Ukies -- 29. Fake Boobs

Fake Boobs

Everyone was stunned when big-titted Olga appeared flat-chested one day -- her big tits had been taken out by an angry disbelieving nun who made her disrobe and show if the huge tits were real or not. Surprisingly, there wasn’t mad outrage from Olga, who took it all in stride.

“Hey, I don’t care,” she said and lit a cigarette. “It just proves they’re all a bunch of lezzies.”

“Ha ha!” laughed Petro. “You’re a fake, just like your tits!”

They glared at each other and she said, “Is that why you were after me, you jerk?” And she walked away, her school skirt swaying at her knees.

Shit! I thought. She was nothing but a fake!

I went home and lay down and stared at the turned-off TV. Pretty soon my dick was hard and pushing at my pants. I thought about her non-existent breasts and finally had to grin. She wasn’t bothered by it at all; you would think there’d be embarrassment and shame but Olga just shrugged and walked proudly off.

I jerked off three times that evening and got to like her very much after that. I noticed that the other girls were friendlier towards her too…All fake things gotta go, I thought….Whomp whomp whomp…

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Ukies--28. Two Timer?

Two Timer?

Again I had seen Olena with strange guys on the Lower East Side, once on Avenue B and once on Avenue C and I knew that something shady was going on, but what?

It was a harsh winter that year; snow almost every week and a frigid cold that didn’t seem to let up. Going to and from school was more than enough, no one wanted to hang out anymore, except Olena, I guess…

I had seen her over time in the Village and played her game of picking her up, as if we were strangers and didn’t know each other, and I kind of liked it too. Sometimes we’d sit in Sheridan movie house and kiss like lovers and twice she had given me a hand-job (accidentally, I’m sure), which had me feverishly jerking off even more when I was alone from her.

Sometimes in class I’d stare off into space dreaming of Olena while she sat at the other end of the room until the nun would smack my head and scream, “I’m talking to you!” which would send my classmates into roars of laughter at how stupid I really was.

But that day I followed Olena after school to Avenue C, staying a block behind her, and the cold kept people off the streets, so it was easy to see her in the distance. Surprisingly, a guy stood out in the cold, just as I had seen another guy stand last week on Avenue B. Was this another of her game-playing lovers that I was finally getting aware of? But they didn’t spend much time together and parted as quickly as they met. She turned about and was walking back in the direction I was coming in.

Damn! Maybe if I lowered my head she would not see or recognize me? How would I explain what I was doing in the area? I saw her boots coming closer. “Kolya?” I heard her say. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

We looked at each other, the puffs of air coming out with out breathes. “Going to my grandmother’s house,” I lied. “Why the fuck are you here?”

Even in the cold there was a pleasant smile on her lips. “Marijuana,” she whispered and winked, looking around her. “God, I’m cold!” and she shivered, and looked at me as if expecting me to come closer and hold her.

I didn’t, but looked at her somewhat relieved, somewhat nervous that she was doing drugs that were used by Puerto Rican junkies, but what the hell did I know about it anyway. “OK,” I said, wanting so much to hold her.

She stared at me, then shrugged and trailed off down the street. I walked a block then took another street back home.

Damn, it was cold as hell! But I should’ve held her anyway, I knew that then but didn’t….Home seemed farther off than it was….

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Ukies--27. Standing

Standing

As usual, I was standing and waiting outside of the Teacher’s Lounge for Mrs. Buzzi to come as I had to escort her back to the 7^th grade class…or was she escorting me? Aw hell, I didn’t know….

It was still early and I had about a half hour to wait. As usual, I was mad at the entire thing. My friends were downstairs, laughing, gabbing, acting ridiculous as I stood here alone, resentful, looking foolish to any passer by, normally goddamn teachers.

Mr. Dalekoczac was the ugly old Ukrainian teacher. My father had always said, “You better be nice to him, or you’ll get it.” And he’d wave his finger at me as if he was teaching me a secret lesson that only he and Dalekoczak knew about.

