Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2017 19:25:58 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell-boys - Chapter 1 Queen Mary Bell-boys by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 1 If you go to Deck 2 by Staircase B on "Queen Mary 2" you'll see a photograph of me. No, really, I'm not kidding. You'll also see ten copies of it on Deck 5. The best copy is the Deck 2 one though. I'm there, and so's Tim, and the other ten of us, and The Boss. It was taken in May 1936, the month "Queen Mary" - that's the old "Queen Mary", the real one - made her maiden voyage. We were so excited, but it doesn't show in the picture. At that moment we were all petrified. The Boss had drilled into us how important it was. I looked at that picture again the other day and smiled. They're probably all long dead of course. Except me. Tim and I were very lucky to be in that picture; very lucky even to be within 100 yards of being in that picture. If it hadn't been for Father Corrigan we would never have got a chance. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he saved our lives, although whether he saved our souls is debatable. But if I have a soul I've never given it much thought, nor had it bothered me all these years. Tim and I are the youngest boys in the picture. No, that's not quite true: Tim is the youngest boy in the picture and I am all of 12 minutes older. On that May day we were still several months short of our 15th birthday. You had to be 16 to be a Cunard-White Star boy, but Father Corrigan pulled some strings. His brother was somebody high up in Cunard (I can't go on calling Cunard-White Star by its Sunday name: everybody called it Cunard) who was in charge of recruiting the lower grades of on-board staff. As our priest he wanted to get us out of the poverty of Liverpool. I wish we'd been mature enough to thank him, but at 14 maturity is still several years away. We were just happy to be plucked out of poverty, given three good meals a day and clean clothes, and promised a job where we'd see the world and earn good wages. Tim and I were the youngest of 11 children. Well, that's not strictly true either. Ma and Pa had had 9 children before us, but when we arrived there were only 6 alive. Two sisters - twins, like us - had died of diphtheria aged 2, and a brother hadn't made it to 3 months. The eldest, Connor, named for our father, and his father before him, was 15 when we were born in January 1922. The three Connors were all evil men, living by thieving and cheating and, if rumours were to be believed, worse. Our father had been forced into a life of crime by his father when he was only about 10 and our brother Connor had never had a chance of an honest life. By the time he was 12 he was their willing accomplice. The rest of us, and our mother, pretended none of this was happening. But we ate the food that the Connors put on the table all the same. Father Corrigan must have seen some spark in Tim and me (I'm Patrick, by the way, Patrick Mulloy) and managed, as he would have seen it, to save the smallest brands from the fire. And so, in May 1926, we lined up for our photograph. Mind you, there were a fair few hurdles to overcome between our being plucked from the flames and The Boss tweaking Alan's buttons in the photograph. Alan is the one third from the left. I'm 7th boy from the left. I'd better tell you who they all are while I'm at it. From the left we have The Boss (his real name was Joseph Corrigan), then Tim, Charlie, Alan, Dave, Andrew, Sam, me, Harry, Chris, Roger, Peter and Stewart. As I said, all 16 apart from Tim and me. As you'll find out soon enough, Alan was to become a special friend to us. The 12 of us were told to come to Liverpool for training in February. As Scousers we felt vastly superior to the other ten as they were coming to our city, but that soon evaporated. Scousers we might have been, but the last thing Cunard wanted was a bunch of kids reminding the classy passengers that regional accents existed. They had three months before we sailed, and in that time they had to turn us, if not into gentlemen at least into possible sons of gentlemen. They had their work cut out. All 12 of us were from working class families. We came from all over. As well as us two from Liverpool, Alan and Roger came from London; Andrew from Glasgow; Stewart and Peter from Edinburgh; Charlie from the back of beyond in the Highlands somewhere; Dave and Sam from the Welsh Valleys; Peter from Aberystwyth and Chris from Swansea. A mongrel bunch, and most of us couldn't understand a word any of the others was saying. By the end of the first week we could all speak what we were told was "good English" and we were to remember that. Any regional accent was pounced upon by at least 9 other boys, so it soon became second nature, even