When she found them all hell broke loose. She wanted to know what the hell I was doing, why I was dressing up in her clothes when I had started, was I...seeing someone, was I gay? It almost ended us. It was that close. I told her that it was a one-off thing and I confessed to her that I used to do it as a k** and it was a curious thing. Which in a way was true. And no, I wasn't gay, which again, basically was true. And that just about got us through it. She told me that she could never cope with. The Los Angeles Greyhound Station, now that was another matter. Located directly in the dirtiest part of downtown LA, there were not only one but several rest rooms perfect for cruising. I quickly settled on my favorite. On the surface, you wouldn't have thought this would be a safe place to suck. It was HUGE; at least twenty stalls. And right at the entrance, just past the sinks was an entire little alcove set up for two black shoeshine boys (men, actually). And there was always another black. More

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