I had never intended going to New York in the first place. I wanted to get to London as fast as possible - and as cheaply as possible. In the early 70s, Icelandic Airlines was the way to do that. You could get a one-way no-frills ticket to Europe on Icelandic for as cheap as $80. By no-frills, I meant no reservations and bring your own sandwiches. It also meant waiting at the airport until there was a vacant seat on the planes, but for $80 I was prepared to do that. It also meant you had to get to New York, because that was the only North American city it flew in and out of. Flights out of Montreal were as much as $500 tourist class.

So that was one reason I took the Greyhound down from Montreal to New York that summer of 1970. The other reason was that an old fuck-buddy from college days had written me that he was also going to be in New York at that time. I was looking forward to hooking up with him again. It wasn't until I phoned him from the hotel lobby that first evening in New York City that I found out he meant New York State, and he was in a town about as far away from New York City as you could get. The first downer of my visit to New York.

Actually, it was probably the second downer. The hotel itself would have been the first. I had made a reservation from the bus depot in Montreal using a 1-800 number I found in a brochure from one of the "Accommodations" racks there. The place called itself Hotel Grand, with "clean, secure rooms close to public transport and the downtown core." That's about all it said. But it was cheap, and cheap was important to me in those days.

Although I hadn't expected much, it was even more of a disappointment than my worst hopes. It was in a narrow old building squeezed between two newer buildings, and it shared its facade with a narrow, greasy-smelling diner. The lobby was tiny, and had one armchair, a pay-phone, and the reception counter.

When I arrived by taxi, late in the day, in the yellow glow of a sun obscured by smog, from the bus depot (which turned out to be just around the block), there was and old drunk snoring in the armchair, his whiskey bottle on the floor beside him. There was no-one on the desk, but when I rang the bell on the desk a grubby-looking reception clerk came out from the room behind, where he had been watching soaps.

I identified myself, paid two nights rent, and got hotel business card with my room number written on the back and a key to the third floor room. I stuck the card into my wallet. I was told the room was a "view room." To reach it, I had to climb the stairs to room 303 because the rickety elevator was out of action. By the time I got there I was wheezing from the acrid fumes of the street and the smog which penetrated everywhere.

The room itself was also tiny and narrow. I suppose you could call it a "view room' if you had a good imagination. It looked out onto West 34th St, and if you peered down the road, you might have got a glimpse of the Empire State, which was on the same street, a few blocks along. And it was close to public transport. There was a subway station entrance practically right outside the lobby doors.

Ominously, the window was nailed shut, and had bars on the outside even on the third floor. An air-conditioning unit was set into the lower half, but it didn't work. There was a bed, a sink with cold water, a straight backed chair, and a dresser with a small TV. The toilets and showers were down the hall. There was nothing "grand" about this dump!

I wanted to call my friend, but even local calls went through the desk. The number I was given turned out to be a long-distance number, and no long-distance calls were permitted. I had to go down to the lobby, buy some change from the unfriendly clerk, and call from the pay-phone there.

As I have already told you, my fuck-buddy was too far away to hook up, so I went to the grubby diner next door, ate a greasy hot corned beef sandwich, and went back to the room.

The TV was on rabbit ears and what pictures it did get were black and white and grainy, so I went to bed early, hoping for a better tomorrow; but sleep was slow to come, the traffic on the street below being so noisy. It was after midnight before I dozed off.

When I awoke it was already hot in the room, and the traffic noise was back. I washed up in the cold-water sink, then had another greasy meal in the diner at street level. I needed to go to Icelandic's New York office to find out details of how to get onto the waiting list for the cheap seats. I found their location in the telephone book, and with the help of an obliging beat cop, got directions to get there.

There were already fifty or so other young travellers waiting for the office to open when I got there just before ten. It was almost noon when I got out of there, having found out that to get the cheap seats I would have to wait at the airport and be ready to get on a flight at a moment's notice. I might have to sit in the airport for two or three days. That was not a very enticing prospect, but it was going to save me at least a couple of hundred dollars, probably more.

The smog had already moved back in over the city. The sky was a dull orange and the tops of the skyscrapers were seen though a haze. It burned one's eyes and throat, and to climb stairs made people wheeze and cough.

Never-the-less, I made the two-elevator trip to the top of the Empire State. I was sure there would be a great view from the top, despite the smog. I was wrong.

Nor were things any better at the southern tip of the island. From Battery Park, the Statue of Liberty was barely visible. I took a ferry ride out to the island on which she stands and went on the guided tour, including climbing up the staircase inside her, but every step was painful as the acrid smog bit into my lungs.

So far my short visit to New York was a disappointing bust, but what I didn't know then was that it was going to get much worse before it got any better.