when there weren't any adults about. We had five teachers. Two women who taught us about cleanliness, and looking after our uniforms, and who generally looked after us and fed us. The three men drilled us in what we would be doing on board. Our title was bell-boys and our job was basically anything involving fetching and carrying. We weren't there to carry bags - they had men to do that - but running errands, carrying messages, operating the lifts (we had to learn to call them "elevators"), helping older passengers about the ship, generally being useful and smart and, as The Boss was keen to instil into us: always visible, always available, always willing, always smiling. How useful his training was to be! We'd been measured for our uniforms in April and by the beginning of May they arrived and we put them on for the first time. That was when The Boss lined us all up for the photograph. Two weeks before the maiden voyage was due to leave Southampton we joined the ship. None of us had ever seen anything like it, of course. We'd been given plans of each deck of the ship so that we knew where everything was, but the reality was too much for us to take in. Luckily The Boss knew his boys by then, and when we'd stowed our gear in our quarters he got us all together. "Right, boys," he said, "run off and explore the whole ship. You can go anywhere you like - the other crew members know you're here and they've been told that your job is to know the ship inside out, so they're not to chase you away. The only place you can't go is the bridge or the officers' cabins. Your map shows where they are. Now off you go. Be back here in three hours when I expect you to know the ship as well as you know your own homes." It worked. Boys at that age are incurably nosy and curious. I think nowadays it would take me a week to discover everything I discovered in three hours back then. As we had done since we left home (and in the years before then, if I'm honest) Tim and I stuck together like glue. Within two hours we'd poked into every part of the ship so we spent the third hour setting each other challenges. "Go from here to where the big map is." And when we got there "now go to the bar where they serve cocktails" and then "now go to the ladies' powder room on Deck 5" and so on. It was fun, and we knew we were good at it. We were the only brothers, and we meant to make sure we were the best two bell-boys on "Queen Mary". Gradually over the next few days more and more crew members joined the ship, and we boys found ourselves guiding them to their quarters. Like the rest of the crew we boys slept in the lowest deck, well below the waterline. We were three to a room and it was pretty cramped. Three beds and a big cupboard for our uniforms was all there was room for. The four boys' rooms were together, with a communal washing room. It had three showers and two lavatories. Cunard clearly didn't expect us to do much more than sleep during our off-duty times. It became clear why The Boss had got us on board early. We didn't know it but there was to be a pre-maiden voyage sailing without any paying passengers - a sort of dress rehearsal - so that everyone could practise and any mistakes could happen and be put right in time. ***** Maybe this is the time, before we sail, to tell you a bit more about why two Catholic boys were among the bell-boys: two boys, moreover, who were way below Cunard's minimum age of 16. We had both been altar boys for Father Corrigan from age 8 and had - how shall I put it? - served the good priest in other ways as well. It's a well-worn path, and one which is probably as common nowadays as it was in the 1920s. A boy, a normal boy full of normal boyish sin, goes to confession as he's been brought up to do. When you're the youngest of a brood as big as ours there are plenty of older brothers to goad you, and they tell you awful stories about the penances the priest dishes out. Like most kid brothers we half-believed them, but we weren't too sure which bits to believe and which bits were just to scare us. So confession was mainly about being rude to our parents, or telling lies. Simple everyday stuff. Then one day - I was 9 - my 13-year-old brother Michael told me about wanking. No, that's not quite true: he took great pleasure in showing me and a few minutes later, when he had got over his orgasm and I had got over the surprise of seeing stuff squirt out of his cock, he took me in hand, literally. I loved it. That night I told Tim all about this exciting new thing I'd learned. I'm sure you're ahead of me by now. Michael had made it abundantly clear that this wanking was both very nice - I could only agree - and very wicked. Good Catholic boys are brought up to confess their wickedness. Priests like Father Corrigan prick up their ears when altar boys of 9 admit to