4. Jailbird In Drag

I was sitting in an extremely uncomfortable chair in a small windowless room at the State Police Barracks in Downingtown. The small chamber smelled stale and was illuminated by a much too bright fluorescent light fixture on the ceiling. I was still wearing my hot teenage girl get-up and was thinking it probably would be a good idea to telephone my Mom and tell her it didn’t look like Shorty would be making it home for dinner.

After what seemed like a few hours sitting there by myself in silence, Detective Lomax suddenly entered the room and dropped a familiar looking green nylon daypack on the table in front of me … uh oh… “Is this your property, Shorty?”

“Umm, I’m not sure.”

“We found it in Hawkins’ Pontiac, he said it belongs to you – is he lying?”

“Uhh, I don’t know.”

“I found a wallet with your I.D. – should I bring your mother out here to tell us if it’s your property?”

“No. That won’t be necessary. It’s my pack.”

Lomax smiled. He was puffing his chest out like a proud peacock. The cop was wearing his badge on his belt and had his big Ruger handgun secured in a holster. At this point, he definitely looked much older than a high school kid … “You know Shorty, when I began investigating your school as an undercover operative, it had nothing to do with Hawkins and his sleazy little underage smut racket. Busting Hawkins is just icing on the cake… The real reason why I got the assignment is because your high school has a serious illicit drug problem.”

“Yes sir,” I said trying to act polite and cooperative when what I really felt like doing was telling him to go fuck himself.

“You’re probably wondering why Anthony and Mickey are out in the officer’s lounge eating pizza and watching TV while you’re stuck here in this uncomfortable little room talking to me.”

“Because they’re cops too?”

Lomax gave me a dirty look. “No Shorty, the reason why Anthony and Mickey are about to go home … and you’re not, is because Anthony and Mickey aren’t suspected drug pushers.” Lomax dumped the contents of the pack out on the table. My stash had been separated out into individual zip loc evidence bags. The cop began going through the bags one by one. “Here we have a little over an ounce and a half of marijuana… In this bag we have two and a half grams of high grade Bolivian cocaine. Over here we have 37 tablets of prescription Rorer 714 Methaqualone … And then here, in this bag, we have the prize winner – two sheets of blotter acid with a total of 173 unsold hits of pure LSD plus $528.00 in mostly one dollar bills. Looks like Shorty is going to the juvenile detention facility.”

I winced, and at that point I started to wonder if they were going to take me to jail in my hot teenage girl get-up, or would they soon be giving me one of those bright orange monkey suits to wear instead.

Lomax sat down in the uncomfortable chair next to me, pulling it in close and suddenly switched to a much more friendly demeanor: “Unless you want to talk to me about where you’re buying this stuff …  Who’s selling you all the dope? Where did you buy the LSD?”

“I can’t tell you – no way.” This was one cat Shorty was not going to let out of the bag. The fact was, I was buying the blotter acid from my sister Nancy. A chemistry student at her college was secretly producing the stuff in a lab right on the U of P campus.

“O.K., kid,” said Lomax standing back up, “have it your way.”

Have it your way. Back in the 70s, that was the Burger King sales motto – Have it your way. Extra pickles, extra lettuce – special orders don’t upset us  - have it your way. My former gym teacher was having it his way too. At that point Hawkins was in another brightly lit windowless room being grilled by special agents from the FBI. It seemed the feds had quite a bit of interest in his connection to the Philadelphia Mob, and they were using their own techniques to try and get Hawkins to spill the beans.

Lucky for me, the cops never searched my house. The dope I had in my daypack was small potatoes compared to the huge amount of weed I had hidden in the attic at home – over 10 pounds of Redbud packaged for sale and a whole lot more cash …

I started smoking pot when I was 12 years old. At 13, I had a gay crush on my best friend and we spent way too much time down in his dark basement smoking dope and listening to psychedelic era rock and roll. At 14 we painted the walls in the basement purple and got our hands on some authentic Oswley barrel acid  … As it turned out, my friend was  nowhere near as gay for me as I was for him. He let me suck his dick once, but then became angry and told me he never wanted me to come back to his house again.

“Jerk Off’s Remorse.” When a guy gets queer jerking off or getting down with another dude, and then suddenly goes into denial about being gay after he blows his load, it’s called “Jerk Off’s Remorse.” When you’re sexually aroused, the more primitive part of your brain is in control – Freud’s id; but immediately following orgasm, your superego regains control. The superego is where all of your inhibitions and sexual hang ups reside – the part of your brain that has been conditioned to panic after you blow a gay load. Unhappily, living in a conservative, religion based society has caused irreparable psychological damage to many American boys who have homosexual inclinations.

By the time I was 16, I had become a large scale marijuana dealer. I sold LSD too, as well as Rorer 714 Qualudes, but the weed was my thing. A longtime friend of mine who lived down the street had traveled to India and Nepal when he turned 18 – Neil O’Rourke. Neil made a lasting connection with international hashish smugglers in Mumbai, India. The Indians had ingenious ways of getting the hash through customs, and as a result, every few weeks Neil would end up with a few pounds of super high quality black Afghan and Gold Seal Pakistani hashish. The highly potent dope became a local legend and was much sought after by area dealers. A major weed dealer in his mid 20s who was a Vietnam Vet  told me that he would front me unlimited quantities of Red Colombian as long as I came to see him first when Neil scored more of the Central Asian hashish. This was why I always had a big stash of Colombian weed hidden up in the attic.