Just as my father, and the parents of other kids in school, Mr. Dalekoczak had been a prisoner of war under the Nazis and of course he suffered for it…But he survived and became a teacher who during Christmas time was collecting gifts for himself; the old routine we practiced was our parents would give presents to the teachers and the teachers would give us good goods. Weird, but that’s the way things worked in those times…

Well Myron, who sat next to me, didn’t have any gift for Dalekoczak, his parents were too poor, but Myron wanted a good grade, as he knew his grades barely passable. So he found a Christmas card somewhere and signed his parents name in it and gave it up for Dalekoczak’s collection.

Dalekoczak opened the cards one by one, took the money that was there for him and gave a little booklet as a keepsake in return, Yurza Murza, about a smart alecky kid who got a licking from adults was his favorite to give to the kids…we smart-assed kids thought otherwise….

Dalekocsak eventually got to Myron’s envelope and pulled out the empty moneyless card. A look of confusion fell upon his face as he stared at Myron. His face quickly turned to anger and he crumpled the empty card up, cursed, glared at Myron then went on to the next money-filled offer.

What a bastard, I thought, as now I saw him march down the hall. Firm chest under stiff posture that reminded me of the Nazi films I saw instead of him being a victim. He came up to me and looked me up and down, as if looking for something wrong he could criticize.

“You here again?” he said in Ukrainian.

I answered Yes, waiting for Mrs. Buzzi. She’s gonna take me back to class, but I didn’t do nothing, she always picks on me and I don’t know why I’m out here every day…

Dalekoczak angrily shook his head and began berating me for messing up the language, using propositions and adverbs instead of nouns as he had spent teaching us. “Hivno ne znayesh!” he cursed, You don’t know shit! and he stormed off into the Teacher’s Lounge.

I cursed to myself and went on standing, looking after him, thinking, pondering….and waiting…and waiting…always waiting….

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Ukies--26. Snowballers

Snowballers

The entrance to the school building was on a side street, Hall Place, but the main entrance was at the front, 6^th Street, and seemed to be reserved for priests and nuns and visitors from outside. At night some big boys would walk by and take a leak in the doorway/alcove but mostly it was already stained with piss and vomit from the nearby McSorley’s Ale House across from Hall Place on 7^th street, whose patrons seemed to take a beer-piss as they staggered away from their drunken escapades.

The school en-fenced the alcove to stop this thing from happening but one morning they found a drunkard who had climbed over the fence, took his piss, and immediately fell asleep in the safe haven of the school.

One snowy Friday evening as the school was holding its Teen Hop festivities; I was in a doorway across the street with Petro and making snowballs to sling at the dancers as they came out from their dance. A few drinkers walked out of their way from McSorley’s but they seemed to ignore us as we did them.

It was fun talking about who we were going to get --each had a favorite-- but the question of why we hadn’t gone in and taken our chances and shared a dance with our favorites just never did come up. We were going to share love with the girls we wanted by a snowball thrown at them in the night.

We paced and talked and laughed as the do-wop music echoed in the night from the dance hall in school. Suddenly the door opened and out came a boy and girl, the boy wearing a winter overcoat and the girl protected by one of hers over a bouffant dress she had on.

Petro lobed a snowball at them even before I knew what he was doing. It flew across the air but landed uselessly on the snow covered sidewalk near them. Right away he threw another; we had made a mountain of snowballs just for the occasion. I was right behind him as another couple exited the dance floor and found themselves buried by a fuselage of snowy-filled bombardment. They ran down the street and me and Petro laughed and laughed as still others came out and got the same from us.

All of a sudden Petro took a snowball in the side of his face; now who could have thrown that? Another snowball came flying at us barely striking me as still another was lobed at us…thrown by a laughing pair of drunken guys who had just downed a few and exited McSorley’s. Their snowballs at us were thrown a lot harder and faster, there were adults after all; Petro and I took off down the street away from the drunken snowballers.

We separated on the corner, mumbling at the creeps who had destroyed our fun and each going his own way through the snow…to go home…each dreaming about the girls we were after… and masturbate…

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Ukies--25. Learning Fast

Learning Fast

For the third time I had seen Olena and she acted like she didn’t know me. The first few times were puzzling but when I saw her on 11^th street in the Village and she didn’t recognize me I let her have it.

