I'm a Bowery boy.

I stand outside the clubs, where the drag men are. Some go to see the spectacle, others go to find a lover, even more a whore.

In this world I'm considered normal.

I'm Seventeen, good looking. Three years ago I wasn't doing this. Six years ago I was.

I liked being a newsboy. I really did. But there wasn't anything in it for me really. There were people I could talk with, laugh with. And no beds besides my own. But in a way its whoring myself out anyhow. Only then I was lying and telling them pity stories that weren't true. Now I tell them pretty words that aren't true.

And Like before I grew too old to do what I was doing. No one wants a fourteen year old whore, the awkward stage of life which we all go through. Instead they want the young boy for perverse reasons. They want me now, but when my voice boomed and cracked and my facial hair came in spurts. They didn't want me. But I could sell my story to the rich ladies, who would look at me with pity as I told them about my hard work to keep my younger brother from the horror of the streets. Extra pennies rolled my way.

But now they don't even want my pity stories, or my imaginative stories.

And I hate factories. I read the papers, I know the hell of factory work.

So I cater to the men here. The men who don't want a pansy, who want a boy who like them appreciates a man. I do, I really do.

Just not them. I feed them lies, they aren't good, they aren't amazing. They aren't any of the words I use to describe them. Most of the time they are horrible, pushing me fast paying extra for secrecy. Because they aren't a pansy. There is no kissing or fondness.

And when there is it makes me feel even more trapped, worried. I've heard horror stories about all sorts of things as I wait for men to pick me up. The drag boys sometimes come out and share a cigarette, they have the real bad stories, Lady Denemy a particularly outrageous and flamboyant drag boy said she had one trick try and cut off her cock. She smiled as she said this, winking at me.

I don't like the drag boys. They make me feel uncomfortable. I'm just a queer boy, they're downright pansies. But I guess if they get the real crazies I should be happy. But there are always those men who look at you and remind you of the perverts of the newspapers.

When men pass by I wet my lips, looking up their body as they do mine. They feel this is less of a business transaction. Again, making them feel like this is normal.

I'm queer, and after a night of work I go to my apartment and kiss my room mate.

Specs is normally still asleep, he works at one of the restaurants up town, His tuxedo is laid out and I stroke his curls, kissing his forehead.

It was one of the best things about being a newsie. I will say that. Now we hardly see each other, I sleep through most of the day, He sleeps next to me.

Its comforting.

I'm a Bowery boy.

Disclaimer: I don't own specs or Dutchy.

Author's notes: Guess what I got! A book on Homosexuals in New York City at the turn of the last century. So, this means that I have a lot of historical stuff to write about! So yes, this lingo is correct. You'll notice the word gay doesn't appear. Queer, pansy, flamboyant all historically accurate.