To make any money selling pot, you have to keep a large inventory on hand and make a sizeable amount of individual sales. I sold weed around the local area where I lived, and  I would also take the Main Line commuter train down to some of the wealthier towns closer to the city. The closer you get to Philadelphia the more money there is until you cross City Line Avenue, and then suddenly you find yourself in one of the most dismal poverty ridden slums in America – West Philly; But in affluent neighborhoods like Bryn Mawr and Wynnewood, the rich kids had lots of money to spend and it was easy for me to make friends.

I was friends with two girls in Bryn Mawr who helped me sell dope. Jamie and Tiffany were both a couple of years older than me. Jamie had dark hair and icy blue eyes. She was big breasted and beautiful. Tiffany was more ordinary looking but I adored both girls and loved hanging out with them. I’ve always preferred the company of females and abhor hanging out with straight men in bars.

Jamie had a 69 VW Bug. The girls would pick me up at the train station and we would usually go hang out at a town park on Haverford Avenue. Sometimes they would take me to parties, but for selling weed I thought the park was a better set-up. We would sit near Jamie’s car and when a buyer appeared, I would go sit in the Bug with the customer to do the deal while Jamie and Tiffany kept their eyes peeled for cops.

We were sitting in the grass one warm afternoon when Jamie grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and leaned over close to me and whispered: “See those two Italian guys walking towards us?”

“Yea, I said.”

“They’re Mafia. The tall guy’s name is Sergio. They’re headed right for us, be careful what you say.”

As they closed in on us, Sergio smiled: “Beautiful day isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” said Tiffany.

Sergio was tall, lean and good looking while his partner Alfonso was short and fat. They both looked about 18 or 19 years old. Sergio did the talking while Alfonso looked off in the distance at nothing in particular, “So I know Jamie and Tiffany from around, I remember both of you from Rochelle’s pool party last week, but the new guy I’ve never met – you’re Shorty right?”

“That’s me,” I said.

“I’ve heard a lot about you Shorty. You’re from out in the sticks somewhere and you’ve been coming down here to sell weed, right?”

“Uh yea, “I said nervously not sure where the conversation was headed, “I live near Malvern.”

“Oh yea? Malvern? You know John’s Pizza then?”

“Yea sure. John’s a good dude.”

“Yup,” said Sergio with a hint of sarcasm, “Good old John.”

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence then, “So the reason we came over to talk to you is because I need to make sure we all agree on something. See Shorty, we sell dope around here too. My family has been selling weed in Bryn Mawr for many years. So here’s the thing – I have a deal I need to make with you. You and the girls stay on this side of Haverford Avenue when you’re selling pot. That’s O.K. with us. South side of the avenue is your turf. North side belongs to us. You want to sell at parties, I got nothing to say about that, unless we’re there first, then you don’t even come in. How bout that, Shorty? You like my deal?”

“Sounds good,” I said. There were stories about Mob guys fucking with independent dealers hard, and I was relieved Sergio was being so cool.

“So are we good? You agree?”


“Alright! We’re all happy. So Shorty,” said Sergio, “I heard you can get some really good hash, like the best shit around.”

“Yup. Black Afghan and Gold Seal Paki in limited quantities.”

“That’s way cool. We get some pretty good Green Moroccan and Lebanese Blonde, but that Black Afghan is rare and I know it’s good. So you got any right now?”

“Not for sale but I have some personal stash, want to get high?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you and me head over to my apartment, I got some cold beer. Leave the girls here to keep your people happy and Alfonso? Why don’t you go get a hoagie or something while me and my man Shorty go get high.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” said Alfonso.

Jamie and Tiffany were whispering to each other and laughing as Sergio and I walked off. It turned out they had heard something about Sergio that I was about to find out about. We walked about two blocks and headed up a set of stairs to a second floor apartment that was part of an older commercial building on the main drag through town. It was a dingy looking building on the outside, but on the inside, Sergio had a luxurious pad. Small but immaculate with expensive looking furniture and plush carpet.

Sergio grabbed a pair of bottled beers out of the fridge and turned on the stereo. “Sit with me here on the sofa and we’ll try some of that shit out.”

I pulled out my hash pipe and a small stash of the sticky black hash. It had a pungent aroma you could smell a mile away. We smoked about a gram over the course of 20 minutes or so and became thoroughly stoned. Sergio and I laughed and talked for awhile really hitting it off as good friends, finally Sergio said,” You know Shorty, the girls over there told me they think you might be a little squirrelly.”

“Squirrelly?” I said.

“Yea you know, a little kinky. Like to take a walk on the wild side.”

I couldn’t help but notice that Sergio had a huge erection growing in his pants as he put his arm around my shoulder and planted a big wet kiss right on my mouth. Some gay guys are turned off by kissing, but Sergio was an extremely good looking dude, and I didn’t mind it at all. He was really getting into it, making out with me like I was a hot girl. Before long, I had his thick 8″ cock out of his pants and went down on it as Sergio sat back and relaxed. He had a beautiful rock hard cut cock and I really enjoyed giving him a long lasting BJ … and Sergio was kinky alright, he put me in handcuffs for the anal.

To be continued …