Somehow, I wandered into the less savoury area around 42nd and 7th, where all the adult movie theatres are - and the hustlers - male, female, and transvestites. I wandered around here for a while, turning down offers from both males and females. I contented myself with browsing the posters and the still shots for the movies in the theatre display cases.

Tiring of this, I reached to my back pocket to pull out my wallet to check the hotel card and remind myself which street the hotel was on. My wallet wasn't there. I knew I had it when I took the ferry to Liberty Island. I checked my other pockets. My wallet wasn't there, either.

The horrible truth dawned. I had been pick-pocketed! I didn't have a clue what to do. Just then I noticed a couple of NYPD beat cops who were patrolling the area. The older one was busy chatting with a couple of prostitutes - female, I think. The younger one was just surveying the crowd. I approached him.

"Excuse me, constable," I started.

He interrupted me.

"Officer," he said. "Officer Gucci. They call us officer here in New York. Or detective, but I haven't got that far yet. What's your problem?"

"I've been pick-pocketed," I told him, woefully. "They stole my wallet."

"Damn," he said. "I wish they'd leave the tourists alone! Gives my city a bad name."

"Was there anything of importance in your wallet?"

"Just money," I said, mournfully. "I still have my traveller's cheques back at the hotel."

"Well," he said, "I suppose that's a plus. You'd better give me your details, but I have to be honest with you. Your chances of ever getting it back are slim to nil." He had taken out his notebook and pen, and jotted down my name, my home address, and then asked me where I was currently staying. When I mentioned the Grand, he said,

"Jeez! What a dump! How did you end up there?"

I explained how I had booked it sight unseen and had been too tired to look for somewhere else when I arrived. I also added that I hoped to be flying out to London soon on a standby flight with Icelandic.

"Let me give you a bit of advice about New York," he said. He looked me up and down."You are a nice-looking young guy," he said, "but you also look like a real mark. All sorts of bad guys - and girls - will try you out. Be on your guard. Don't trust anyone.

"I hope we find your wallet for you, but chances are we won't. I also hope the rest of your New York visit isn't as bad as this."

With that, he gave me a big smile, pointed me in the right direction for the Grand, and waved me goodbye. I was wishing we had met in different circumstances. He was a hottie! I had a few daydreams about him as I walked back to the Grand. I didn't even have enough American change in my pocket for the subway.

I felt pretty bad and pretty grubby as I plodded my way back through the evening rush of people headed home for the day. The money wasn't the issue. I hadn't had much cash in the wallet anyway, but it was the feeling of having been violated that irked me. I still had my travellers' cheques. I would get the grimy desk-clerk to cash a small one for me. I knew he would rip me off, but I couldn't avoid that at this time a day.

I climbed the stairs to the third floor with heavy heart. All I wanted was a shower, even if it meant taking one in the public washroom down the hall. But that was not to be. As soon as I reached the third floor hallway, I could see that the door to 303 was slightly ajar. With my heart in my mouth I hurried along the badly worn hall carpet and pushed open the door.

There was a man by the bed. He had emptied my backpack on the bed. He swung round in surprise at my entry. He was tall, and thin, and in his 30s. Most noticeably, he was missing his right ear. Ugly scar tissue surrounded his earhole where his ear had once been. I saw the blue plastic cover of my book of travellers' cheques in one hand, my second-hand movie camera in the other. I leapt at him to try to retrieve my money and camera, but he sidestepped and shoved me passed him, causing me to crash into the wall.

Be the time I gathered myself together, he was out the door, down the hall, and galloping down the stairs. I hurtled after him, but by the time I reached the lobby, he was out the door and gone. I stood on the sidewalk and looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of a running man. I went down the stairway to the subway platforms below, but saw no sign of him there.

I went back to the lobby and summoned the unpleasant desk-clerk. Reluctantly drawn away from his TV shows, he grudgingly phoned the police to report the break-in. When he finally got off the phone after what seemed forever, he told me.

"The cops is on the way. You gotta go back to your room and wait there. Good luck," he said with irony in his voice. "The cops may be hours, and your money's gone, for sure!"

I went back to the seedy room, and sat there, brooding, steaming. All I could do now was call my parents and hope they could lend me enough money to turn round and go home. My tour of Europe was over. I didn't disturb the stuff the thief had dumped out on the bed, but I did notice only the cheques and the movie camera seemed to be missing. I'd bought the small Austrian-made Eumig 8mm movie camera cheap second-hand in Montreal, but I hadn't taken it with me this morning. I didn't have any 8mm film, which was becoming hard to get, and I was intending to buy a supply while I was in New York. One more thing to feel depressed about.

I fumed for nearly two hours before I heard a a pair of voices and heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs. My door was ajar, and two cops knocked and came into the room. The leading one was the young cop who had helped me on 42nd St.

"We hear you were robbed," he started, but then he realised who I was. "Oh, boy," he said, "you're really having a bad day, aren't you?"

