Having left dangerous Times Square a young man finds living in Brooklyn more conducive to his needs until the landlord turns him into a domestic French maid…in more way than just one.
He tries having the daughter…then the mother… because mother always knows better…or does she?
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Times Square… in Brooklyn
Copyright © 2011 Mykola Dementiuk
ISBN: 978-1-55487-764-5
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Times Square… in Brooklyn?
By
Mykola Dementiuk
Chapter 1
Ever since I was little kid, I’d been blamed for everything going wrong. Something was missing? A girl’s wallet was gone? A boy’s stamp collection? Check his desk! It’s obvious who stole it! I don’t know what it was, maybe karma, fate, or whatever, but when things went amiss, they instantly turned and accused me. Perhaps it was my guilty nervous look but I just couldn’t carry myself as innocent even though I was. So, by the time I was a teenager, I just didn’t give a fuck anymore, because the finger-pointers would have gathered round and their fingers would be pointed in my direction…while I spent my days wistfully gazing for my Prince Charming to appear…
I’d had enough and knew I had to get out. Times Square wasn’t what it used to be. Oh, sure, the sex was still there but they hardly expected to pay for it. Free love had taken reign and the creeps and johns certainly didn’t want to pay for it. How many times did I have to suck some asshole’s dick and see him wander off while I was picking myself off my knees? Too many times, that’s for sure. And if they only suspected I wasn’t what I appeared to be—not a girl but a guy—it would be castration, you can count on that.
Still, I had to get out. The old places were going or were gone—Grant’s Bar, Sunrise, Rose’s, Flaubert’s Store, and other hangouts that seemed to be always there and now were no more. But as they were disappearing, more people seemed to be coming in. On Friday and Saturday nights, the streets would be teeming with hordes of people, walking, laughing, joking, and trying to pick up a date for the night up ahead. It was getting difficult to stay in one place when so much was going on around you. That’s when I knew I had to get out and leave. Take a break, I suppose.
In those days, late 1960s, I lived in a rooming house on 3rd Street. Actually, a flophouse is what I thought of it. Mostly washed up old alcoholics were my roommates, with a few drug users, too. I knew, from my days in Times Square, that drugs had become a common place, even though I never liked them. For me, it was just slow sipping of wine. That’s all it took for me to have a great time and nothing more than that. Plus I didn’t like the flophouse or the people around me, but it was just there, a place to crash out in, change dresses and get my bearings back.
Which was exactly what I was doing, resting and getting things back in my head. But a week out of Times Square, I began to feel lost again, as if I was a waylaid traveler on my way to nowhere. People began to look at me oddly, and I looked at them with paranoia, as if they were out to get me, which I’m sure they certainly were. Sometimes I stayed in my room and didn’t go out for days. Hell, the rent was covered and there was no need to go anywhere. But the truth was, taken away of my charade of being a girl, I was lost and, really, didn’t know who I was. Little by little, the hair on my body began to grow back, little sprouts that grew to black coarse strands. I didn’t like it, but didn’t do anything about it. Until, by the end of the month, I was a typical longhaired hippy bastard. I had a week left on my rent and began to think that maybe it was a mistake to leave Times Square. But hell, I couldn’t go back. Even though I decided to leave, it was the end for me a while ago. Besides the lack of money I was getting for my sex, well, the kick was gone. There was no enthusiasm any more. Everything had become blah!