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Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.
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The Sound of Silence.
By John Teller.
Part 1 of 2.
The sound of silence. Those few words are a paradox. There are two types of silence. One is the beautiful absence of noise; the other is a compulsory inner silence. It has to be for some people: things are best left unspoken; unheard... a silence that screams like a banshee for The Afflicted. I'm talking about those who treasure the company of boys here... those who love and find comfort in the arms of a young male. Even though it usually is, it doesn't have to have a sexual connotation. Woe betide any person who professes to be attracted to them. So, for people like my good friend CJ and I, then keeping that silence is tantamount to purgatory, and it's only when we meet to discuss our `affliction' dare we break that silence.
Some people like CJ and I are lucky. I've been blessed with a couple of wonderful boy liaisons: CJ many more, but that's because he's a boy magnet. They're attracted to him like bees to honey, and without crossing the boundaries they set; he provides a service to them that is very special. None of his boys have ever complained that they were molested. Oh no... They part with a grin on their beautiful faces, much the wiser when they drift off into their futures, and CJ is a happy chappy that he was able to be of service. And because CJ is as he is, I will tell you a tale about him. So sit back, fill your glass with whatever takes your fancy, and enjoy this anecdote as much as I'm enjoying telling you about it. Bottoms up!
Before doing so, you may like to look at the video I've made to go with this tale. It is relevant. You'll find it below. The characters portrayed are absolutely nothing to do with this story, but it will give you a vision to store away while you're reading.
The Sound of Silence. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47SqiM4vCsE
************************
It's a late Friday evening at the end of a wonderful sunny day at my friend's home in Wallingford, Oxfordshire, England. We are sat drinking a few end-of-evening glasses of his treasured vintage reds on the patio of his riverside home, which overlooks well manicured lawns that decline softly to the water's edge of the River Thames, flowing slowly beneath outflung branches of an old willow tree whose lower extremities dip into the water, creating slight eddies where nature meets in harmony.
I'd arrived at CJ's house from my own home `up north' a little earlier in response to a phone call invitation of the previous week requesting me to spend the weekend with him. It isn't unusual for me to be so invited. CJ and I share a long acquaintanceship cum friendship going back to when we were both young men first setting out in the Diplomatic Corps. He's senior to me, but we both work at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in Whitehall, London. Only occasionally these days are we sent abroad to sort something out. I suppose the correct narrative would be to say we're being put out to grass before we retire properly to whatever will be suitable to a couple of non-married sexagenarians. We're the same age: sixty-four. Although we have much in common now, it wasn't always so. I was bred of working class roots whereas CJ is descended from an aristocratic line that he can trace back to William the Conqueror. That's almost funny. CJ the Conqueror would be an apt description of him if one was to describe his boy conquests. I've known a few boys during my life as a pederast, but CJ would need an abacus to keep a check on the ones he's had an association with. But, like me, CJ is not a predator. A boy is attracted to him, and if a relationship follows, then it's always completely consensual. There's a slight difference in age of attraction: I like my boys to be about thirteen or fourteen, but CJ likes younger boys around the age of ten or eleven or twelve.
We discovered our shared affection for boys when we were both sent to Istanbul at the same time. It was 1974, the year that Turkey invaded Cyprus. What a hoo-hah that was! A dozen of us – juniors like CJ and I at the time (we'd just come out of university) – and the best of the best to try and sort out the mess. I won't go into the details... They're not important to this tale. What I can tell you is that during our spare time, CJ and I began to frequent the same kind of places. At first we didn't declare openly that we were seeking out boys, but it sort of slotted into place that we were both attracted to them when we began to make comments on the beautiful ones in various coffee houses.
Have you ever been to Istanbul? If you're a boy lover... then that's the place to go. And some of the boys are beyond beautiful with their doe-like amber eyes. And they know what men like. Forget the rubbish that their religion bans homosexuality as a great sin. It's the girls that are protected like gold bullion, and if a man fancies a bit of young stuff, then boys are what he goes for.
So the scene is set: two English pederasts in a land of milk and honey boys. And when we came home, CJ and I became firm friends. That friendship has lasted for well over thirty years. Hence the reason I'm sitting on CJ's patio now. It's boy talk time.
