "C'mon nigga, you gotta get to bed.  You blunted bad."

   Jay-Ro moved across the room to that lone figure.  He did his best not
to linger close, not to touch, dare waking thoughts and emotions he was
already trying to hide, block deep inside.  The big youth ushered him
towards the kitchen, and the bedroom beyond, keeping his head low. 
Jay-Ro's mind was filled with new thoughts, emotions coursing through his
big body.  He felt dulled, empty, his whole being numbed.

   The bedroom was comfortingly dark.  Jay-Ro didn't bother turning on the
light, watching Keith's figure move across the room, deeper into the
darkness.  He stuck around, hoping his boy didn't trip on anything in his
passage to the bed.  Thinking perhaps it was more that he didn't want to be
there to catch him as he fell.  Not wanting to feel Keith's soft touch
against him again.  His mind rose in that confusion again, mixed emotions
raging inside him.  He tried to see the friend that was the person that
flopped down on the messed double bed.

   Keith rolled.  Moaned.  Stayed unmoving.  Jay-Ro stared into the
darkness, finally turning, closing the door behind him.  The silence that
had taken the house was unnerving, scaring the big youth.  It matched the
darkness as he stepped into the toilet, emptied his thick stream of piss.
It matched what he felt inside, pleasure replaced by a seething, creeping,
consuming sea of tough thought.  Emotions that took him to highs beyond his
once felt pleasures at the mouth of his friend.  His friend?  A faggot?

   Jay-Ro shook, put himself back in his shorts, rubbing his hands through
his thick dreads.  Rubbing his face.  He felt the fatigue of the day, of
the ordeals he felt, settling into his heavy body.  Any other night he
would have joined his friend in bed, innocent.  A necessity in the small
apartment, scant on places to lay.  Well on his side, Keith on his.  Now.
It was more than sleeping with a friend.  It was sleeping with a guy who
would go down on a guy.  He walked back into the lounge.

   Jay-Ro grabbed his baggy red sweatshirt back up, slipped it on.  His
eyes fell on the empty box where he kept his weed.  The empty bottle that
lay dropped on the ground, against the crate.  Jay-Ro felt a deep yearning,
a need to take the easy path that he had always taken before.  The same one
Keith had taken hours before.  As seductive and simple as the sensual
sensations of pleasure he had felt at his hands.  He yearned to feel the
weeds soft touch, to take him from the realities of what was going on.

   The big youth dropped himself down on the couch, putting his head in his
hands.  His pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes, rubbing,
groaning again.  Trying to sort out where he had no option to escape into
the embrace of alcohol, or the highs of gunja.  The silence deafened him.
There was nothing but his thoughts.  Harsh, cold realities.

   Jay-Ro felt a colder, harsher reality several hours later as he woke,
his neck aching painfully.  He felt hung over.  There was a strange taste
in his mouth.  The big youth moaned slightly, rubbing at his sore neck,
feeling the dulled pain of his memory kicking him.  The realization dawned
over him of what had passed.  That it had been more than a dream.  He felt
stuck in a nightmare, his thoughts steeled, his emotions checked inside
him.

   The noise that had woken him sounded again.  Jay-Ro looked up, seeing
the kitchen, the bedroom door beyond.  It opened, Keith's lanky form
skulking out, obviously trying to remain quiet in the silence of the
morning.  Jay-Ro's lazy eyes connected with the youth's a second. 
Something held them, drawing a flood of emotions and memories back between
the two of them.  Keith stepped away, quickening himself.

   "Hey KEITH!" Jay-Ro stood up quickly, heading towards the kitchen door.
"KEITH!"

   The big youth moved swiftly, intercepting the lanky homeboy.  His big
hand shot out, pushing the door out closed with a heavy bang.  He stared
deeply at Keith, his lazy eyes hard.  His voice was equally dark.

   "Where the fuck you think you going?"

   "What's it look like?" Keith shot back.  His smooth face betrayed a true
annoyance.  He grabbed at the door again, Jay-Ro's big hand shooting out
again, slamming it closed with another thump.

   "I'm going OUT!"

   "You ain't going no where."

   Keith shot Jay-Ro a sulking glance, moving away from the door.  The big
youth watched him closely, seeing him dump himself down at the small
kitchen table.  The lanky teenager leaned forward, putting his forearms on
his knees, keeping his eyes down.  Jay-Ro stayed near the door, staring at
his friend.  Quiet.

   "So, wuddup?  You gonna fuck me up now you know what I am?  Gonna fuck
me up cause I sucked your dick?"

   The words lashed at Jay-Ro, stung with an intense burn.  Keith's glance
added salt to the wound, Jay-Ro all but stepping back at the intensity of
that one look.  Jay-Ro stayed silent, seeing Keith's sulking look, almost
near tears again.  He felt something tugging at him deep inside.  Keith
thankfully stared downward again, leaving them in silence for several long
moments.

   "How long you been a faggot for?"

   Keith barely looked up.  Jay-Ro risked moving forward somewhat, sitting
on the other side of the table.  He felt the hatred still loaded deep in
that one word.  He felt his own anger and frustration.  The revulsion he
felt at the thought of one guy doing things sexual with another.  The
confusion still burned in his mind.  Keith's look woke him again.

   "Don't call me that."

   "Its what you are, ain't it?"

   "Your black.  I don't call you a nigger."

   Jay-Ro saw the strain on Keith's face, the youth rubbing his light
skinned features again.  He kept his hands over his face, resting his
elbows on his knees.  Something firmed in that smoky voice.

   "I don't want to talk about it, aiight?"

   "Yeah?  What was all that shit about me having to let people get close
to me, huh?"

   "I don't want to talk about it."

   "Nah, I think you should talk about it."

   Jay-Ro looked over at Keith.  He saw the emotions riding on his smooth
face, as he rubbed over his slight facial hair.  There was a weariness
there that the big youth recognized.  The effects of alcohol the night
after.  Something deeper that he was feeling now himself, unfelt before. 
The strangely heavy emotion that weighted on his mind and soul.

   "How long you been a ...  like this?"

   "Forever, Jay." Keith shot him another glance.  Jay-Ro could tell he
wanted to be anywhere else in the world right now.  "I didn't just wake up
and decide I wanted to fuck with guys."

   Jay-Ro let his eyes slide down Keith's light skinned arm.  The youth was
still wearing the clothes he had the night before, baggy sweatpants, his
sleeveless breakdancing tshirt.  It hung off his athletic shoulders, left
long glances of his body underneath.  Jay-Ro glanced back up at that face,
soft, smooth.  Those eyes sparkled back, but seemed to have lost something
of the shine they always had.

   "You don't look like one."