He explained to his partner, "This is Dave James, the young tourist I told you about - the one who got pick-pocketed." and to me he added, "This is my partner, Officer Reagan. We were on our way back to precinct and they called us on the walkie-talkie."

The partner observed, "This ain't no coincidence. Was there anything in your wallet could have tipped the perp off to where you lived?" he asked.

"Well, my driver's license," I started, but then I realised what he meant. I thought for a moment. "Well, yes. I had the hotels' business card in my wallet. And it had the room number on the back."

"That's it then. The crook found the card, beat you back here, and picked the lock. Not hard to do in a dump like this."

"The desk-clerk said you saw the man who robbed you. Can you describe him?" Officer Gucci, the young cop, asked.

I described the man as I recalled him, mentioning the missing ear last.

The two cops looked at each other and grinned.

"Close-shave Freddie," they both said simultaneously.

"We know him," Gucci explained. "He's a small-time thief from around this area. Guys kid him that he cut his ear off shaving. What did he get from you?"

Well, the wallet, and my American Express traveller's cheques."

"Do you have a record of the cheques?" Officer Reagan the older cop, asked.

"Why, yes!" I exclaimed."It's right there amongst the stuff on the bed."

"Good," the older cop said. "They are insured, You can get them replaced at American Express tomorrow." I hadn't thought of that. Things were looking up.

"Did he get anything else?" the older cop asked.

"Yes," I told him. "A Eumig 8mm camera. They're not very valuable but they're not common in the United States," I observed.

"We'll call this in and put out a bulletin on him," Reagan said, and to the young officer added, "Joe, you finish up here. I'll go down to the street and call this in."

"Right," Joe agreed. Now I knew his first name, too. He already knew mine from our first meeting.

After his partner had left, Officer Joe Gucci asked me a few more questions, then he said, "You've really had a bad day, haven't you? You must have a really bad impression of New York."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Not my favourite place," I said, sorrowfully.

"Tell you what," Joe Gucci said, I'm not supposed to do things like this, but I'm sure you don't want to spend any more time in this dump of a hotel. I share a place in Brooklyn with a roomie, but he's away for a week. You want to come stay with me for a couple days, till you get things sorted?"

"Hey, that would be great," I said with relief. "That's so good of you."

"Great," he said. "If you want to wait here and pack your stuff, I have to go back to precinct and sign out. I'm off at eight. I'll come back and get you, and we'll go back to my place. I should be back here in about half an hour or so."

Joe left, and I considered this change in luck. I wondered whether Joe was homosexual. He has shown little evidence of it, but I hoped he was. As I said, he was a hottie!

Joe was back in just a little over an hour, and led me to the subway after I had checked out at the desk.

"Sorry, I don't have a car," he apologised. "Too much of a hassle in New York." I was a little surprised. I sort of thought everyone in America had a car, but that was a dream fostered by the movies and TV.

We entered the subway right outside the hotel, and in minutes we were on a train. It took us right to Joe's stop in Brooklyn. We didn't even have to make a change of trains. No wonder he didn't bother with a car!

We didn't talk much on the ride. The subway car was crowded and it was noisy. When we came up onto the street level in Brooklyn, the air seemed immediately cleaner, probably because the smog wasn't trapped in by tall buildings to quite the same extent.

Neither had eaten this evening, so we stopped at a little Greek restaurant on the way to Joe's. It was certainly a lot better that the greasy crap I had been eating at the diner beside the hotel. During our meal, Joe asked me lots of questions about myself. I explained to him that I had only come to New York to get stand-by on Icelandic to Europe. He informed me that he had the next two days off, and tomorrow would take me to American Express to report the theft of my travellers' cheques, and hopefully, to get replacements. He also told me that the word had gone out in the precinct to be on the lookout for Close-shave Freddie at pawn shops and known fences. Chances are they would nab him, and hopefully do so before he unloaded my wallet, my cheques, and my camera.

He also told me he had a good connection - an uncle in the travel agency business, and that he might be able to help. Joe would call him in the morning. Man, this was one handy cop to know!

Joe's apartment was not far from the subway station or the restaurant where we had eaten. As he had said, it was a small two-bedroom walk-up, and his roomie was away.

"My roomie and I both work in Manhattan," he told me, "but neither of us can afford to live in Manhattan, but we can get by sharing the rent out here in Brooklyn where the rents are lower.

"I'd let you stay in Jamie's room, but he might not like that, so I hope you don't mind sleeping on the sofa," Joe apologised.

Not a bit," I told him. "Anything is better than the Grand."

"I don't know about you," Joe commented, but I feel filthy after all day in the heat and the smog. I'm going to take a shower."