"John, you've never been into my bedroom... have you?" enquires CJ.
I chuckle as I take a large swig of my vintage. "No, and I'm not likely to."
CJ grins. "I wouldn't touch you with a broomstick. Just go there now and look at the picture I've got on the wall. You can't miss it."
"Is it pornographic?"
Another grin from CJ. "Only in my mind. Move your backside and go and look at it. Then I'll tell you a tale of one of the most beautiful but strange conquests I ever made. Off you go!"
I take another drink from my glass, grin back at CJ, and wander off to the house.
The Golden Boy. Albert Watson's famous photograph. I've always loved it. Purely in a boy-wonder type way: in a platonic way. Although there's no doubt about the sensuality of the photograph, the boy is under my age of attraction. But a six by four feet photograph of him adorns my friend's bedroom wall. Albert Watson chose the boy, painted him gold, and took a number of photographs of him. Although the boy has no clothes to show, only his head and upper body feature in the photographs. The one hanging on CJ's wall is Watson's primary one... head and shoulders with eyes wide open. It really is a stunning picture with the boy's brown eyes toning perfectly with the gold on his body and mass of golden curls. I study it for a while and then go back to my seat on the patio, but not before I take another bottle of wine from CJ's wine rack. I have a feeling that this anecdote he's about to embark on will take some time, and CJ's wonderful tales are best taken with the finest wines.
"Well?" asks my friend.
I stare at the river and give CJ's question some thought before I reply. "It's stunning. I've always loved it. Too young for me, but not too young for you? I believe the boy was about six years old. That's young even for you."
"I know. But I always fantasise that he's about ten or eleven. He's my perfect boy."
CJ takes a drink from his almost empty glass and beckons for me to do the business, so I top us both up, which empties the second bottle we've downed since dinner at eight. Then I settle back and say, "Get on with it then. Which part of the world are we in?"
My friend settles back into his chair and inclines his head to the heavens, seeing things that have happened in his pederastic life. "It was eighty-three. I had a nice little number in the south-western tip of the Soviet Union that skirts the Black Sea. Yuri Andropov was in power. I'd worked six weeks solid and was taking a sabbatical at a communal retreat in a small place called Betta, directly by the shores of the Amber Sea. It was beautiful, private... really private, for us type only. Fenced off from the hoi polloi. High security. Different nationalities, of course. It was their way of herding us together so they could keep an eye on us. You've been there. You know what it's like. Walls have ears... and eyes, so no hanky-panky for folk like us. That was always the downside to those postings. There was me aching for a boy, and they were strictly out of bounds. Well, out of bounds in the hotel and grounds of the place. No hanky-panky."
I chuckle. "But you found a way around all the restraints."
CJ giggles and tips his glass to the heavens. "No I didn't, but a certain, absolutely stunning young man did."
"Do I get a name? How old was he?"
"First name only. Andrey. He was from Leningrad, as it was then. Now Saint Petersburg again. You know what the Russkies are like... they change city names more often than they change their underpants. Andrey was eleven years old and I don't recall ever seeing a more beautiful specimen in my entire life."
"And how come he was there?"
CJ taps the side of his nose. "Out of sight, out of mind. His mother that is. I won't tell you who his father is, but let's just say that he was in a high position even in those days. A hypocritical member of The Party. Living the high life whilst keeping the masses in check. And he's a very clever man. When folk think Oligarch today, they associate the word with young bucks who took advantage of the liberalisation of the Soviet Union and fortunes made out of gas and oil. As you know, a few... just a few of the old brigade were there before them, and Andrey's father is one of them." Again CJ taps the side of his nose and winks at me. "But no names, no pack drill."
"And Andrey?"
CJ smiles. "He's doing fine. Still up to the antics we got up to together. He's one of those boys who turned out to be gay. But I knew he would. He liked it too much to be a casual boy predator."
"Do you still see him?" I ask.
"No. Although it was wonderful and I've loved him ever since, as a boy that is, our paths don't cross in any way. Will I describe him to you?"
I nod over the rim of my glass as I'm taking a drink. "Please do. I'm hooked already."