   Keith glanced back at the floor.  "Just cause you mess with guys doesn't
mean you have to look like something."

   Jay-Ro shook his head, rubbing at his thick dreads again.  This wasn't
coming easy.  He couldn't believe he was even trying to have this
conversation.  He glanced over at Keith again, seeing that person, his face
low.  The face of someone struggling with the same pained realities as him.
The face of someone who was still his friend?

   "You were the one who messed with John and Sen Dawg's friend, ain't yo?"

   Jay-Ro heard the moan, seeing Keith shaking his head slowly.  He
realized with a sudden tug of emotion that his friend was near tears again.
He shut up, regretting mentioning it.  Regretting that he had forced Keith
to stay.  To answer his questions.  All in the selfish end to belay his
fears, his burning prejudice against what he knew now his friend was.  He
heard a slight sob, staring at the ground himself, pressing his hands at
his face in his stupor of emotion.

   "I ain't never seen that look before," Keith said, his smoky voice
quiet. "He looked at me, nigga.  I knew he was 'bout it like me.  Fuck, we
spent that whole time getting blunted.  We was looking at each other the
whole time, Jay."

   Jay-Ro ran his hands upward, through those heavy, short dreads again. 
He stared at the floor, hearing only Keith's voice.

   "Man, I was fucked up with the weed and shit, but I knew what them looks
meant.  I knew cause I was giving them myself." Keith paused for a long
moment, seemingly choosing his words, finally speaking again.

   "You don't know what it felt like, Jay.  Like ...  like I spent my whole
life trying to work out this fucked up shit.  Trying to work out why I felt
like I did.  And fuck, heres this nigga, when I thought I was the only one
in the world.  Serious."

   Jay-Ro risked looking up, glancing over at his friend again.  His lazy
eyes stayed on that smooth face, saw the pain mirroring his own.  He saw
Keith's face, the pain, the struggle that came with his words.  Somewhere
in Jay-Ro's mind he knew this was it.  It was true.  There was no way he
could have mistaken what had happened.  What Keith had told him. 
Impossible though it was, something of his still hoped he was wrong. 
Blunted.  Too drunk.  He knew Keith was what he was saying he was.

   "And I'm thinking all this shit, Jay.  Thinking ...  this is it.  Maybe
this shit can come real," Keith's voice seemed to drift.  The big youth
watched on sullen faced, feeling his friends emotions as he seemed to pass
beyond the pain.  "Maybe this is someone who knows all this shit I'm
feeling.  He's a boy like me!  Ain't one them screeching bitches or
nothing, its a guy like me.  Just some homeboy."

   Jay-Ro stayed silent, breathing deep as the lanky youth spoke.  His eyes
never left Keith's, seeing the pain, the emotion.  Everything.

   "All I wanted was to have someone I could hold.  And heres this kid
who's 'bout it like me.  Maybe we can do that shit.  Just lie and hold each
other, Jay.  Fuck, you ain't known how bad I just wanted to have someone
hold me like that."

   The big youth nodded slightly, his throat dry.  He felt his own emotions
tugging at him.  There was a lump in his throat, something harder, and more
obvious deep inside him.  Even though Keith was speaking this alien, hated
concept.  Even though he was telling him of how badly he wanted to sleep
with another guy, something seeped through.  Jay-Ro found himself relating.
Feeling the strength of Keith's sentiment.  Feeling his own emotions and
wants, deeply wanting the same, beyond the sexuality.  He found himself
thinking of all the times he had looked at girls.  Wished.  Prayed. 
Something so simple.

   "I dunno what shit I did," Keith's tone lightened slightly, as he shook
his head, firming up somewhat.  "Fuck, it was stupid, Jay.  Fucked up. 
Even if I felt all that shit, and I was high, I shouldn't have fucked with
him in front of his boys."

   Jay-Ro saw Keith's face harden slightly.  He chose his words.  "I
thought I had it, Jay.  Thought I could feel that stuff I always wanted. 
Thought, this is the shit.  I'm finally gonna be able to feel what its
like. Even if we don't do no shit, we just hold each other.  Then Ill know
what its like finally.  To know I ain't alone or no shit.  Know there's
peeps out there like me, Jay."

   The big youth felt those eyes stare dead back at his.  There was a
strength there he had never felt in any gaze.  "Fuck, you ain't known how
that feels, Jay.  Fuck, like ..." Keith stared upward slightly, grasping at
words.  "...  like MAN!  Fuck, like the whole worlds white.  And heres this
black kid like me.  You dunno what that shit feels like."

   Keith finally fell silent, leaving Jay-Ro lost.  Without words to say.
The big youth knew this time would come.  He would have to say something
back.  Anything.  What could he say?  Jay-Ro felt powerless, watching as
Keith leaned on his knees again, rubbed at the back of his neck.  His eyes
looked heavy, filled with a sadness and regret.  Jay-Ro took another deep
breath, his lazy eyes still fixed.

   "You know where that kids at?"

   "Nah."

   "You know John wants to fuck you up.  You know he told me to look out
for you.  Bring you in if I found you."

   Keith glanced up and over at Jay-Ro.  There was a slight urgency, his
eyes widening slightly.  Fear.  It gave way to something larger, deeper in
Keith's soul.  Giving in the release of telling, of being discovered.  Of
all the mistakes and stuff ups he had made this far.  Like a felon knowing
he was guilty, and finally losing the will to run.  Keith didn't even
bother to defend himself, Jay-Ro noticed.  He stayed strangely silent. 
Jay-Ro felt that lump again in his throat.  Knowing he couldn't stay silent
any longer.  Knowing he had to say it.  His voice came hard.

   "...  I ..." Jay-Ro shook his head, cussing silently, starting again. 
"Shit you do is fucked up.  I ain't ever gonna think its aiight for a guy
to fuck with a guy like you do, kid."

   Jay-Ro took a tight breath, seeing those words fall on Keith's ears,
wishing instantly there was another way to say it.  He saw those eyes
change slightly, that hard defiance drop somewhat.  The big youth blew out
a heavy breath.

   "I cant help that shit, Keith.  Its just like I am.  I cant be cool with
the shit you do.  You know it ain't right." Jay-Ro paused, feeling his
heart pounding.  His words came too painfully, striking at his heart and
soul.  He had never felt words so hard to say.  "Keith ...  man ...  fuck
..."

   Jay-Ro put his head in his hands slightly, turning away from that face.
Those eyes.  He hated those tears that had suddenly started to flow.  Hated
the lump in his throat.  The way his voice carried his hurt.  He felt his
voice whispering, carrying like it wasn't his own.

   "You still my nigga, Keith.  Fuck, you still my boy ..."

