The DL Boy in the Neighborhood is Dead


The DL Boy in the Neighborhood is wearing the white t shirt. I took this photo of him last year on the corner with his associates, probably dealing drugs.

The young dl dude in the neighborhood who used to flirt with my partner “Van” and me is dead.

Gunned down in a housing project less than a mile away on Jan. 30.

 The Baltimore Sun didn’t even bother to mention his name. Just that he had been shot multiple times and taken to the hospital.

I knew he was still dealing drugs on the corner. I saw him just a few weeks ago. A neighbor today casually mentioned he was shot and died from his wounds.

I’m grieving. Lately I had a strong urge to just walk up to him on the corner and talk.

“Why you dealing drugs and going in and out of jail?”

“Do you dream of doing something else? Something better?”

“How can I help you?”

Now it’s too late. Fuck! He wasn’t even  20 years old yet. I’ve already lived more than twice his short lifespan.

So handsome and tall. And that cute smirk he used to make. Gone. Forever.

That’s not right God. He hadn’t experienced life yet. He probably never even left the hood.

Van told me not to take it so hard. Even if I had reached out he probably wouldn’t have listened, Van said.

“We’ve talked about this and knew how it would turn out,” he said.

But I can’t stop “what if?” from echoing in my mind. “What if? What if?”

The Korean


Photo courtesy of Marie Claire.

Photo courtesy of Marie Claire.

I won’t lie. I got a fetish for Korean men.

Not Japanese. Not Chinese. Not Filipino. Straight Korean with Seoul on the side.

There is a Korean market/liquor store around the corner from my house that is run by a family of mostly men.

Sometimes I buy vodka there or use the ATM, although the $2.50 fee irritates me.

One of the guys there has sexy almond-shaped eyes,  chiseled cheekbones and a muscular lean body. It’s worth paying that ATM surcharge to gaze at him.

In December I finally fulfilled my fantasy. A Korean flight attendant staying at a hotel in downtown Baltimore less than a mile away hit me up on Grindr one night.

I showered and drove over.

“The door is open just come in,” he texted.

His ass was up in the air and his face was buried in the pillow in the dim room when I walked in. Techno music played softly on his iPhone on the night stand.

I stripped and he turned his head and looked at my dick. He seemed pleased.

The Korean had the face of an angel. He was so pretty he looked like a girl. He was a little heavier than he was in his profile pics but that was okay – that ass was phatt.

And those legs. Asian men have the best legs.

I lubed my fingers and played with his ass, inserting my long, thick fingers. He moaned and pressed his head deeper into the pillow.

Then I leaned over and lapped his ass with my tongue. His skin was smooth to the touch and his body  almost hairless except for a fringe of soft black hair along his thighs.

I put on a condom and lubed up and started pushing my dick in his pink hole.

“Oooh, please go slowly.”

I slowed down. He was tight. But eventually I got my dick all the way in and started pumping in rhythm with the music on his iPhone.

“I love big black cock,” he moaned. So you see like me he had a fetish too.

But alas it didn’t last long. My dick was too big for him and he kept pulling off, his ass making a plopping sound as my it came out.

So we lay side by side in the bed and jacked, and kissed and nutted. His penis was small like a a child but he spurted cum like lava from a volcano.

Then we talked. About my love for Korean film, especially one I had recently watched on Netflix called “Spa Night.”

“Spa Night” is about a closeted Los Angeles Korean American young man who tries to help his economically struggling parents by getting a job at a Korean spa.

The same-sex sexual encounters he witnesses there begin to bring his submerged desires to the surface.
“My life is like that,” the Korean said. “I am in the closet with my family.”

Scene from “Spa Night.”

Korean culture is very family oriented but is claustrophobic and stifling for gay men.The Korean flight  attendant was in his mid 20s and still lived with his parents in Los Angeles. His family wanted him to marry a woman but he refused.

Being an airline steward was an ideal job because it let him get away and sample gay life in a different city most every night.

He was feminine and had dyed his faux hawk blonde. How could his parents not know he is gay I wondered?

It was getting late and I had to go and he had to wake at 5 a.m. for a Los Angeles flight.

We said goodbye. It was nice but I doubt I will ever see him again.