CJ chuckles. "Not as bad as I was hooked I can tell you. I'd been there a couple of days, and late morning I strolled down to the beach in my speedos and with a large towel hanging over my shoulder, plus a cool bag that contained my lunch." More chuckles. "Speedos were still the in thing back in those days. None of these passion-killer long shorts they wear today. Not that long shorts would have adorned my Andrey. He didn't even wear a speedo. Nude from head to foot, and proud of it. His mother wasn't too different. She wore a skimpy pair of bikini bottoms. Nothing up top to hide her fantastic breasts. That's why I chose to settle into a sun bed near to her. I thought she was alone."
I raise my eyebrows. "Didn't know you were into the women?"
A shrug of the shoulders. "I'm not, but if I'm going to choose my scenery for the day then I'm not going to park my arse by the side of a wannabe Mr Universe or an old crone, am I?"
"Why did you think she was alone?"
"Because she was on her own and there was no one else near her... Stupid! In fact there were not a lot of people on the beach that day." He grins. "Thinking back, that was quite fortuitous."
"So where was Andrey?"
"In the sea. I had no idea there was an Andrey until he came sauntering up the beach and sat on his mother's legs. I saw him long before he got to us though. How could I miss him! I think my chin must have dropped onto my chest when he was walking towards us, and when I saw him grin at the lady next to me, I thought I was dreaming. Talk about luck! I think the God of all the little people was looking after me that day. I had a paperback book on my lap. It's a good job I did. Even so, the book magically raised itself up when I saw Andrey. I had to place my hand on it to stop it becoming even more magical. You've seen Watson's Golden boy... well I can honestly tell you that Andrey could have been the boy's doppelgänger."
"He was that beautiful?"
CJ sighs. "And more. We only get to see Golden Boy's upper body. I was looking at `Golden Boy' in his entirety... the real deal. He was completely naked and his gorgeous body was tanned without lines. The sun had also bleached his light brown hair so that it looked as if Watson had sprayed it. A mass of curls it was."
I chuckle. "And that?"
"At the time it was a little shrivelled, as was his ball sac. He had just come out of the cold water you know." CJ chuckles. "Cold water and boys' jewels don't mix too well. But to save you asking and interrupting me again on the subject, once it regained body heat, it was rather nice. As thick as my thumb and roughly four inches long... soft that is. The little darling was well-blessed. And his balls were well-developed, which, as you know, only happens with some boys. Oh yes, they went well together when he was warmed up."
"And when he was really warmed up?"
CJ subconsciously rubs his tongue over his lips. "He had the perfect phallus for sexual intercourse. If it was a banana, it certainly wouldn't be rejected by Tesco's. Uncut, of course. They don't mutilate their kids in Russia. He was as the Boy God had created him; wholesome and complete... just how I like them." He takes another drink of his wine and looks across the table at me. "Now may I continue?"
I grin at him, take a sip from my own glass, and reply, "Carry on maestro. I'm getting a semi hard-on here."
More chuckles from my friend. "Wait until I get to the really juicy bits. You'll definitely need a cold shower. Now where was I before you interrupted me? Oh yes, he was sitting on his mother's legs. Facing me. Was I looking at him? Of course I was. Our eyes met; he smiled; I smiled, and the bond was created. And just to let me know that it was, he got up, picked up a towel and dried his body in full exhibitionist mode. Front first, and then he turned away from me and showed me how an uninhibited boy dries himself in front of a dirty old man who he knows he's teasing. My Andrey didn't miss a trick. After he'd dwelt a while caressing his superb bottom with the towel, he bent over to dry his legs. Straight legged he was, and that gorgeous bum opened enough for me to see almost to boy heaven. Then he spread the towel out to dry on a largish spur of rock that was jutting out of the sand, and lay directly on top of his mother with his arms around her neck. Like Andrey, she was superb of form, and not small. He fitted perfectly onto her, his head nestled under her chin, and her boobs squashed under his weight. It was beautiful... mother and son in perfect harmony." CJ grins. "I didn't know at that juncture how harmonic it would become." He looks across at me again. "Ready for that shower yet?"
I laugh. "Almost, but I suspect the best is yet to come?"