   Jay-Ro didn't look up.  He didn't want to see what he knew he was going
to see.  Didn't want to have to confront the feelings he knew he would have
seeing it.  Knowing he would have no choice but to comfort him.  Put an arm
around those shoulders.  He knew what he had to do, finding it harder than
anything to find the strength.  Keith's voice came quietly, forcibly
controlled.

   "I ain't mean to suck your dick ..."

   The big youth rubbed his hand through his dreads.  That had to come.  He
knew there was no escaping what they had both done last night.  He drew a
deep breath, played it down.  Knowing there were still parts of him
fighting so powerfully at what he had let happen.  What he had done the
night before.

   "We were both drunk.  No shit happened, ok?  Nothing."

   The words seemed to quiet Keith.  Jay-Ro sat, feeling strange like he
had never felt in his life.  Somehow between them, they let the matter
ride, letting a silence drop between them as they dealt with their own
thoughts and emotions raging inside them.  Jay-Ro rubbed at his dreads,
still staring at the floor, his throat sore, emotions still wounded deep
inside him.  The silence help soothe his hurt, like cool water on a burn.

   Jay-Ro shook his head slightly, breathing deep again.  He didn't look up
from the floor, still huckered down against his knees, not looking up.  He
heard Keith's smoky voice from across the table.  Quiet.  Somewhat weak.

   "I didn't wanna tell you ...  only cause I didn't wanna lose you, Jay.
You my friend.  You what I got."

   Jay-Ro nodded, looking up, feeling it come more natural.  Keith's eyes
met him halfway this time, the two looking deep at each others eyes.

   "I know, kid." Jay-Ro nodded.

   "You what I got."

   Jay-Ro let the silence fall again.  He felt drained.  Drained of words,
with little more he could think to say.  Everything inside him wanted to
explain it all, find the words to shove it away, make the whole situation
right again.  To fix it now, better still, hide that it had ever happened.
The words were drained from him.  The emotions.  Leaving him feeling dull
inside beyond the shock.

   "Ill get you weed back, Jay."

   "Aiight."

   "Nah I mean it, Jay.  Ill get you weed back.  I didnt wanna smoke your
stash.  I just needed to lose my shit, you know."

   Jay-Ro nodded sullenly, glancing back over at Keith.  He knew that if
his lanky friend hadnt have smoked it all last night, he would have.  The
weed did better than the words ever did.  It soothed and hid better than
any human responce.  Any single word or a volume more.  The weed would have
given Jay-Ro the release and loss he wished he had then, and wished still
he could have now.

   "I got my stash.  Its all yours, Jay."

   "Its cool."

   "I was gonna go out and get it before you stopped me," Keiths voice
seemed more gathered.  The lanky youth seemed to have a more certain air
about him, dealing seemingly better than Jay-Ro felt he was.

   "Come with me, man, Ill get you that shit.  Ill pay you back on the 40
too."

   Jay-Ro nodded, not sure if he wanted to be paid back or not.  The whole
issue cooled over what he wanted to ignore as he put back in its place all
that had become undone.  He let it ride, watching as Keith stood up,
waited. The big youth pushed himself up from his chair, steeling his voice,
trying to reassure his mind and emotions with word again.

   "No one finds out, aiight?"

   "Word."

   "No I mean this, Keith." Jay-Ro leveled his dark eyes against his
friends.  A look that would have cut aside any other youth on the street
before him.  "No one finds out, aiight?"

   "Word, Jay.  You know I aint telling no one."

   "It never happened, aiight?" Jay-Ro felt the sweat gathering slightly on
his brow, his big shoulders rising again.  He saw Keiths reaction, pressed
and terse.

   "Ok."

   "Nah, say that shit Keith.  It never happened."

   Jay-Ro fought the silence, the tenseness that had suddenly filled the
air.  The release came too slow, pressing through air thick like treacle,
the words he had to hear.  The words he had to hear Keith tell him.  The
reality he needed to believe to go on.  The lanky youths voice was all but
empty.

   "It never happened, Jay."

   The big youth nodded in final agreement.  His mind struggled to set back
what once was.  It couldnt be any other way.  He didnt want to deal with
what otherwise might be true.  His feelings, his thoughts, the realities
that scourched through what had come, leaving only dark ashes in their
wake. Jay-Ro put it aside, where all other things were.  It had never
happened.  He'd never found out what his best friend was.  He'd never got
his dick sucked by his best nigga.  It never happened.

   "C'mon.  We got shit to do, kid."

   Jay-Ro walked towards the lounge to get his boots, passing Keith,
brushing him lightly by accident.  He pulled his hand away quickly, almost
pausing to apologize, make new words to make it right.  He lowered his
head, cussing, pressing on into the bombsite lounge.

   The youth busied himself and mind as he pulled on his big boots.  He was
still dressed in the same loose clothes, hanging off his big frame.  The
same baggy shorts and red sweatshirt.  The thought crossed his mind that he
needed to change, find fresh clothes.  The big youth tugged at his thick
neck chain, letting it fall against his chest, stark silver against the
burning red of his thick sweatshirt.  His lazy eyes drifted over the
bandanna around his right wrist again, that which made him man.

   Jay-Ro found Keith sat down again at the kitchen table.  His floppy
fishermans hat, as much Keith as Keith himself was pulled down deep. 
Almost as if to hide, seemingly deeper than usual.  Those sparkling eyes
managed to make themselves known, lighting what the lanky youths floppy hat
shaded.  Those eyes, smooth face, a partial goatee of smooth hair trying to
speak age beyond fact.

   "We out."

   The sun was already pulling above the shocked scape of the ghetto
projects as Jay-Ro and Keith finally hit the last flight, stepping out
beyond.  It almost seemed well past its due, as if no new day had really
dawned.  It had long since been any different, the sun seeming to give up
as much hope in lighting in life what hope the ghetto had in the same life.
The sun laboured, climbed, doing in minimum what had to be done on the day
to day as the ghetto danced the same dance.

   The two youths looked past the obvious around them, as always.  Jay-Ro
dropped the cracked steps of the tenement, glancing right, Keith close
behind.  The step seemed natural, the same as it had always been.  Keith on
his right, strangely, anything else or an absence would have seemed wrong
somehow.  Strangely Keiths presence where it had always been, on his right,
right there, seemed to block what had passed.  Made things seem like they
had through their whole childhood together.

   Jay-Ro settled on the same routes, silent in the presence of the ghetto
darkness around them.  Waiting for final release, to finally exhale in the
last breath of life squeezed slow from a dying landscape.  A lame dog
passed Jay-Ro's eye unnoticed as he travelled paths bred in his soul.  As
much a part of him than his his own right.  Nothing was more a part of him,
than the essence and streets that had bred him.

