Date: Fri, 15 Jul 2022 22:17:46 +0000
From: Lizard69 <69lizard69@pm.me>
Subject: The Down Low Railroad

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The Down Low Railroad
(Mm, humil)
Lizard69


	I waved to my folks as Mr. Perkins finally pulled out of the
driveway.  Loading my gear hadn't taken that long, even with trying to fit
it in between the camping equipment already in the car.  Looking back now,
my folks were probably as thrilled to have me out of the house for a week
as I was to be making the trip.  Or as thrilled as I would have been if it
was actually the trip I pitched to them while trying to get permission.

	Mr. Perkins was an associate professor of archaeology at the
community college.  I'd started showing up at his open enrollment lectures,
along with a load of other people, after a couple movies had triggered an
interest.  Unlike most of the others, I continued to show up for the local
field trips and dump digs until the turn out got so low he quit listing
them and just told me when and where, eventually meeting my folks when he
started picking me up at home.  That was also after I discovered we shared
some, uh, other interests.

	If he had been a street creep or blue collar type they might have
been a little curious about me hanging around with a guy close to twice my
age.  Neither of them had been to college and they treated him like one of
my teachers though I wasn't enrolled in any "for credit" course and
couldn't legitimately call him a tutor.  Most of the time he was letting me
tag along while he did "hobby archaeology" so he'd have an excuse to ramble
about the significance, if any, of the things we unearthed.  They were
happy to let this cheerful, soft spoken, mannerly, guy get me out from
underfoot a couple times a week.  I sure as hell wasn't going to tell them
about the other stuff, all the things that were part of having him as my
mentor.

	This week we were exploring one of the routes of the pre civil war
"underground railroad".  Most people didn't realize this ever existed in a
northern state like ours.  The runaway slave laws had moved the finish line
to the Canadian border by the time the shooting started.  I'd also learned
that not all slaves were really dark, especially those born in this
country.  Boys with less of a tan than me were sometimes property only
because of their ancestry.  We had been discussing that for a couple weeks
whenever there wasn't anybody else around.

	If my folks had any clue what we were planning they wouldn't have
let me go and might not let me come back.  The role play we discussed had
me so horny I almost came in my pants when he passed me the note.
Mr. Perkins had used a quill and parchment to make up a good imitation of
an 1859 dated bill of sale for an octoroon buck thirteen years of age,
purchased at auction in the nearest state where such sales were still
conducted at that time.  A single great-grandparent who was a slave and
black herself would have caused me to be recorded as a slave if I was
descended through her daughter and grand-daughter even if all of us had
white fathers.  In some states great grandma would only have had to be half
black, making me one sixteenth black and a slave while close relatives my
age, even those with darker skin but descended by different lines were
"freeborn".

	A few years before simply crossing into this state would have set
me free.  A federal law passed as a compromise with the slave states now
required me to be returned to my owner on demand unless I managed to escape
as far as Canada or the western territories.  All of this was in a time
long gone but I couldn't help looking at Mr. Perkins and thinking that he
was a better example of some slave owners than the evil monsters in my
middle school history book.  Yes, he could do whatever he wanted with his
property, including me.  He was also an educated, temperate, man who would
get no pleasure from intentionally tormenting his livestock.

	"Were duels still legal in this state in 1859?"

	"Technically yes but it took some pretty extreme public provocation
to make one socially acceptable.  There was no level of provocation that
would make a slave shooting his master anything but murder."

	"If somebody accused you of raping your slave?"

	"Not even close to enough.  First because it wouldn't be rape.  To
most of the people alive at that time what you think about how I get my
kicks couldn't possibly matter.  Some would be offended I was doing that
with a boy, mostly because of your age."

	"Because I'm so young?"

	"Because you're getting too old.  It wasn't unusual for ships to
have a cabin boy aged ten to twelve.  At thirteen he was usually carried on
the roll as a regular crew member and subject to the same punishment as the
rest of the crew if he got caught fucking men.  Same thing on land.  Below
ten the guy you're with is abusing a child.  At thirteen you're expected to
be doing a mans work and enjoying the privileges that go with it like
courting the girl who might become the mother of your children.  A tween
was expected to be learning a trade and anything else the man putting a
roof over his head and food on the table wanted to teach him.  A public
accusation of impropriety would have been frowned upon whether the person
was accused or accuser.  Decent people didn't talk about such things in
public."