"Indeed it is! Did I tell you that Andrey had his face towards me?"
I shake my head. "No. Was he looking at you?"
CJ shakes his head. "No, not looking, he was studying me. From head to foot and I just knew he wasn't too pleased that I had a book covering my own jewels. By now I'd worked him out. What I was looking at was not just a boy. I've met boys like him before, and since. His sexy, protruding lips were the key. I've never been wrong. Give me a boy with sexy, protruding lips, and I'll give you an oversexed creature who can wear an old man out. But I wasn't an old man at the time: I was in my prime at thirty-one." CJ chuckles. "And as you know, I have sexy, protruding lips. Like for like we were, and that's why I leaned over and reached to my right to take out a bottle of iced water from my cool-bag. Naturally, the book slid from my lap onto the sand, and I didn't bother to pick it when I resumed my original position. So now my boy God could feast his honey eyes on me and take what he wanted. It did the trick. I was rewarded with a wonderful smile as he explored my own entirety, including the obvious bulge in my speedos. The scene was set."
"So what next?"
"Something you may think I'm making up, but I can assure you that I'm not. Andrey stopped looking at me and began to plant gentle kisses on his mother's collar bone. Then he worked his way up and nuzzled her neck. She responded by stroking his back with both hands. He moved his head a little higher and whispered something in her ear. She glanced at me when he did, and then looked away."
At this point I have to interrupt my friend. "A bit of incest thrown in, eh?"
CJ grinned. "I prefer to call it hippy mode. You know what they were like, those hippies, free love any way... without restrictions." He sighs. "If only the world had adopted the hippy philosophy... you and I wouldn't be hiding amongst the detritus of life now. So let's call it `hippy mode' and have done with it. Anyway, after Andrey had whispered sweet nothings in Mrs Andrey's ear, she hoisted him up her body a bit and began to give the beautiful boy her full attention, and Andrey adopted the complete exhibitionist mode by nestling his head in the crook of her neck whilst studying my body. Although it was mummy giving him the sensations, I knew exactly where his mind was. I decided to help him out by lowering my sun bed, and after I'd relaxed I placed my hand on Old Roger and fondled him. Mrs Andrey couldn't see what I was doing. Her head was facing away from me. Had she done it deliberately? Very probably. Maybe it was part of the whispered plot."
I giggled. "You became the fly in this web of intrigue."
CJ nodded and grinned. "A willing fly. Even more so when Mrs Andrey began to fondle her boy's wonderful, soft bottom. The thought did cross my mind that this act was not unfamiliar to them both. Then I knew it wasn't when she slipped her right hand under Andrey, especially when the boy willingly lifted his body to allow her access. And I was left in no doubt what his state of mind was. I caught a glimpse of a fully aroused Little Roger before he settled back into her groping hand. Then, by God, the little vixen put three fingers between his lips and began to suck on them. No ambiguity now, so I stroked Old Roger as if I was putting him between those saliva covered lips. It didn't take long. Not for me thank goodness. I would have been in a hell of a mess if I'd succumbed to this exotic display of boy need. No, it was Andrey who shuddered and reached his magic peak as his dear mummy worked him off." CJ sighs and shakes his head. "I swear it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, and it was definitely the most sensual moment of my boy loving life. And I've known a lot of those."
"Then what happened?"
CJ grins at me. "Not a lot. Well, sexually, that is. The deed was done and I was snared. Andrey, like most normal boys, had had his moment of pleasure and needed a rest between his magic moments. Mummy knew the score, and they resumed their normal positions. All that was needed now was the introductions. Andrey began those. After he'd waited a suitable time for Little Roger to become presentable again, he again sat on his mother's legs, and then smiled at me before asking in pigeon English, You are from London, England?"
"I pretended to be astonished at his perception, but I knew how he knew. The book that was covering Old Roger was an English language version of Schindler's List. As for the London bit... foreigners think we all live in the capital. Anyway, I helped him along, but I spoke in Russian to help him out. I am indeed. And you and your mother?"
"He grinned, but didn't answer. It was his mother who smiled at me and said, We are from the north. Leningrad. You know of it?"