   The pair turned the same street corner, hearing the soundtrack of the
ghetto slowly come to their ears.  Beyond the gunshots and cries that
seemed natures true call in life in the forgotten, and passed aside.  Its
beat thumped like a heart within, maybe a lifeline beyond all.  Breathing
into a youth lost in urban lock what it needed to stay beyond the grasp of
dark.

   Jay-Ro felt the same timetables press home, carrying him on the same
clockwork that had been trained in his warrior ways since birth.  His eyes
sought where his hear caught a block before.  Friend or foe beyond the
heartbeat of the street.  Jay-Ro's lazy eyes took in the only thing that
needed to be seen, as the pulse of hip hop bass cried the hope of the
streets.  The red of blood.  The red of 'breed.

   "Sup mah nigga?!"

   The figure rose as Jay-Ro approached.  Took in a single, attempted
crushing embrace of manhood.  The big youth replied in kind, feeling his
boys closeness.  An accepted context that still hinted dark stirings inside
Jay-Ro's big form.  His tight fists, an agressive understating that
banished any emotion an open, holding hand would.  Matching his boys,
completing a farse of closeness of their greeting.

   "Good to see you again, nigga."

   "No doubt."

   Jay-Ro fell into old ways, seeing the gathered youths, pulling forth,
accepting Keith into the same folds of manhood that exuded around him. 
Family.  Familiar feeling that comforted the soul.  The same red fell
around that looped his own wrist.  United in family like common blood.  The
red of 'breed.  Abscent from few, like Keith, their company still accepted
on trust.

   "Best be watching your back, nigga.  You know shits starting to go down
dont you?" The lean soldier looked on Jay-Ro with the look almost of father
to son.  The big youth replied in kind, lazy eyes still taking in.

   "Yeah, no doubt."

   "Bloods on the street, nigga.  So we best be watching ours," the
gangbred slapped Jay-Ro's solid shoulder, sitting back against the tenement
wall again.  "Dont wanna be caught in no crossfire, know what I mean?  Dont
want to be loosing no soldiers to some mistakes."

   "I hear you 'breed." Jay-Ro replied clockwork again, almost instinct in
language, bred in warrior ways.

   "So whats been going down in your life, nigga?  You keeping your end up,
right?"

   The big youth nodded back at Skeets.  He hadnt known the lean nigga as
long as he had Keith.  He wasnt a brother born in common upbringing as
close as the lanky nigga always at his side.  Skeets was still family,
adopted where Keith was as close to him as a sibling in blood.  A family
that keep safe its members, kept no secrets in its close protection.

   Jay-Ro's eyes rose slightly, from those baggy black fatigues and thick
belt, only to level on smooth hardness.  Skeet's rough jacket, sleeves rent
crudely off years before.  Leaving bare the same masculinity that stood
statement between the open front of the tested leather.  Smooth, dark,
powerful.  A testimony of a predator and man beyond youth, bred in warrior
ways.  A different statement than Jay-Ro's size, but carrying the same air.

   Those muscular arms, matching shoulders and chest.  A youthful face,
seemingly misplaced in its muscled context.  Smooth, hinting boyish, beyond
light eyebrows and smooth dome.  Eyes that saw all, drunk in life in gulps
too deep.  A drink too bitter and dangerous.  Jay-Ro nodded.

   "Shits been aiight.  Been taking care of shit."

   "Good.  You know Im here if you need me, aiight?" Skeets tone was deadly
honest.  "Here for you no matter what.  No matter what, aiight?"

   "No doubt, kid."

   "Aint nothing a nigga can say, aiight?"

   "No doubt."

   "Nothing you want me to do?"

   Jay-Ro ruffled his gold locks, shifting his weight again.  "You aint
seen Nate?  Nigga still got my vinyl."

   "Nah, but Ill be sure to ask him if I see him, aiight?" Jay-Ro nodded
his appreciation, Skeets' voice lightening a whole heap.  "Fuck, life aint
all that bad if thats the only shit you dealing with, nigga."

   "You know how it goes."

   "Yeah I do, you just make sure you taking care of yours aiight?"

   "No doubt." Jay-Ro all but shrugged it off.  Sometimes the concern got
too close.  "I gotta bounce, take care of some shit with my grandmoms."

   Skeets' face beamed.  "Word?  Give her my word when you see her.  I tell
you, that last time, shit was on the real!"

   "No doubt," Jay-Ro let a grin escape his close visage.  "You know she
got the skills with the food."

   "Its what grandmoms are about, nigga.  You lucky you still got that,"
Skeets pointed out.  The respect rode his urban form.  He caught Jay-Ro's
glance, watching as Keith parlayed his own uniqueness.  Representative of
his breaking crew, an art carried on high with a solid respect, where he
lacked the same red bandanna.

   "Tell her Im down for more of them greens any day."

   "No doubt.  Chicken and greens any day, kid," Jay-Ro caught that warmth
between.  It shadowed as quickly as the cloud passing before the suns rays,
heating in climbing day as if in attempt to destroy mankinds mistake.

   "Anyway, I gotta bounce.  Shit to take care of, nahmean?"

   "Yeah," Skeets knocked the big youth's fist in street bond.  "I ment
what I said about watching your back."

   "No doubt.  I got that on the real."

   "Yeah yeah," Skeets said, pointing over at Keith, still speaking to a
seemingly captive, and wide smiling audience.  "Keep your boy safe, nigga.
I like him.  Dont want him ending up like that faggot Jo-Jo."

   Jay-Ro nodded eventually, the word catching him strangely off guard.  It
whipped out at him, irony and context not wasted in painful paradox,
catching him across his soul.  The burn remained as the big youth shoved it
aside, his lazy eyes narrowing slightly.

   "Nah, I got his back.  Hes my boy."

   Jay-Ro lost the smile that came, already turning away from Skeets.  He
motioned to Keith, catching the youth in mid sermon, preaching in humor to
a parish of rough youths, already well at home in the church of the
streets. Jay-Ro caught those light smiles, probably more genuine in nature
than many things he was likely to see from any of them in any given day. 
Warm fires lit by a warm personality, driven on a charisma Jay-Ro had come
to silently admire in Keith.

   "Catch ya'll on the real," Keith called.  Fists insued.  Manhood
farewells, exchanged between youths.

   Jay-Ro paused in his ponderous stride, glancing back to see what kept
his friend.  The thoughts seemed to linger still in the sullen dullness of
his soul, like smoke carried by breeze over the deadness of a battlefield.
It seemed almost so distant, put where he most wanted it.  Yet it called so
clearly back, in the sight of seeing Keith in so common and every day a
context.  What Jay-Ro knew, that would sure drain the smiles from that
audiences faces.  What Jay-Ro scarce even dwelled on he would do if that
same knowledge came from Keith.