“You bitch!” I fumed. “You know damned well who you’re looking at!”

She just shrugged, stared at me, shaking her head and went down 7^th avenue. If I had been a few steps after her I’d have caught up to her but the crowd buried her like it was a New Year’s Eve crowd I was in and she drifted out of view.

The next day I saw her on Avenue A. “Bitch!” I said, as she passed.

“Fag!” she causally answered.

I turned red. “Why do you make believe you don’t know me,” I said, “When here, on 7^th Street, you do?”

She looked at me and lit a cigarette. “You don’t know that game, buddy,” she said, blowing out smoke from her lips and nostrils. “When you do…well, then you’ll know.” And she winked at me and turned East on 7^th street.

I looked after her. “Crazy bitch!” I mumbled and went home to jerk off.

A week or so later I was in Washington Square Park when I saw her. “Damned cunt!” I thought, and ignored her as she passed by.

“Excuse me," I heard her say. "Is this the famous park I’ve heard so much about?” she said, looking around. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting.” We looked at each other, and I realized I was seeing her for the first time.

I already felt my hard-on growing. “You need someone who can show you around, young miss?” I said, and winked at her. I stood up.

She giggled. “You learn fast, don’t you?” she said, holding my arm and pressing herself against me.

I was very happy and we went off into the crowded park…

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Ukies--24. A Present

A Present

The 6^th grade was suddenly pleasant and for the first time in those six years I had a straight non-religious teacher who was so much better than the nuns that had tortured us earlier. Miss Mazola, who was not Ukrainian but I think Italian, was very nice and understanding rather than the nuns who we were used to; but I think their garb did that to them, created despots before their tiny helpless monsters.

And Miss Mazola’s class was a relief, an ahh! a take time out so that we can breathe freely for a year before an even worse teacher befell us. In a way I could feel a sense of no worry on the other kids in class; they’d be more playful and chipper as they’d arrive in the morning and get ready to start their day. Even at the early masses we attended there’d be a feeling of relaxation as we’d all sit down and rise as the mass plodded along.

One spring day Miss Mazola announced that today was her birthday and she had brought presents for everyone: black cowboy wallets for the boys and white wallets for the girls. I was ecstatic, something out of Roy Rogers show on TV! I had that wallet with me for months and months, in my back pocket, as I’m sure the other boys in class had theirs too….Boy, what a treat that was!

Yes, 6^th grade was a delight….Hell came later, in the 7^th grade….

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Ukies--23. Sammy

Sammy

Sammy took the name from his Ukrainian name, Mykhailo Semenenko, which he didn’t like anyway. He pretended he was actually Puerto Rican and since be lived farther east, near the River, where most of them were starting to live and populate, he had to change his nationality for all intents and purposes. We had many like that on the Lower East Side, pretending to be one nationality while actually being another.

Sammy decorated himself in a bandana, which most Puerto Ricans could be seen in as they’d jitterbug around the neighborhood, and even had a mask which he’d put on his head to look tough or strange, I don’t know which.

But Sammy’s father was a gung-ho Ukrainian when he'd get together with other Ukies but had strangely married to a Puerto Rican woman who gave birth to Sammy -- the usual mixed routine on the Lower East Side. And the father was a tough guy in the neighborhood and, of course, Sammy tried to emulate his father by being tough also.

One time Sammy had words with Dmytro, who was pretty much a tough guy himself.

“Hey, Semen,” said Dmytro to Sammy, who was packing his drums away after rehearsal, and using the derogatory English name which wouldn’t mean anything to a Ukrainian. “I know you don’t play a horn but you still blow!”

The drums went crashing as Sammy ran up to Dmytro. “I’ll kick your ass, you stupid Ukie!”

But Dmytro stood his ground. “You and who else, you stupid fake Spic?”

They glared at each other. “Maricon!” Faggot! spat Sammy, and flicked a push button knife and held it before Dmytro, who just evilly smiled and pulled out a .45 Lugar gun from his horn case, which he got from his dad’s military souvenirs.

I could see Sammy’s lips had grown dry as he just turned and went back to packing his drum case…

I went home, Woulda been nice to touch and hold a Lugar, I thought, sure woulda been nicer….

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