"I Know My Clients": My first trip to New York City almost results in my sodomization

As interesting as West Orange was, any suburban town could get a little bit boring. Also making life in the 'burbs a little bit meandering was the looming presence of New York City in our lives. Manhattan, a mere nine miles away, was clear and present from several dozen different locations in town -- especially at the lookout at the Eagle Rock Reservation, three blocks away from my house.

(I would go to the Res on 9/11 and would be joined by a few thousand people there. It was pretty haunting to say the least, to go to a park you've been to a few thousand times in your life to watch lower Manhattan burn. But enough with 9/11 sentimentality.)

Sophomore year, I had lunch with Mike I., who in his Eddie Haskell way, had an idea -- that Saturday, the two of us, along with his buddy Cheeze, would go to Manhattan. I immediately said yes, came up with an excuse why I would be hanging out with friends at 9:30 on a Saturday (it was October -- do early Christmas shopping), and we were on our way.

On the way over to the City, I began wondering what we were going to do in this Promised Land. Thoughts of Greenwich Village beat poets and street philosophizers were running through my uppitty 15-year-old brain. Or a trip to the Empire State Building. Or something like that. But on the way over, I was told by Mike I. of the real reason for our mission -- a quest for porn.

According to the meathead guido scumbags of our school, fake ID's in New York City were as easy to obtain as herpes from their girlfriends. By all accounts, Fake ID's cost $10. Mike I. and Cheese wanted to get two fake ID's and use these ID's to get porn. They forgot to include me in on this venture, and I did not have enough money, and a snoop mom to worry about, to get a Fake ID.

Upon leaving Port Authority, we stepped foot in the world of pre-Guliani Times Square -- which was then the worst, scummiest, filthiest area of the known universe, heavenly to horny teenage boys. We immediately went to one of the lost treasures of the urban 90's, a Starter Jacket/beeper/Fake ID emporium, operated by aggressive sales clerks of undecipherable national origin.

Mike I. and Cheese paid their $10 and had their photos taken. Within seconds, they were handed their ticket to adulthood -- a one-sided, unlaminated New York University ID. They might as well have etched their faces on a piece of plywood with a screwdriver.

But off we went. We went down 42nd street and into one of the many sketchy porn shops in the Times Square area. And once inside, we were met with an explosion of tits. Hundreds of magazines, all of which had girls showing their naked tits. And some also were showing what I think were vaginas. It was more than what my mind could handle, all of those photographed breasts in one spot.

Within seconds of entering the store, the neck-bearded creep behind the counter ordered us to leave. For some reason, Mike I. and Cheese blamed this on my not having a one-sided, non-laminated ID.

We walked six feet to the next porn/pawn shop. Mike I. and Cheese were going to go in, purchase some j/o magazines, and leave while I waited outside. As soon as they stepped foot in the store, I was surrounded by a gang of street urchins, yelling a variety of obscenities and offers at me. One man, this rather large black homeless dude reeking of gin, grabbed me by my arm and said he could "show me something" in the back alley. Luckily, before my rectum was probed by a scabby penis, Mike I. and Cheese came out and saved my anal virginity.

We decided to walk around Midtown for a little bit. On the way back to Port Authority, we ended up going back down 42nd Street. When walking, out of nowhere I felt like I needed a shower. I then caught out of the corner of my eye another shady street dude approaching us. I walked away from him, telling Mike I. and Cheese to hurry up. This man parted between them and put his arms around them.

"How you fellows doin' today? Ya'll lookin' for a little business?" They both eagerly said they were. He smiled.

"Well... I know my clients." We stopped. "What you fellows lookin' for today? A little bit of beer? Some weed? Maybe some co-cayne? Oh wait, I know what ya'll want... ya'll want some pussy! Ya'll want to get yo dicks sucked! Just follow me, I can get ya'lls dicks sucked nooooooo problem."

He turned, trying to lure us to god knows where. We started to flee in the other direction. And this guy started chasing us.

"Oh, lookit the faggots running back to Jersey! Lookit the faggots afraid to get their dicks sucked! Faggots afraid of a dick sucking!"

We then got on our bus and went back to West Orange, home of the best view of the New York City skyline.