Exposure, Disclosure

My bus stop had been overrun by a group of gangsters who passed around a blunt and a bottle. When I approached, their trash-talking grew louder. I detoured across the street, two of the gangsters broke away and followed me; I jaywalked through the traffic across Alvarado to Sal’s. They were at my heels when I ducked in the door of the dark little bodega.
Sic Transit
The checker players had gone. The door to the little back room was ajar, and I pushed it open. Sal the street hawker had company: a tattooed, tautly muscled Latino with shaved head.
“Ayee, party’s on.”
“Wasn’t this our private party?”
He showed me the ID’s.
“Two perfect ID’s, I bargain too. You do us both.”
The new guy's bad boy look was just as irresistible as Salvatore's lothario style. My sex famine, speed buzz, and the pursuers on Alameda Street propelled me.
“OK, I’ll suck both of you.”
The new guy shook his head and glowered.
“I want pussy.”
“Period.”
“Ugh. Then give up your booty.”
Sal waved the IDs.
Could I delude them? If they felt my twig and berries, how would they react? But that seemed less hazardous than getting robbed or gang-raped by the crazies in the park. I rolled with it.
“Throw in a ride to Brentwood.”
“Awesome, a van party. Jose, get the wheels while we get started.”
Jose grunted and bolted out the door.
Sal gestured me to kneel, but I shook my head.
“My IDs, please.”
My ID’s showed 21-year-old female, Alexandra Rios, whose smiling face was mine. I had never looked or felt more like a girl. I would prove it by servicing, and deceiving, Sal and his friend.
“Perfect. Let’s settle my account.”
He slid his pants to the floor and sat on a rickety office chair. I knelt between his wiry, smooth thighs. His quadriceps bulged like twisted ropes. His belly was flat, his abs defined and pumped.
I blew him, he vibrated with pleasure, gripped my neck and guided me, but I was in control. A horn honked outside. Salvatore pushed me away and pulled up his pants.