wanking, usually after much shuffling and embarrassed hesitation. Father Corrigan could sniff out a wanking confession at 100 paces, and knew how to achieve his objective. Within a few weeks of my first confession of this particular sin I was sinning mightily with him, and he was sinning much more mightily all over (and a few months later, in) me. If this was sin I was all for it! Tim had decided to run the risk of perpetual damnation by choosing to forget wanking in his confessions, but when I told him how Father Corrigan and I passed happy half-hours in the vestry it wasn't hard to persuade him to be more honest and fully penitent in the confessional. Threesomes ensued, and had continued regularly from that day to our departure to join the ship. What we didn't know was that The Boss was just as keen on boys. He was going to be in charge of 12 bell-boys and he was man of the world enough to know that there would be enough men like him and his brother among the ship's passengers for the provision of willing boys to be a source of considerable extra income. You must not get the impression that all 12 of us were for hire. No, only three, and if I say so myself, the cutest three: Alan, Tim and Patrick. When The Boss was photographed tweaking Alan's buttons Tim practically wet himself trying not to laugh, because about 30 minutes before he had been tweaking a far more interesting part of the boy. And not just tweaking. When we were lined up Tim and I knew that Alan was like us, but we didn't know whether any of the other nine were going to be sinners. What you can't tell from the photograph is that at the exact moment it was taken Alan's right hand was squeezing Charlie's cute Highland arse. Charlie squirmed and the photographer complained that 'a boy moved'. The Boss wasn't pleased and a second picture was taken - the one now preserved for posterity. After we were dismissed Charlie rounded on Alan, leaving him in no doubt that the advance had not only been extremely unwelcome, but that Alan was definitely headed for hellfire. It hadn't been until the night before the maiden voyage that we discovered the true position of the 12 bell-boys. ***** But I'm getting ahead of myself. The dress rehearsal before the maiden voyage was about to begin. Cunard had invited 300 or so people, mostly shore-based staff and their families, to act as passengers. They were briefed to make heavy demands of the crew members. They were far fewer than the full complement of guests, but there were enough of them to put pressure on the crew at all levels. We sailed out of Liverpool on 20 May. My mother came to see us off. It would be over ten years before I set foot in Liverpool again, and I'm glad to say, even 90 years later, that I never laid eyes on any of the Connors again. That book was closed, thank God. And thank sinful wicked Father Corrigan too! The dress rehearsal went pretty well. Tim and I did our job - our paid job, that is - efficiently and The Boss told us all that he was proud of the way we'd handled some difficult situations, but "that, boys, is why you're here. You're the icing on the Cunard cake, here to make every passenger cheerful with your smiles". Naturally we were full of ourselves. There was a two day period before we set off from Southampton. The Boss spent a great deal of time running over the small problems he'd observed, and by the evening of the second day the 12 of us were as battle-ready, as he put it, as we would ever be. He dismissed us all, reminding us to assemble at 7 the next morning (or "at 0700") for duty. "Alan, Patrick, Tim, stay behind would you, please." When the other nine had gone The Boss made us all sit down. He told us that he had recruited the three of us for extra duties beyond those which the other bell-boys would undertake. Alan grinned. "Alan is grinning," he said, "and that is because Alan knows what those extra duties are likely to be. I know from my brother that Patrick and Tim are skilled at those extra duties, and the three of you should be clear about everything." He stood up and told us to strip to our underwear. Tim and I had an inkling about what we were in for, and we grinned as we took off our uniforms. A couple of minutes later The Boss was confronted by three boys in their underpants. Each of us was half stiff. Alan knew what was coming, because (as he told us later) The Boss and he had been 'doing stuff' for over a year. So 'doing stuff' was the extra duty, was it? Could be fun, I thought, and nudged Tim. The Boss studied the three boys standing in front of him. "My brother was right," he said, "you two are going to be a big asset. Tell me, and tell me the truth, Patrick, Tim, what do you like doing with him? Be as dirty as you like." Coming from The Boss, that sentence - 'be as dirty as you like' - was astonishing. Until