   The big youth caught glance of unnoticed face as he turned.  The look
drained thought and wronged emotion like water from a bathtub.  Gradual,
but complete.  The youth managed a brief smile in his absence of thought.
Word.  Comprehension.  Almost panicked seek for word, and the complete lack
thereof.  Jay-Ro's smile wavered, his head lowering somewhat as the same
crippling completeness took his form.  What to say, what to do, all normal
human reaction drained like the same water from the bath.

   Jay-Ro glanced up, catching Keith's smooth face crowned by his
fishermans hat.  He accepted the same look he received, knowing of little
else to supply in return.  He pushed on, same paths, same streets.

   "Hey, I KNOW dat shits there, Jay."

   Keith was dancing alongside him, doing his best to stay known, face him
where they both walked the refreshing coolness of the drains.  Jay-Ro kept
his fists balled deep in his shorts pockets, his head low, wanting his boys
words to stop.  The same assualt on his senses and emotions as always on
the subject.

   "Let it lie, kid."

   "Nah, 'cause this the exact shit Im TALKIN' 'bout, Jay."

   "I SAID ..." Jay-Ro paused in final step and voice, staring at Keith. 
His glare fell on the same expression unaffected.  "Let it lie."

   Jay-Ro kept his eyes on Keith's.  Dark and lazy compared to the bright
life that sparkled still in his homeboy's.  Mirrors to souls carried too
heavy in life, born with shared burdens and secrets too heavy to carry. 
The big youth watched for those words to sink, where they never seemed to
in the past.  Keith had something most didnt.  The ability to accept those
dark eyes where most would turn.

   Jay-Ro turned and continued the same path, his heavy and beaten black
boots wet with the running water that flowed.  He side stepped, over fallen
brick, taking him back up onto the garbage cluttered ledge that ran
intermentantly along the broad overflow.  The system criss crossed the
backlands of the ghetto for miles.  Where ghetto became industry.  Where
industry became poluted harbour and humanity beyond.  The overflow system
was the same battlefield as all.  Life to the ghetto gangs where it had
long since left life in usefulness for normal Bradford citizens.

   The long overflow was mainly wet, dispite the dry and humid Bradford
summer, veritable hell on earth in heat.  A haven, oasis of sorts.  Its
long stretches of concrete canvas to urban artists, long past forgotten,
proclaiming names and deeds in flowing art.  To most, profane eye-sores. 
To others, words carrying meaning like ancient paintings on cave walls of
the aboriginal.  Works in color and fluid beauty as if Michaelangelo had
always spoke in ebonics.  Chilled on the low-low with his homes.

   Jay-Ro's heavy form welcomed the brief shadow where his usual shame had
him hide under his layers.  Subconcious, seemingly unknown to the real,
known only during those brief periods when the alternative came in
refreshing coolness.  His feet carried heavy where his mind and soul
carried equal weights.

   "I aint lettin' it lie, Jay."

   Jay-Ro ignored him this time, Keith's lanky form nagging at him with the
same insessiveness as that smoky voice.  It fly like knat around his head,
bugging, diving with true word to sting again and again at his thick
exterior.

   "This is what Im gettin' at.  I see this shit, Jay," there was a brief
pause.  "I know you know it.  I know that shits hard for you nigga.  Fuck."

   Jay-Ro heard the regret loaded in that one word.  He wished it would
just go away, wished he could find the one word that would silence Keith
like he wished he could silence the noise that kept sounding through his
soul again and again that same day.

   "I wanna see yo happy, Jay.  You just gotta let them get close to you.
You aint got shit to be worried about, Jay, you know yo da bomb."

   "Dont." Jay-Ro let his emotion swing wild on word.

   "Fuck, you know how I feel now, Jay.  So wuddup?  Why cant you
understand that some girl would think you phine as fuck if your boy can
think the same thing."

   Jay-Ro felt his head swim suddenly, his step slowing.  "Im warning you,
Keith.  I dont wanna even hear this shit, aiight?  That shits wrong.  You
said we were never gonna talk about it again, ok?"

   "No I didnt," Keith replied.  "This aint even about that, Jay.  This
'bout you.  You and you aint thinkin' you shit.  You and you being shy with
the girls, Jay.  I wanna see you happy with Ana, like I know you wanna see
you happy with Ana."

   "Damn.  Let it lie, Keith."

   "You gonna talk to her right some day, nigga.  Im gonna see that shit,
Jay."

   Jay-Ro let the matter fall, thankful that it seemed to fall silent in
Keith's words.  He couldnt help feel that there was something more there.
He knew it.  He felt it.  It seemed to come like some strong smell from
every word, every look, every emotion passed by Keith.  Unspoken, but known
so clearly felt like the water that flowed under foot.  He tried to clean
his mind of the obscenity of Keith even thinking about him like he knew he
was.  It was wrong.  Bad.  Everything about it.  It was so wrong for a
homeboy to think like that.  His mind struggled with the thought that here
was his closest boy.  Yet in the same breath, he'd probably not lift a
finger in his indifference to save the life of a faggot.

   "Its here."

   Keith's smokey words woke Jay-Ro's slumber of thought as the lanky youth
moved over to the scarred wallface.  The big youth stepped back somewhat,
heavy booted feet splashing down in the running overflow as he looked up. A
sea of fading colors and flows pretentiously proclaimed the name "g.o.d."
across the rough concrete for those who would hear its timeless call. 
Jay-Ro's dark eyes took in where Keith knelt, began pulling at the fallen
rubble against the wall.

   "Fuck, son!  Just like you fucking said, son!  I knew you'd pull
through!"

   Jay-Ro's whole being lept, turning with a heavy pant to see John making
his way up the overflow.  His body screamed.  Sharp senses cutting. 
Preparing.  Seeing.  Hearing.  His warrior instincts slipping like hand
over gun.  His lazy eyes widened somewhat as he saw the stark reality that
was.  Johns enthusiastic expression.  Sen Dawg in tow.  Jay-Ro's reality
paused mentally.

   "True to your word, Jay-Ro.  Said you'd find me that fucking faggot that
wronged my boy," John paced slowly up the running path of water, too much
the dark predator born of the streets.  "And heres the fucking bitch right
here."

   Jay-Ro shot a glance back at Keith, not knowing what he hoped to see. 
His big chest and shoulders rose and fell, his breath seeming to rush in
slower and slower pants and time seemed to crawl like nails down a
blackboard.  He saw Keith's eyes, the misunderstanding.  The wide,
disbelieving look of one betrayed.  The big youth dropped his eyes.

