num_pages: 256
description: An excerpt by Michael Marsh The Alley off Polk Street I spot the parking place and the hustler at the same time. He lounges there, one leg propped up against the crude graffiti on the brick wall. At the sound of my car he turns his head, smiles, and looks straight at me, the expression on his face expectant and mildly curious. I notice his eyes first, dark sparkling eyes framed by equally dark lashes. His crown of long jet-black hair is brushed back into a ponytail. It shines as it catches the warm October sunlight. My God! I think, he is wonderful; he is sexy . My body suddenly shivers with lust. I am instantly aware of how different he is from the general population of homeless youth who meander up and down Polk Street daily. He is young, somewhere in his 20s, I suppose. He is well-built, of medium height, his body slender and lean. Nothing about it is pronounced. He has no tattoos, no pierced body parts that I can see, no buff biceps or triceps, no rounded melon buttocks or bulging basket so beloved of gay fantasy. Rather, his are the radiant, handsome American good looks of a healthy young boy out for an afternoon of adventure, preferably naughty. His white T-shirt and faded blue jeans hang loosely on his frame. He wears white socks and decrepit sneakers, their soles held in place with electrical duct tape. I laugh at the sneakers. When I was at Princeton I wrapped mine the same way. Looking at him, I have only one I must have this beautiful boy! As I pull into the parking place, he strolls up to the car and leans casually on the frame of the open passenger window. "Hi, my name is Christian." His smile is open, friendly, almost bashful. "Christian? That's an imposing name." "Yeah. It's my dad's name too. My folks call me Chrissy, but around here, I'm usually just Kit." "Kit's easier; it suits you," I comment. "Hi, Kit. I'm Michael." "What do you know," he remarks. "My first boyfriend's name was Michael. Nice car, Michael," he says, looking at the interior. "What year is it?" "It's a 1968," I answer. "Twenty years old last month." "Classic." Clearly, Kit likes my car. "A real beauty. Do you mind if I get in for a minute? I've never sat in a Mer
language: English
title: Slow Grind: Gay Men Tell Their Real-Life Sex Stories
titlecomplete: Slow Grind: Gay Men Tell Their Real-Life Sex Stories
ratings_count: 4
publisher: Alyson Books