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Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Historical Fiction
Description: His cheek torn open by a cut-throat razor, Pretty Boy is rescued by Ruby Red, a street prostitute who takes him home to mend. But he brings trouble on himself and his new household, including the young queer boy, Tim, who has nursed him back to health. During his convalescence his attraction to Tim flowers and he determines he will never be beaten again for his love of other men. Scarface was originally published in slightly different form as 'Sharp as a Razor' in the anthology Homo Thugs, edited by Shane Allison (STARbooks Press)
eBook Publisher: loveyoudivine, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: July 2011

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [30 KB]
Words: 5331
Reading time: 15-21 min.

"Fuck you, queer," he screamed abuse at me, before doubling over in pain where I'd kneed him hard in the balls.

"So which one of your gang kissed and told," I said through gritted teeth. This might be Sydney in the roaring 1920s, but it was still against the law to bonk another bloke. And, you paid more dearly if you happened to be a member of one of the razor gangs that ruled the inner city streets. Make that ex-member. You could stick your cock in a goat, especially if you were a former Sicilian farm boy, and no one would turn a hair, but just try sticking that dick in another bloke, and you paid with banishment, humiliation and, occasionally, with your life. I wasn't sure which choice I was being offered, but I didn't like the odds: two against one, and they both had open cut-throat razors.

I'd tried wit to disarm the situation, but these two gang members had about as much appreciation of humour as genital lice, and were just as difficult to shake off. That's why my second approach had been more direct: a painful assault on the testicles.

I thought his agony would have given me time to escape, but his mate was already on me from behind, a position I sometimes enjoy, holding me securely for his injured partner who had balls of steel if his quick recovery was anything to go by.

I felt the razor slice down my cheek. I just had time to admire its intricately carved ivory handle before the blood flowed. It was a beauty, yet as brutal looking as the two bastards who had attacked me, before the blood flowed.

Don't get me wrong, I was no innocent, and my punishment was no more than I deserved if you lived by the law of the streets. Nobody, but nobody, goes behind the back of the razor gangs. I'd tried it on, and now I was getting my payback. My only hope was that my attackers were trying to scare me off rather than kill me. Mutilation would attract little attention, whereas a murder, well, that would have the cops out.

The pain would be swift and the blood copious. The wound I would wear with pride and the scar would be my ticket to legitimacy, but it stung more than I expected, the blood spurting into my attacker's face and on his thug standard vest as well as his working class hat and trousers. He swore profusely.

Blood trickled into my eyes blinding me, but still I lashed out in an attempt to injure my bashers. There was a thud, like the sound of a nose breaking then another, this time sounding like teeth shattering, followed by a shower of curses. I knew I had not made contact so while I was waiting for the inevitable punch to floor me, I wiped the blood from my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. My vision cleared just in time to see my two attackers high tailing it down the street with a woman in hot pursuit, wielding a lethal looking handbag.