	It was still early afternoon when we pulled into the campground
that was our first stop.  By the time we put together a late lunch, cleaned
up and got camp set up I was eager to explore.  The thing is, the
excitement of the coming trip had kept me awake most of the night before
and I somehow managed to nod off instead.  Mr. Perkins got me out on one of
the hiking trails while there was still some daylight left.  Stopping on an
overlook where we could see the string of lakes and a river the area was
known for.

	"We don't know how many of the way stations survive.  Their status
was a secret when they were in use and a non-issue for many years after.
We do know that runaways traveled at night and avoided roads.  This river
valley was a natural corridor.  The river meanders.  They could walk all
night and only cover a short straight line distance.  It's more likely they
followed the ridge line.  While this trail is marked and maintained today
I'm sure it existed long before this land was made into a park.  We'll come
back later tonight to see it as a runaway might have."

	Back at camp, he pulled out some tan clothing.

	"These are surgical scrubs.  They're about the closest thing to
1850 slave clothes you can buy today.  Pull over top, drawstring pants, no
pockets, back then even the owners didn't buy much clothing ready to wear.
These would have been stitched up by the plantation women out of cheap
cloth, possibly bought from the same traders who purchased the bales of raw
cotton.  I want you to change into them for our night hike.  Skip the
briefs.  Any budget conscious slave owner would have laughed at the idea of
underwear for the livestock."

	I was glad it was dark when I came out of the tent.  There was some
hope nobody would notice the personal tent I was carrying with me.  I
suppose it could have been worse.  I was at the age when a really serious
erection was closer to noon than nine.  The top was large enough hang down
past the growing spot where a steady trickle of pre-cum was darkening the
fabric.  There wasn't much time to read his expression before he killed the
camp light but he seemed to approve.  Something he confirmed by pulling me
off the trail while we were still within earshot of the camp to spend some
time groping me while we were sucking face.

	"Having you with me in public is delightfully frustrating.  I can't
help thinking about all the things we do in private, while knowing the
people around us would be chasing me with torches and pitchforks if they
discovered our secret."

	"We should get further away from the camp."

	So we did, but there wasn't any hurry.  Twice more he stopped to
spend some time kissing and groping me.  Maybe "invest" would be a better
word.  I'd come a long way from the kid willing to tolerate some
uncomfortable moments to keep his mentor happy.  Eventually we were back
on, or rather a little way off, the trail we'd checked out earlier.

	"You can do whatever you want with me and it's a pretty safe bet
that we'll do it more than once before we're back in camp.  There's nothing
delightful about the way I feel right now.  It's more like I'm dying of
thirst and you're teasing me with a wet rag, giving me a sponge bath when I
want to dive into a lake."

	"Never let it be said that I don't try to be accommodating."

	Leading me to a nearby tree, he had me plant my hands against it
with my wrists tightly together as if bound though there was nothing but my
own determination to keep them so.  Pushing the top over my head until it
was bunched on my forearms he then had me lift one foot out of the pants he
dropped around my ankles so I could spread for him.  It wasn't the first
time he had me outdoors.  Those times were usually rushed.  Tonight the
fear of getting caught was more of an added spice than something to really
worry about.  After a final deep kiss he looped his belt around my neck,
slipping the spot normally hidden by the buckle between my teeth.

	More than once I'd triggered some intense erections thinking about
the bite marks in that piece of leather while people around us had no idea
they existed.  He never gagged me.  Sometimes he even teased about having
me somewhere it would be ok to get noisy.  More often, the things I did
trying to muffle the sounds I wanted to make were an added thrill.  I can't
say I relaxed when his fingers pushed the first cool blob of lube between
my cheeks.  My ass hole lost some tension, welcoming the gentle penetration
that would get me ready for what was coming.  The rest of my body was as
tight as a strung bow.  By the time he was gliding the head of his cock up
and down my crack I was trembling and whimpering.

	"Ohhh yeah!  I love it when you get like this.  I'd never have the
nerve to rape your ass the way you do it for me."