   "What you think you going to do, John?"

   "What the fuck you think, son?" the youth stopped about six feet short
of him, telegraphing his intentions back to where Keith lay against the
wall.  Jay-Ro saw the anger twist Johns youthful features.  "Im gonna do
what I said I was gonna do.  Im gonna have a talk with the bitch.  Tell him
how a real mans spose to be."

   Jay-Ro felt his being harden, almost like a match off between sheriff
and bandit.  A slow, almost painful transition.  A shifting of footing.  A
tightening of fist.  A clench deep within his being.  Jay-Ro felt whatever
calmness it was that rose through him, steeling him against the hard
reality, the danger and potential threat of the urban predator before him.
He saw the rage play across that dark face again.

   "No fucking faggot messes with my fucking nigga!" Johns voice seemed to
cry out almost like a child wronged, his face twisting.  "That shit is so
fucking wrong!  Hes a fucking faggot, he should be fucked up like he was
gonna do to my boy!"

   The big youth felt the anger flow over his big body, exuding from Johns
whole manner.  Like hot smoke from a blazing inferno.  An emotion
threatening to consume and burn them all in the depths of its firey hells.
Jay-Ro felt those all too seductive feelings, checked them as best he
always did.

   "Hes my boy."

   "Hes a fucking faggot!  He aint no ones fucking boy."

   "Hes my boy." The voice came from his lips, but the big youth felt
distant, almost above the scene as it unfolded.  What was he saying?

   The four youths lept.  Harsh reality slapped Jay-Ro with a hardness that
stung.  His throat ran raw with his breath as he stared back along the cold
metal of John's pistol.  Back at that face, just as cold, touched with
sweat.  Jay-Ro felt the almost final thump of his heart, his whole life
slowing to the duration of that one, long, life giving pulse.  He exhaled.

   "Ah FUCK no!  Fuck, John!  Fuck, you did NOT just pull on a fucking
'breed homes!"

   "Shut the fuck up, Sen."

   Jay-Ro barely saw the lanky youths wide motions of disbelief, as Sen
Dawg took a step back.  John's expression, John's hate, the physical
reality pointing at his face steeled the big youth, robbed him of all
reality beyond.  His breathing barely existed.  His heart barely bet.

   "You are not pointing that shit in my face."

   "Im telling you to get the fuck out of my way so I can deal to that
faggot!"

   Jay-Ro's lazy eyes fell back a dead gaze against John's twisted
expression.  His big hands rose somewhat, inch by inch slow.  He heard Sen
Dawg's panicked calls, heard John's repeated call for silence.  The big
youth felt choaked, his mind dizzy.  He felt detached, yet strangely knew
the only thing he had to do.

   "Get out of my fucking way!  Im gonna kill that faggot!"

   Jay-Ro's features hardened somewhat as he found the breath to draw dark
words, his nostrils widening as he drew another laboured breath.

   "Get that fucking gun out of my face."

   "FUCK John!  You aint fucking DOING this!  NAH!  Not on a fucking 'BREED
homes!"

   "I told yo--"

   BOOM.

   Jay-Ro heard the dull rumble, as if a shell had hit on the other side of
the city.  Somewhere far from the situation before him.  He felt a
confusing wetness on his face, doused in a second as his muscles moved,
shifted, reacted on instinct.  He saw John's expression drain in the slow
hours of the barest second of their movement.  Jay-Ro's heart beat finally
once more, a single hard beat.

   "FUCK!"

   The big youth felt his left fist connect against John's face, crushing
the confusion, the look of disbelief, the sea of emotion.  Silencing all
anger, a final release of his own pent rage.  Wiping off contempt, killing
in John what Jay-Ro so badly wanted to kill.  He heard the youths yelp, as
John spun right.  Lost his footing.  Slipped down heavily onto his knee in
the water before him.

   "FUCK YOU!"

   Jay-Ro raged, hurling the heavy pistol, still hot, as far as he could.
It fell far short of Sen Dawg, as the lanky youth sprinted at full speed
away from the big black.  Jay-Ro cried out, blinded in a sea of confusion
and rage, pain.  A storm of emotion and an empty blackness deeper than any
he had felt.  His instincts finally clawed through the clouds of blinding
darkness, his foot connecting somewhere against John.  Making him fall
moaning into the water.  The big youth staggered back.

   "You dont touch my nigga!"

   Jay-Ro finally heard the pants of his own breath, felt the cold reality
of the world around him returning.  A hand on his shoulder.  The sound of
running water, and John's pained moan.  He looked down on the street youth,
crawling somewhat away from him, hands at his face.

   "You pull that shit again?  You even so much as look at my boy, me and
every 'breed in this city will fuck you up!"

   Jay-Ro's face twisted as he fought to keep his emotions in check, tried
to fight with the same mental mantra of hide, pushing inside.  To stop
letting himself feel, or show.  The word clawed out at him, tearing at his
shields, at his whole being as he tried to contain what he didnt want to
let out.

   "Say WHAT?!"

   "You a fucking FAGGOT!"

   Jay-Ro's head swum, his body suddenly feeling Keith's arms, his words
urgent and rushed in his ears.  John lay face up, stunned from a kick he
barely remembered swinging.  He whole body screamed, his mind panicking,
trying to work how he knew what had happened between him and Keith.  No one
had seen!  No one was there!  No one knew!  There was no fucking way!  How
the fuck had he let it happen?!  Confusions strong grasp took his mind in a
crushing embrace as Keith dragged him backward.

   "Fuck you!"

   "C'mon Jay.  Forget dat shit.  C'mon.  We gotta get outta here.  You
cant be here.  You cant do this."

   Jay-Ro felt arms of reason dragging him backwards, his mind seeming to
drift away from John's writhing form, still calling after him.  A warmth
seemed to come over him, comforting in its embrace, soothing with warm
words in a river of calmness.  He let his mind cease as he drew a long
breath, all but closed his eyes.  Turned his back.

   "C'mon."

   Jay-Ro stumbled on a piece of fallen brick, finding his footing quickly
with Keith's help.  Realities cold hands were finally returning to his
shoulders, warded slightly by Keith's closeness.  The youth was at his
side, lanky arm about his shoulders, steadying him as they made their way
further up the overflow.  Away.  Jay-Ro's mind seemed distant from what had
passed, his thoughts quiet.  Physical realities seemed to drift back as he
moved on silently.

   "Wait up."

