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mattress and box spring on the floor, a love seat, a desk. One side of the place was all closet doors. Doors that had once flipped open and dropped a Murphy bed.
    He had a lot of stuff crammed in there: books, records, prints on the wall. He’d hit the boutiques in New Town pretty hard. All the stuff and the colors he’d picked to paint the place up told me he’d made a home for himself here. Which didn’t quite fit with his being on the run from some old boyfriend.
    “So, have you got a boyfriend?” I asked. Given the situation, it seemed like a reasonable question.
    He looked around the apartment and said, “Where would I put him?” It seemed more evasion than answer, and I wanted to give him a good slap.
    Standing on his toes, he kissed me. His lips were still cold from the ride home. He smelled like cigarette smoke and snow and Aramis. He kissed me so deeply I began to wonder how he’d breathe. Then he pulled back and said, “The minute you walked in the bar, I could tell you were there for me.”
    So much for my surveillance abilities.
    “I love guys like you,” he said.
    “Really? Why’s that?”
    He smiled at me and licked his lips. At the same time, he was opening my belt. “Guys like you are easy to figure out.”
    Boystown - 24

    I don’t like being easy to figure out.
    Brushing away his hands, I opened up his jeans and yanked them down around his knees. I pulled at his striped bikini briefs until his half-hard cock popped free. It was pink and hooded.
    Another time I might have enjoyed paying it some attention. Instead, I spun him around and pushed him up against the arch between the living room and the kitchen. I dipped my hand between his ass cheeks and rubbed his hole.
    His ass was covered in a light coating of blond hair. I spit on a finger and slipped it into him.
    Brian wiggled back onto my hand. Deep in his throat he made a rumbling sound, halfway between a whimper and a demand. We were a foot or so away from a little dinette table. A glass dish sat in the middle of the table holding a half stick of butter. I squeezed a chunk and warmed it up in my hands. Quickly, I spread the butter on my dick and all over his ass.
    “Ah... Jesus fuck,” Brian said as I entered him. I braced myself against the wall and began pumping him. I left a buttery handprint on his wall, but I didn’t give it a thought. I wasn’t thinking about much besides his ass squeezing down on my dick, the shockwaves rippling through his fleshy buttocks, and the panting sighs escaping his lips.
    Wrapping both hands around his hips, I pounded into him hard and fast. With each pump I lifted him off the floor so that his cowboy boots tapped against the hardwood floor. I was punishing him, though I couldn’t have told you what for.
    “Oh my God, oh my God...” Brian groaned.
    I picked up speed. A thin layer of sweat broke out over most of my body. With a yelp, I was coming deep inside of him. But still I continued to slam into him until every last drop was squeezed out of me.
    Breathing heavily, I stopped and stayed very still for a few moments. I pulled out of him and stepped back. At first, I wasn’t sure if he’d come or not. But then, when he stepped away from the wall, I saw that he’d sprayed jizz all over it. When he turned around, there was come all over the bottom of his sweater, as well.
    I noticed he was shaking. A good fuck will do that to you, I thought. But then he turned and looked at the mess we’d made of his wall, come and buttery handprints everywhere. He took it all in, his neck flushing red with anger.
    “I think you’d better leave.”

    * * *
Before I went down to the Loop the next morning, I bit the bullet and went to report my gun stolen. I walked over a few blocks down to the station at Halsted and Addison. It’s a two-story, brick building with over-sized green awnings and a ring of copper embellishing its roofline. It Boystown - 25
    takes up nearly half a block. A white and blue sign hangs