"I told them that I did, and that I'd worked there a couple of years earlier. Then it all came out. She and Andrey were there because it's where they always stayed during the summer while her husband was busy. When she knew I was in the Diplomatic Corps, she opened up even more and I discovered who her husband was. We then spent the whole afternoon together, and I even managed to arrange for her and Andrey to have dinner with me at the hotel later that day. It was all jolly good fun."
I chuckled. "I'll bet it was. Was there more hanky-panky that afternoon?"
"No. The deed was done, and without speaking, we all knew the score. Mrs Andrey was a liberal lady who understood her son perfectly and her only concern was her boy's happiness. The situation was ideal really. Had I been a citizen of their country then I'm sure nothing would have happened. You know how it is... you don't shit in your own backyard. Mummy understood that her boy needed an outlet for his unnatural desires, and what better outlet than a foreigner, especially one who was a diplomat and knew how to keep his counsel."
"And what was Andrey doing all this time while you two were planning and plotting his sex life?"
"He was being a boy. He went into the sea a number of times, came back and showed off his superb body, and he even had a play with me."
"With Old Roger?"
CJ snorts through his grin. "No! Well, not openly. During one of our wrestling bouts I did manage to get behind him while he was in the doggy position, and I wasn't backward in coming forward when I pressed Old Roger hard against his bottom."
"And Mrs Andrey was watching all this?"
"Not really. She said we were like a couple of silly boys and went back to maintaining her tan. She'd done part of her job, and now it was up to Andrey and I to cement the relationship."
"Part of her job?"
"Yes... only part of her job. The hardest part was yet to come. We had to overcome the walls have ears and eyes bit for our affair to take fruition. She was working on that part while she was tanning. Anyway, let's skip the frolics in the sand and get to dinner. It was formal, so I dressed like James Bond to impress. I even wore a white suit and ordered a Martini, shaken not stirred to add to the charade. After all, this was a game we were playing." CJ wafts a hand at me. "Open that new bottle and fill the glasses again John. I want to tell you about the bit when I really fell in love with Andrey. It's not all about frolics you know! Well, you do know. I'll never forget the time you met Noah. You were like a silly girl... putty in his beautiful hands. I envied you at the time. He was a little bit old for me, but he was an absolute stunner. Those eyes! Oh, those eyes! Brrrr!"
I laugh at his remark. He's right. Noah was the son of one of my subordinates. We met at a house-warming. He was thirteen years old and I was smitten the moment I laid eyes upon him. And he me! It was wonderful relationship that lasted until he was sixteen and went off with his parents to New Zealand. We kept in touch for a few months, and then it died a slow death due to the distance between us. I open the new bottle, fill our glasses, raise mine, and salute my young lover, "To Noah."
CJ clinks his glass against mine. "To Noah." We take a large nibble from our glasses and my friend continues his tale. "Back to Andrey. Although I love boys when they're naked, I adore them even more when their superb bodies are dressed well, especially when I know exactly what's beneath the garments. Mummy Andrey had done a wonderful job. He wore a black linen two piece dinner suit and dress shoes that you could see your face in, and he was even dickie bowed up. Gold cufflinks in his dress shirt too, and a gold boys Patek Philippe watch that, after we'd eaten, gave us ten minutes of togetherness while he displayed all the functions. Just imagine it John... the most beautiful eleven year old boy I'd seen in my entire life, and he was being presented to me dressed like royalty. You couldn't make this stuff up. It only happens in dreams. But this was reality and I was tumbling head over heels into an abyss of forbidden emotions with a boy whose perfume was driving me crazy with desire. I don't think I even tasted the butter-poached lobster served with pickled mango, strawberries and pea shoots that I had for dinner that evening. By God... Mrs Andrey certainly knew her perfumes."
I giggled. "Wish I'd been a fly on the wall. Seeing you outmanoeuvred by a woman and a boy doesn't sit well with me. I've always regarded you as the most confident boy-trapper ever. What happened to the James Bond charade?"