	That was the final straw.  I pushed myself back until his wiry
pubes were grinding against my butt cheeks.  Even after months of practice
I couldn't do it as quick as I wanted.  Or maybe I could have.  Some tiny
part of me *wanted* to be completely wrecked by my mentors cock. The rest
of me though, was willing to take it a little slower, feel my ass open for
him, become the next best thing to a pussy, better in some ways.  I relaxed
to the familiar sensation of his cock sliding in and out of my tight
slippery ring.  He stood motionless while his hands were all over me,
driving me crazy as I picked up the pace until I was frantically trying to
jerk a load out of his rock hard cock.  He wasn't my lover, not even a fuck
buddy.  I was his cunt, lucky to be allowed to masturbate him with my ass
hole.  I don't know exactly when my teeth lost their grip on his belt.  It
was still firmly in place when he dumped his load deep inside me, but
flopping against my chest when I was gasping as my own cock erupted moments
later.

	"I *hate* doing it that way."

	"Really?  You could have fooled me."

	"I don't mind getting naked or being your cunt.  I even ask for it
sometimes.  I, uh, I kinda like having you fuck me.  Cumming while you do
it is embarrassing but a whole lot better than *not* cumming.  Popping a
load hands free is like having this incredible itch that I finally got to
scratch then had to stop just before I finished scratching it.  The itch is
almost completely gone but I'm not quite done and won't be until I do it
again."

	"I can live with that."

	"I know.  That's part of why I hate it.  Now we're going to put
some clothes back on and hike around for a while.  Eventually we'll go back
to camp.  If I ask real nice and promise to be really quiet you might let
me take off my clothes and fuck me while I jerk off.  To get what I want,
what I need right now, I have to talk you into it."

	"Is that really so bad?  It's not like you have to make a formal
request."

	"Would that help?  Mr. Perkins sir, I know you just finished raping
me 'til I came, but as soon as you can manage it I would like to have
homosexual intercourse."

	"Uh, you might not have to wait so long after all."

	That set the tone for the next few days.  It wasn't like, rape,
rape, rape, every time he could get me somewhere private.  Knowing that he
could was constantly in the background.  It started out somewhere between
awkward and exciting.  Soon it became such a part of the trip that if I
wasn't thinking about it for a few minutes it was like something was
missing.  After we turned around at the Canadian border Mr. Perkins
suggested a side trip to visit a couple of old neighbors who had a cottage
in the north woods.

	Learning to swim, like many other physical activities was much
harder work than it needed to be.  Eventually practice and confidence would
smooth the motions making the process much more efficient.  For now it
helped to be working so hard in water that hadn't warmed much by this early
part of the summer.  I was winded and a little wobbly when Mr. Perkins
boosted me up on the dock and we started walking up to the cottage
overlooking the lake.  He seemed pleased with my progress or at least my
eagerness to follow his directions.

	That thought had hardly crossed my mind when his hand lightly
brushed my back, reawakening memories of other directions I'd followed,
perhaps not quite so eagerly.  It didn't help that I'd really outgrown last
years swimsuit.  I was fully erect when I saw the couple at the table on
the back deck of the cottage.  Mr. Perkins felt me tense up, and slowed our
pace so that I could settle down before getting close enough for our hosts
to notice.  They owned the lake, actually more of a large pond, the land
surrounding it and the cottage where they sat with a pitcher of lemonade
and glasses.  He'd introduced them as friends of his parents and old
neighbors.

	She was trim, silver haired, either completely gray or the sort of
platinum blond that doesn't really change with age.  He was the sort of
square bodied guy that would always look more at home driving a bulldozer
than running the excavating company.  They were in their early fifties, too
young to be retired, ancient to a boy still getting used to being a teen.
She was pouring as we approached and managed to delay handing me a glass
long enough for her husband to drag Mr. Perkins off to look at some
landscaping he'd done since my mentors last visit.  While she wasn't
exactly the motherly type her smile didn't ring any mental alarms as she
asked me to take a seat.

	"I don't know how long my husband can keep him occupied so forgive
me for sort of pushing you into the deep end of the pool.  We were very
close to Samuel's parents, knew him before he could walk.  While trying not
to pry, we still heard about several youthful indiscretions in enough
detail to have a fairly good notion of some of his more personal
preferences.  He isn't mean or evil and is welcome in our home, this one or
any of the others, alone or with a guest.  We're returning to the city in a
little while and we've offered him the use of our cottage for the next few
days instead of paying for commercial accommodations.

	"While this might save you the embarrassment of exiting the hotel
pool with an obvious erection, it will also leave you in a position where,
should you decide you no longer enjoy the company, leaving might not be so
easy.  This *is* our home, one of them, and while we can't control
everything that happens we'd feel some responsibility towards anyone kept
here against his will.  If you'd like, we can give you a ride to the bus
station and a ticket home, no questions asked."