   The big youth stopped slightly, falling against a stack of old work logs
set along the side of the overflow.  He sat down, groaning, feeling like
the morning after.  Finally his hand had begun to throb, his left ear
ringing a tone higher than seemed normal.  His big body registered the
hurt, as if previously there had been no time, no right place for such
matters.  His senses began to register, hard, hurtful reality shadowing
over him in pain.

   "Ah damn Jay, man, you bleeding," Keith's tone came urgent, yet
restrained slightly in his smoky way.  Something made the Jay-Ro wipe his
face, his hand coming away red, a fresh confusion setting in.

   "Nah, your hand.  Damn, Jay, that shit looks bad."

   Keith's hand was on his right, pulling it gingerly upwards, drawing to
his attention the redness against black.  Jay-Ro watched the glistening
trail from between his thumb and pointing finger with an almost bizzare
interest.  Its slow, oozing passage seemed to paint a more complete picture
of events past.  A brief flash of pain and image.

   "It was stoopid pushing that gun aside, Jay," Keith said, stripping off
his sleeveless tshirt.  The irony of the words took them both.  "You coulda
got killed."

   "It aint bad."

   "Fuck it aint bad.  You bleeding Jay, thats bad enough." Jay-Ro winced
as Keith wrapped his hand too tight with his tshirt, staunched red with
black.  The big black's lazy eyes fell over his friends half naked body
again, playing on athletic muscle.  Smooth.  Light.  He saw those eyes,
concerned, deep again under his floppy hat.

   "We going to your grandmoms, aiight?"

   "Sure."

   "Dont say shit."

   Jay-Ro nodded, feeling Keith's closeness again.  He felt the warmth of
his lanky body against his, lifting with him, easing him to his feet.  The
closeness, the physical presence hard against his body seemed to detract
from the pain.  It took his mind away, dwelling on matters more clear now
than before.

   His eyes dropped down over Keith's muscular form again, catching
slightly on his groin, size within grey sweatpants.  Jay-Ro couldnt help
but remember from the visual cue of what he had seen for the first time the
night before.  His mind dwelt on the sexual slightly, his body ignoring
what his mind spoke, warned and partly recoiled at the closeness and
context of their two bodies.  A closeness that cued him of sexual thoughts,
thoughts of man and man, doing wrong.  His body helpless against the
thoughts of his mind to resist it.

   Jay-Ro glanced up again, as Keith walked them forward.  Somewhere he saw
past the closeness, seeing his homeboy since birth.  Seeing the concern. 
Seeing where little had changed, the protectiveness of a boy that had his
back.  Still.  His mind fought to ignore what he knew.  What he knew Keith
was, and did, and would do.  What he thought.  What he thought of others.
What he thought of him.  Through the clouds Keith's action spoke to him
where his mind danced with what he once knew, and what he now knew.  Where
little had changed the youth between.

   "Quit squirming Jayson, else Ill give you something REAL to squirm
about."

   Jay-Ro moaned again, a slight whimper at the seriousness that beamed
down on him.  His wrist held tight, his body poked by pain by the searing
hotness that the other held.  The kid in him squirmed, cried out against
the manhood that had been bred in him too early.  Against the false masks
of strength he still tried to maintain like all his kind.

   "It hurts!  Dammit ..."

   "Then perhaps you shouldnt let yourself get into the trouble that ends
you up like this," the elderly woman retorted back.  She glanced down on
the big youth, warding with a glance over thin rimmed specticles.  He
expression lightened somewhat as Jay-Ro bit his lip, looked away from the
pain and the cause.

   "Almost finished."

   The big youth grimaced again, enduring the ordeal as best he could,
letting himself bask in the fallen silence.  Too close to the warzone, but
still silent somehow, a lost and hidden sanctuary.  The rhymic ticks
carried the message of times passage where all other cues seemed lost.  A
place timeless, yet waiting.  Dark, cool.  Closed.  Safe.

   "Your lucky you have a friend whos concerned about you like he is."

   Jay-Ro's grandmother let his hand down carefully onto the table top,
littered with gause, bandages.  A still steaming bowl of light red.  She
laid down the white and red, moving to attend to other aides.  The big
youth looked up, seeing Keith where he had been the whole time, against the
doorframe.  Looking, still watching.  Arms folded over of his still naked
chest, eyes still looking from under that low hat.  Still there.

   Jay-Ro winced a little as his grandmother raised his hand again, tending
to his now clean hand with bandages.  He sat at the table, still looking
the part of hardened soldier at war.  His baggy clothes hung off his big
black body, uniform of the streets, long shorts and black basketball
jersey. Something about the climate made his big arms glean slightly,
smooth, baring strength under softness of fat.  Worn, like everything about
the youth, but still hinting at years before time, a mantle thrust
unwanted, but needed.

   "This aught to keep infection away," the old black wrapped firmly,
tightly, adding to Jay-Ro's warrior look.  His white bandages looking like
a boxers fist bound before fight.

   "Thanks."

   That wisdom looked down on him again, tending busily to generations
younger.  The two looked related in many ways, hinting at what was to come,
a youthfulness where once was, but no longer.  Dressed conservative, yet
dark.  The elderly woman bound quickly, expertly, the expression of age
worn with as little choice as the look of concern and care that passed her
features.  That nose.  Those eyebrows.  Two strata of family connected in
one glance.

   "You'll be staying around, of course." Jay-Ro barely had time to reply,
none was allowed.  "You wont heal without food.  Or rest."

   "I know."

   "Your sure as hell right you know, Jayson." a shrewd look fell on
youthful features.  "Your grandmother is always right.  Thats what age lets
you have."

   Jay-Ro's hard exterior managed to let a smile slip slightly,
disappearing quickly, but still present in his thankful mutters.  He let
himself down, leaning forearms on thighs, ruffling at his thick gold
dreads. A spot or two reminded of the red, of situation past, but not
forgotten, maring the gold.  Unnoticed, disappearing all the same in the
thick mass of short roots sprouting.

   "Thats you fixed up," the big youths grandmother turned her eye on
Keith, standing suddenly upright at the doorframe.  "Now.  You.  We best
get you something more to wear.  Im bet you had girls staring at that body
of yours all the way back here."

   Jay-Ro glanced up at his friend in time to catch the modest grin from
under that hat.  His arms moved almost nerviously shifting over his light
skinned body as best of cover his athletic form.  Failing still to hide the
obvious.  Keith followed the old woman as she motioned, disappearing into
the narrow passages of the seemingly tiny dwelling.  Size seemed deceptive.

   Jay-Ro let the time pass, rubbing his big hand over equally blunt
features.  He rubbed at the pits of his lazy eyes as best he could with one
hand, wincing slightly at the misuse of his right.  He tried to remember
the last time he had got a decent nights sleep, remembering with a pang
like a breaking rubber band that it had come sleeping with Keith.  His mind
seemed to reason with his unreasonableness.  Had knowing that made that
sleep any less restful?

