Rough Trade: El Osito
by Jack Fritscher
El Osito, Little Bear, knows the Game I like.
I’ve bought him more than once
out of the allnite deli a block off Sheridan Square.
He knows I dig his attitude, his long blade,
his thick Newyorican cock, his hairy ass,
his martial arts, his kungfoolishness, I insult him,
so he hits me so good, putting his blade point
in that tight triangle under my chin.
“C’mon, bebe,” he coaxes,
locking me into the fuerte abrazo of his bear hug.
His point tilts my head far back.
Our Village alley is dark. My mouth opens. My breath…
leaves my lips…uh…in some silent shout for help,
and Osito is all my help, nodding his head,
coaching me further. “C’mon,” he teases.
“C’mon, man, wider, bebe.”
His cock grows harder
with his blade against my soft throat.
His cold steel draws a trickle of my hot blood.
I descend the hirsute ripples of his torso
into the voodoo furze of steambath crotch.
He thickens, glistens, bargains his big cock deep
down my throat, drilling his dark dick into my face,
building his pre-lube to a twenty-buck cum,
slipping in his point, tempered steel, an inch
below his cock buried in my throat,
acting out redsnuff orgasm,
lipdeep in his greasy crotch.
His smile when I cum.
He knows guys are looking
for what he won’t actually give.
He goes with a ten-buck tip.
His spit and cum stringing
starry pearls
across the hair of my chin and chest.
Osito. Jeez. Hombre.