In the bustling heart of New York City, a man is about to embark on a journey that defies expectations. But this is no ordinary story of a country bumpkin in the big city; it's a captivating tale of self-discovery, desire, and transformation.
Jethro, whose peculiar habit of barking when nervous sets him apart, finds himself restless in both his marriage and his surroundings. Cooped up in his wife's cousin's cramped apartment, he reaches a breaking point. He didn't come to New York merely to exist; he came to live. And with a growl in his throat and a fierce spirit in his heart, Jethro steps out into the vast unknown of the city that never sleeps.
Amidst the rumble of subway trains and the distant city lights, Jethro's strange behavior becomes his shield, warding off potential threats and uninvited attention. But it's on this unconventional journey that he crosses paths with Toni, a cross-dresser recently liberated from the military. What ensues is a wild, unpredictable weekend of passion and self-discovery that defies labels and conventions.
Yet, as the streets of New York reveal their darker side, a perilous encounter with a gang of boys forces Jethro to reevaluate his path, leading him back into the arms of his wife, Eartha Pearl. Is he a changed man, or will the echoes of that unforgettable weekend linger on?
In this unique and thought-provoking narrative, author Charles Harvey captures the vibrant essence of New York City and the complexities of human desire, leaving readers to wonder: Can the city that never sleeps also awaken the dormant desires within us all?
Excerpt:
I say, "Now wait a minute, Jethro, you ain't gonna have no cultural experiences stuck scared here on this stoop. Suppose Columbus had just sat on a stoop all his life. Just suppose. Shit. A man must take action!" While I sit debating, this big white dude in chains and leather walks toward me. Now, these chains ain't dainty little things you get from Spiegel's catalog. These chains come from the Navy yard. I mean these chains can lift submarines. He wears three around his neck, five on each wrist, and two on each ankle. Now the chains do not bother me. The fact that he has on funky raw uncured leather does not bother me. Even the glass eye--I hope it's glass--dangling from his left earlobe on a chain does not bother me. What bothers me is when he turns in my direction and grabs his grapefruit-sized crotch and smiles—that's what bothers ol' Jethro here. I say, "Uh oh Jethro, somebody wants you to swing a certain way. And I don't swing that way." I wonder why he pick on me? So what if I do have on these black high-top sneakers, shorts with Texas bluebonnets all over them, and a pink tee-shirt that says, "I BRAKE FOR MOONERS--that don't mean I'm gay. Shoot. I'm just a colorful dude. Well okay if you want to count that time when I was in the eighth grade and me and Johnny Scardino grabbed each other's rods behind the gym bleachers. I wouldn't have gone back there with him, but he told me he had two and he would show me if I showed him mine. Okay, it tickled and I got a hard-on when he grabbed me and I grabbed him out of reflexes, but I haven't seen Johnny since the eighth grade. I dreamed about him once, since I been married to Eartha Pearl. But I woke up and made love to Eartha real quick.