that moment he'd been strict and correct, but 'dirty'? Oh well, I thought. In for a penny. "Sir, I like it when he fucks me. I like it when he sucks my cock and stuff. I like everything we've done, the three of us." "And you, Tim, what do you like?" he asked. Tim didn't hesitate. "I love being fucked," he said, "and I love sucking his cock. When he cums I love to taste it." The Boss nodded happily. "Good," he said, "there will be plenty of action for you. Alan is the same. All three of you can take it up the arse" (his language was bewilderingly rude, I thought) "and all three of you suck cock. Is there anything you are not willing to do for a man?" There was silence while we thought about all the possibilities. "Not for me," I said. Tim agreed, as did Alan. The Boss was satisfied. "Right," he said, "now step out of your underpants." Three naked boys stood before him. Three hard cocks jutted invitingly towards him. He approached and knelt in front of Alan. They'd obviously done this hundreds of times before, because Alan reached forward and took The Boss's head in his hands as the man took the boy's cock into his mouth. "Mmmm," murmured Alan, "yes, Sir." Sir gave Alan's cock a juicy lick and moved across to Tim. "Pull your foreskin back, Tim". Tim obliged - luckily it was nice and clean - and The Boss tasted Mulloy cock for the first time. It was clearly to his liking as a swelling developed in his trousers. I had about three seconds to make a decision. Would I be a forward little bugger, or wait to be asked? Damn silly question really. I wouldn't have had one tenth of the fun I've had in the last 90 years if I'd been backward in coming forward. While The Boss was still enjoying Tim's tasty cock I knelt down and gently squeezed his cock. Would he whack me? No. He moaned - a sound I took as a 'yes'. My hand was quick to undo his belt, but quick as I was he could undo his trousers faster than I could, and in less than half a minute he too was naked. Strange as it may seem, although Tim and I had seen Father Corrigan's cock on dozens of occasions, and tasted his priestly outpourings, we had never seen him completely naked. His brother's body was therefore the first naked man either of us had ever seen. It would not be long before others joined our memory bank, but your first naked man is always special, isn't he? The Boss turned his attention to my cock. He didn't invite me to deal with my foreskin, but did so himself, gently and sensuously, blowing cold air through pursed lips as he did so. Little Patrick - quite big by now - hadn't had the cold air treatment before, but clearly enjoyed it. There is no point in describing the next 20 minutes, not least because they were pretty perfunctory. He sucked off each of us; each of us came in his mouth; he swallowed. He didn't come. "Right," he said, "this is the arrangement. When any of you are with me and there are no other bell-boys present you call me Sir, as Alan did. The three of you share a cabin with three beds in. Those beds are for sleeping in, and they are for fucking in if I send clients to you. Clients may prefer to fuck you in their cabins - it's up to them. I imagine plenty of them will be married, so that's why you can fuck here if they want. I will find clients and they will pay me. If any of them gives you a tip, that's yours to keep. If anyone hurts you - hurts you badly, that is, not just a rough fuck - I need to know about it. If any of you is approached by a passenger who is looking for sex with you, you must do exactly what I say. Do not accept, and do not reject him. Instead ask for his cabin number and tell him that he will be contacted. Then tell me straight away, and I will make the arrangement. Is that understood?" Three boys nodded. "Good. Each morning at 0915 the three of you will report to my cabin and give me a detailed account of the preceding 24 hours. I want everything sexual - I'm not interested in your normal bell-boy duties. Clients take precedence over operating elevators! I also want details of any sexual goings-on with other boys. You three are the special gang, but it may be that some of the others are interested. Do not tell them about our arrangement, but if boys get frisky I want to know about it. Any questions?" Silence. "OK, off you go." We climbed back into our uniforms and went to our cabin. There was a lot to discuss. =============================================================================== The fun will start properly in Chapter 2 - that is, if enough of you boy-lovers tell me you are interested. The story is, of course, fiction, but the photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing a few months ago, and the boy I describe as "me" is really cute. I'm sure he had adventures ... Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================