There was a bass rumble from some nigger, chuckling.

“Sure looks like a hungry little pig-sucker!”

“Nigg, how’d you like to feed my boy’s face here awhile—I see that look you got.” Hogg was still slipping it in and out. “He been chewin’ on my pecker all day.”

“Whyn’t you let him get after Denny, here? He’s already playin’ with himself.”

“Hey, Denny. You got your meat ready for my sucker here?”

“Sure, Hogg.” That was a voice younger than either the nigger’s or the wop’s.

Still sucking, I looked down when something nudged my knee. A nigger’s bare foot, crossed by sunlight, pulled in its toes on the cracked concrete. The ankle went up into the frayed cuff of faded blues. Above me, I heard his laughter. The toes spread.

Somebody with a big, hard hand fingered my mouth. The nails were bitten, but nowhere near bad as Hogg’s. The thumb prodded in; it tasted salty. I guess it was the wop.

Then the nigger said: “Hey, Hogg. I know this blond-headed little cocksucker!”

I came off Hogg’s dick and looked up past a black cock fucking a black fist right by my face. Above it, the bullet-headed buck with the crazy scar grinned down:

“I done paid me a quarter already to get into that sucker’s face. Got a sweet asshole on him, too. You should try it out, Hogg. Spic kid had him workin’ out across town along with a girl, back when I was doin’ that stint down on the Crawhole docks. Good to see you, cocksucker. Just open it up again, white boy. Nigg’s about to bring it on home.”

“Shit.” Hogg said, somewhere above and behind me. “You think he’s white?”

“He’s white enough for me. He’s sure whiter than I am,” the nigger said. “He looks whiter than this goddamn wop.”

I guess it was the wop who laughed.

So did Hogg. “Well, if that ain’t some goddamn shit! You just can’t get in ahead of a fuckin’ nigger no how—”

Then somebody did get in ahead of Nigg and shoved his dick (something glittered at the tip) about halfway down into my chest; I squinted up at the wop who was squinting down. (I liked it when they laughed.) He had a rough, good-looking face with a lot of curly black hair. He was holding onto the nigger’s shoulder with one hand and Hogg’s with the other, chewing on his lower lip and swinging his hips in and out.

The nigger got hold of the wop’s cock and tried to pull it out. “Come on, Dago,” the nigger said. “Come on. I wanna watch him suck off Denny there. Watch it, now—” The nigger got the wop’s cock loose (the wop hissed, “Shit …”) and pushed me around on my knees. “Go on, get Denny.…”

I got myself turned:

He had on real dirty sneakers. His ankles were dirty too. His pants—gray canvas—were too big, torn off too short, with holes in both knees, and tied at the waist with twine. Between the aluminum teeth of his fly his dick stuck out like an Idaho potato from a snarl of brass. He was going along it underhand, catching up the drool from his foreskin with dirty fingers, to smear it back and around. His shirt looked like one Hogg had thrown away. He was scrawny and grinning under a tangle of blond hair. His front two teeth overlapped and stuck out a little and his cheeks were chewed up with acne. He was maybe seventeen.