CJ laughs. "He'd not gone away. I would have made good actor you know. I could have played James Bond when I was a young man. Even though I say so myself, I was a handsome beast until I reached fifty." He giggles. "Perhaps even later." He strokes his full head of immaculate grey hair. "Even now I can turn the heads of some young boys. I've not lost the touch... thank goodness." He grins directly at me. "As a matter of fact, John, we've got company on Sunday. I've arranged for a couple of river boys to join us for lunch. Yours is called George. He's fourteen. You'll like him. I've shown him a photograph of you and his face lit up." Again he grins. "Well, you are still a handsome bugger. You've aged quite well actually."
Nothing about CJ surprises me, and I know he's not fooling about the River Boys. But I am curious, and I ask him, "And how did this all come about?"
CJ shrugs his shoulders and matter of factly says, "He and his younger brother came down the river one day in a wreck of an old rowing boat. They were having difficulty and ended up on my jetty. I helped them out, fed and watered them, let them watch some TV while I dried their clothes, took them home in the Audi, and they've been back half a dozen times and more since then. Their choice. I've even bought them a games console to while their time away."
"Any hanky-panky," I enquire.
"Oh yes. They know I'm an old queer. That's part of the attraction. Daniel is a normal boy and will be straight when he's older, so for him it's just a bit of hanky-panky. He gets to enjoy an hour of me satisfying his boy-feelings and rewards me afterwards by relieving my tensions. At first it was by hand, but now he's content to let me do it myself between his gorgeous bottom cheeks while he plays games on his phone. No penetration. That's a definite no-no... unfortunately. But yours, George, is proper queer." CJ gives me an enquiring glance. "Are you up for it?"
"How old is Daniel?"
"Eleven. But a young-looking eleven. He's petite. It's George I feel a bit sorry for. I've orally pleasured him a couple of times and he's done the same for me, but he needs someone who really appreciates him. I can't do that because he's too old for me. He has a swathe of those damned adolescent pubes, and as you know, I'm not into pubes. I like my boys hairless. But George will suit you down to the ground. He was like a dog with a bone when I gave him the photograph to look at." CJ laughs. "You may find yourself out of your depth after the write-up I've given you. I think you'd better drink Martini – shaken not stirred."
We both laugh then. And when our laughter has subsided, I ask, "Back to Andrey? You were having dinner."
CJ sighs. "Ah, Andrey. Well, it's a long story." He looks at his watch. "It's almost midnight. How about I finish off the tale tomorrow evening? I don't want to rush it and miss out any of the juicy bits. Besides, I think I may have consumed a little too much of this red. It's jolly good stuff, isn't it?"
I pick up my glass and empty it. "Indeed it is. Okay, we'll call it a day. What will we be doing tomorrow?"
"Ahh... tomorrow. The boys have given me a list of new games they need. We'll go into town and see if they have them. I should have ordered them over the internet, but I've been too busy. Let's hope we can find them in town. If not then we'll have to make a purpose journey to Oxford. They'll have them there. Can't let the boys down, can we?"
I chuckle. "Not if our sex lives depend on it, definitely not."
**********************
End of boy-talk time. It's been a good day with my friend, and the promise of two more days in his company have added to my good disposition when I go to bed, especially because, after the tale of Andrey is done, there's Sunday to come and, hopefully, I'm about to enjoy the wonderful, intimate company of a boy for the first time in a few years. And I'm just about to get in bed when CJ walks uninvited into my bedroom. He chuckles when he hands me a 6x4 photograph. "Thought you might like this," he says, and then walks back out chuckling like a demented soul, but before he completely closes the door, he adds, "That's George. I asked if I could take a photo of him while he was thinking about you. Note, amongst other things, that he's looking at the photograph of you while I took the pic. Sweet dreams!"
I sit on the bed and look at the photograph. CJ said George had been excited when he looked at a photograph of me. Well I can tell you that he couldn't have been as excited as I am. George, while he's looking at the photograph of me, has his jeans down to his knees and his boyhood is fully erect. And as an added bonus, he's exactly the sort of boy who would turn my head if we passed in the street. He has dark hair and is an extremely handsome boy. Just my type, and I'm thrilled that I may be about to take another avenue into that world called The Sound of Silence. But some things are worth the purgatory of forbidden love.
And in
the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.
To be continued...
You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.