	If she had any remaining doubts that there were going to be some
*very* embarrassing moments in my near future, I was quickly blushing hard
enough to melt them away.

	"I.. Uh... That's ok, I don't need a ride."

	"All right, I'm sorry if I upset you.  You appear to be rather
young for this sort of thing.  Don't tell me your age, if anything goes
wrong it's better that I don't know.  There is one thing I'm a little
curious about if it isn't too personal."

	All I could do was stare.  She was sitting there in a tailored
blouse and slacks, what I'd later recognize as, "expensive casual".  That,
and her manner, put her a couple steps up the social ladder from my folks
or anyone they knew well.  The conversation she'd opened was way too
personal almost from the first word.  I could almost see the question
coming but had no idea how to stop or deflect it.

	"We've been married long enough that my husband and I have at least
tried nearly everything imaginable.  Samuel is clearly much larger than
you.  Isn't anal intercourse with him rather, well, uncomfortable?"

	"I...  Uh...  You're going to think I'm crazy.  Can I trust you to
keep a secret?  Not even tell Mr. Perkins?"

	"Yes, though it seems odd that you don't use his first name."

	"I...  I like being with him.  Learning from him, the attention,
it's like he's the first one outside my family that really cares.  When I
found out he wanted to do... stuff, I didn't know anything about that.
There was so much I liked about being around him that trying something
awkward and embarrassing wasn't asking too much.  By the time I really
understood what he was doing it was already part of being with him.  I like
making him happy.  Ok, it's a weird way to make somebody happy but I could
live with that."

	"So by most peoples standards he's taking advantage of you."

	"I guess, at least he was.  Then it changed.  One day, after we
both were pretty sure I'd do anything he wanted, he had this other guy with
him.  It was somebody he knew but a total stranger to me.  He, uh,
Mr. Perkins, wanted me to tell the other guy, Brian, that I did stuff."

	"Oh my!  He... shared you?"

	"Not exactly.  Telling Brian that Mr. Perkins was fucking me is
like the opposite of telling somebody who would try to stop it.  After that
it was... different.  Men fuck me.  It's awkward and embarrassing.  Some of
it is really uncomfortable.  Homo-sex is still sex.  Even when it's not
much fun I *like* thinking about the pleasure he's getting from doing it to
me.  If my folks found out they'd go nuts.  My dad would kill him, then
probably kill me too.  Please don't tell.  Promise?"

	Her husband and Samuel, Mr. Perkins to me, picked that moment to
return.  After a few minutes of small talk they made their exit. She
hesitated for a minute as she was leaving, giving me a final long look,
before getting quickly into the car.

	As the car drove away the last she saw of me was a skinny kid with
an older mans arm around his shoulders, and a raging hardon bulging the
front of his undersized swimsuit.

	"She knows."

	He didn't bother asking what exactly she knew.

	"You told her?"

	"She told me.  Said they knew about some things from when you were
a kid.  She offered me a ride into town and a bus ticket."

	"Apparently you declined."

	"I wanted to crawl under a rock, worse than when you had me tell
Brian.  She's so relieved that you aren't any worse than she already
thought you were, asking me about it was kind of , 'glad it's not an
issue'.  Like she couldn't care less if you fucked me 'til the cows came
home but had to make sure they weren't helping you do it."

	"I'm sorry you had to deal with that.  Try not to worry about it."

	"I won't.  It's just...  Is she going to tell?"

	"Her husband?  Probably.  Almost certainly.  Anybody else?  I doubt
it."

	"So it's not actually like Brian, I'm not doing it with them.  They
just know where I'm at, who I'm with, and what we're doing."

	"Sorry I brought you here?"

	"It's no big deal.  I mean it is, but it isn't."

	"Am I the only one a little confused?"

	"The first time, I would have crawled naked through broken glass to
keep anyone from knowing about it.  Then we did it again...  and again...
and some more...  until it's something I do now.  I'm not going to rent a
billboard.  Life wouldn't be much fun if the whole world found out.
Especially if they found out that I like it, being your cunt.  She knows
you fucked me, that you're going to do it again, that it's not a problem
for me.  She might even be telling her husband about it right now."

	"How do you feel about that?"

	"Horny."

(probably not)
The End