   Jay-Ro rubbed at his broad nose a little, his mind traveling lightning
quick other musing thoughts.  What did Keith think?  What did he do?  What
did any of his kind do?  A sharp point came at the thought of whether or
not his boy had ever tried to touch him while he slept.  What he thought of
when he had lay there so many times touching himself silently below the
sheets.  Thinking his boy was asleep, unknowing.

   Too many thoughts.  Too much to deal with.  Jay-Ro put them aside,
looking up to see Keith walk back in sporting a loose red and white
tropical flavour shirt.  It hung off his frame, leaving the brief morsel of
his smooth curves below, disappearing as he worked with the white buttons.
Covering, putting back where what belonged.  Jay-Ro thought of his own
bared body, glancing over at his red sweatshirt.

   "There."

   The big youth glanced over at his elderly grandmother, seeing some
resemblence of normality again.  His grandmothers worried glance fell on
him.  Jay-Ro felt it on his body like the dull pain that still throbbed
somewhat in his hand.  He wished the pain wasnt there as he dragged himself
up to his feet.

   "You know Im not going to ask what you got into this time, baby." those
eyes worked caring caresses across his form as she moved to his front. 
"But you know I still worry about you.  The quickest and easiest way to get
money isnt always the best."

   Jay-Ro felt those fingers on his soft cheeks, guiding, moving his gaze
up to where he didnt want it.  He saw the age and the concern in those deep
eyes.  The expression he wasnt ready to see.  The expression he didnt want
to see, when he knew everything should have been right by his own hand. 
Without this sort of help.

   "I worry about you when you come up in here only when your hurt," she
said again.  Jay-Ro dropped his lazy eyes, licking his thick lips slightly.
His grandmother smoothed his slight goatee slightly.  "I dont want to have
to see the day when you dont come up in here again."

   "I know," Jay-Ro replied.  He cleared his throat slightly, pulling back
slightly from the closeness and concern.  It passed briefly.

   "You two boys go into the lounge while I clean up, ok?"

   Jay-Ro nodded, feeling a heavy weight seem to pass from him.  Keith gave
him a silent look as they headed into the next room.  The sound of movement
and activity drew from the silence, giving a more normal, relaxed air to
the house.  The big youth saw that look again in Keith's sparkling eyes as
he headed towards an aged couch.

   The second room looked as set in place and time as the rest of the
house. The two looking almost like intruders, a pair more in place with
having broken into such surrounds.  In search of the abundant values the
rich deepness the room carried.  Browning eyes looked on.  A tall passage
of time ticked every slow second in the silence within.  A certain
closeness and warmth carried throughout, seeming only just accepting of the
two street youths.  Two worlds and generations apart.  The softness under
Jay-Ro seemed almost relucant, giving only in time.  He sat back somewhat,
Keith being the first to risk a word.

   "You aiight?"

   "Yeah Im cool," the youth replied.  He offered more,
uncharacteristically.  "My ear hurts a bit."

   "You shouldnta done that, Jay ..." Keith paused, regrouped, reworked his
words.  "I mean ...  you coulda ...  thanks, nigga."

   "I know." The unspoken remained between them, still obvious in its
absence.

   "I dunno what Im gonna do, Jay.  I mean, he knows Im gay," Keith said,
his eyes shooting, a concerned glance, finally for himself.  That one word
seemed to burn at Jay-Ro's ears slightly.  "What if he does something. 
Tells someone."

   "He aint telling shit.  No ones gonna find out.  Nothing happened."
Jay-Ro chanted the mantra, dealt with and tucked nicely aside in ritual and
word.

   "What are you gonna tell the 'breeds?  I mean, they gonna ask what
happened."

   "No ones gonna ask nothing.  Cause nothing happened," the big youth
looked up, good hand rested against the side of his head.  "Chill, kid.  I
got it covered.  Nothing happened.  No ones gonna find out anything."

   Jay-Ro grimaced slightly at the thought of the pact of silence.  Messed
up beyond belief.  Dirty beyond words, impossible to hide truely or cover
up, like so many grains of sand escaping sweeping hands on a beach.  Dirty
gloves hiding dirty hands.  His best friend, gay.  How he'd stupidly let
himself get involved deep enough into that to have his most male part
inside Keith's hot mouth.  How far he had let seductive wants for closeness
take him that deep into the dirty waters of this hard pact.

   Now John.  Knowing at least what Keith was.  By Jay-Ro's protection if
nothing more.  How he knew and could talk.  Implicate him.  Damage and
destroy everything with the merest and most ultimate weapon of knowledge.
The world could know it all.  Know that Keith was what he was.  Know that
he had let himself fall into getting his big cock sucked by a ...  what
Keith was.  His mind struggled to fit around the world that had become the
situation unmanagable, complicated beyond even the most twisted murder
mystery.  What could he say to make it go away?  His intimidating presence
or threats of bared fists couldnt make it stay truely silent.

   "Ima think how to make it right," Jay-Ro replied finally.  He ventured
foolishly, "You just got to learn you aint a faggot, then shit will be
aiight." The big youth heard the responce, regretted his words, foolish in
their attempt to fix.

   "I cant learn how to be anything else, Jay!" the voice was urgent, yet
low, still smoky.  "I tell you man, I cant change this shit.  I woulda,
Jay. I didnt wanna be like this."

   "Im sorry," Jay-Ro muttered.  Words only seemed to make it worse.  He
felt the crushing and unrelenting silence all too much.  Mercilessly, he
finally heard the mirror of his emotion breaking through the pain of the
quiet.

   "I wish I could say something to make it right.  Its hard enough dealing
with how it is, Jay."

   "Im sorry."

   Jay-Ro rubbed at his face again, dealing with the feelings and emotions
he was having thrashed out of him.  In having to deal front on with what
was in front of him.  His best friend.  Still friend from childhood.  The
two warriors through the thick and thin, never leaving eithers side. 
Surviving everything else since.

   "Its cool," he said.  Jay-Ro steeled his words and resolve again.  "Ill
deal with it.  You still my boy.  Else I wouldnt have put myself in front
of that gun."

   "I know ..." Keith moved, Jay-Ro glancing up slightly as he joined him
on the couch.  He winced at what followed, felt his basest instincts pull
back slightly as Keith put his arm around his shoulders.  "I know you still
got my back no matter what.  I know this shits gonna be aiight cause you
got my back, Jay."

   "Yeah.  I still got your back," the big youth let out a breathy exhale.

   Finally he moved.  Putting his arm around Keith's shoulders in reply. 
He shared the silence.