He disappeared into his bedroom for a minute, then popped out again stark naked, waving a nice cock as he walked, and disappeared into the bathroom. Left to myself, I shed my shirt. I heard him turn on the shower. He hadn't closed the bathroom door. I heard him step into it, and the splashing of the water on his naked body. I imagined that naked body which I had seen briefly moments before, and got a nice stiff one. I unzipped to take it out and play with it while Joe showered.

After a few moments, the shower was turned off again, and he came back into the room, wiping off what little water was on his body. He caught me with my fly down and my hard cock poking out.

"Oops!" he said with a huge grin. "I wanted to ask, but I wasn't sure about you … I wanted to ask … do you want to join me in the shower?"

"Is my friend invited too?" I asked, with an equally big grin, nodding towards my groin.

"He sure is," Joe agreed. "After we've been introduced. Let's shake!" he said toward my cock, as he reached for it and squeezed it. He also leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth while he fondled my cock. I hastily shucked off my jeans and shoes and Joe led me by the cock into the bathroom. It was a bathtub with shower-extension affair, and we climbed into it together.

I took the job of hosing him down with the shower-head first. That gave him a chance to fondle my cock some more, even soaping it up and pulling back my foreskin. I didn't mind. I looked forward to playing with his cock and balls next. I got my chance soon enough.

We played together in the shower for quite a while, soaping each other up and getting each other good and hard.

"This is the first time I've done this in this apartment," Joe informed me. "My roomie is a macho type and he doesn't know about me. I only bring guys here when he's away, and usually just quickies. You're the first overnighter."

"How did you know I liked guys?" I asked.

"I didn't," he informed me. "I was just hoping."

"Me too!" I told him. And we kissed again, holding each other's dicks while Joe hosed us down with the shower-head in his free hand.

"I guess I won't be sleeping on the couch tonight," I hinted.

"No way," Joe agreed. "You're sleeping in my bed, and we're heading there just as soon as we dry off." We did just that, and soon we were in Joe's large bed, sucking each other's dicks in the classic sixty-nine position.

I thoroughly enjoyed the taste of his large, cut cock in my mouth, and licked and sucked it and nibbled and chewed it. Joe responded by doing much the same to my cock, with the added attraction of pulling my foreskin back and forth. He claimed not to know many guys with foreskins. I was surprised at this. I was under the misguided impression that only Jewish guys were circumcised in the States. Guess I was reading the wrong novels growing up.

When Joe started fingering my asshole I got even hornier, if that were possible. I squirmed against his probing finger until it slipped inside of me, while I still sucked on his fat, hard pole. I wriggled on his invading finger, while he used it to explore my anal passage.

I guess my need to be fucked, and Joe's need to fuck peaked at the same time. I squirmed out of our 69 and got onto my hands and knees on the bed.

"Fuck me, please," I begged.

Joe didn't need to be begged. He was already reaching for lube from the drawer of his nightstand. He smeared some into my hole, and more along his shaft. I felt him lodge his cock against my hole, and I pushed back onto it, driving the bulb of his seven inch rod into my orifice.

"Oh, my God," Joe exclaimed. "It's been so long. I just hope I don't cum too soon."

"I don't care if you do," I told him. "We can always do it again. We've got all night."

"That's true," Joe panted, as he began to fuck me, now driven fully into me.

As it turned out, Joe didn't cum right away. He peaked several times over the next while, but each time paused, and let his edge weaken enough to continue without cumming. By the time he did cum, I was fully ready for it also. I thrilled to the feel of his cock spasming again and again inside me, shooting his cum deep into my insides.

As we lay curled together after the thrilling fuck, Joe murmured "I know this sounds awful, but I'm kind of glad you got robbed. If you hadn't we'd never have met."

"I'm kind of glad, too," I agreed.

We drifted off to sleep then, but awoke during the night and Joe fucked me once more, then we slept again.

I was awoken in the morning by the ringing of the phone in the living room. Joe clambered out of bed to answer it. As I lay there with a morning wood, I could hear him talking on the phone. I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was already 9:30. I dozed off again.

Joe woke me again when he came back into the room. It was now 10:00.

"Lots of good news," he told me. "That was Jim Reagan down at precinct. It's not his day off. He called because I told him I was bringing you home. They caught Close-shave Freddie. He was trying to hock a Eumig camera like the one you described to a cop-friendly fence. He still had your wallet, your money, and your travellers' checks on him. You won't need to go to American Express after all.

"They need you to identify him in a line-up as the man in your room. We can go in this afternoon.

"I also phoned my uncle, the travel agent. He can't get you on to an Icelandic flight, but he can get you on a regular flight to London tomorrow for a rock-bottom price of $105, fully booked, no waiting at the airport for an empty seat or bringing a bag lunch. Does that sound good to you?"

"Good? It all sounds fantastic! But it means we only have about twenty-four hours left together. Come on back to bed!"

He did as I ordered and climbed back into bed with me.What a man!

He certainly was one of New York's finest!

In so many ways!

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