The Richard Harris

This little ghost story is all about a middle-aged man and a teenage boy, so if this is not your thing please find something else to read. If it is your thing but you're not supposed to read it, then you do so at your own risk and of your own choice.

 

The Richard Harris

By Ivor Sukwell.

 

"Nice," Reggie commented, looking at the narrow boat gleaming with fresh paint. The traditional red, blue, green and yellow swirls and painted flowers eye-catching in their bright newness.

The boat's name, Richard Harris, a daring red outlined with yellow, prominent along the side of the prow.

"I'm pleased with her," the man Reggie was talking with, smiled proudly. "You wouldn't believe the state she was in when I got her. Had to replace loads of her timbers and do the inside from scratch.
She'd been left to rot for about fifty years and I picked her up for a song. Sort of a hobby project, really. Didn't expect to get her more than half-way decent but she came together really well, so I thought I'd have a go at renting her out.
You're my first customer," he grinned.

"I suppose a fair few of the old narrow boats were just left to rot when the canals closed," Reggie said, more by way of conversation than asking for information.

"They were, and then when someone got the bright idea of restoring the canals so people could float up and down them for holidays, the majority of the old boats were so far gone they couldn't be restored.
New one are all metal hulls now, of course; work well enough by not quite the same, is it."

"Guess it's not," Reggie agreed. "I suppose you were lucky to find one still well enough preserved to restore."

"No-one else wanted her," the owner shrugged, "And I reckoned I'd get a few years fun out of seeing what I could do with her.
Strange thing about her was that the entire centre was scorched and the inside burnt out as though there'd been a major fire on her.
I found out later from an old guy who'd spent his life on the canal, when it was a canal that is, that she'd suffered from a freak lightning strike, and that's why she'd been abandoned."

"That sort of thing's pretty rare, I would think," Reggie, only vaguely interested, nodded.

"Certainly is," the owner agreed. "Plenty of other things like trees around for lightning to strike. Low lying boat in with almost no chance of being struck."

"Well," Reggie hurried to conclude the conversation as he was eager to get started on his holiday, "You've certainly done a good job on her.
Just one thing, though," Reggie frowned slightly, "It's a boat so it's a `she', so why name her Richard Harris?"

"Bit of a funny story, that," the owner shrugged, "I rented an old boat shed to do her up in, and after I'd been working on her for a couple of years, this teenage lad turned up out of the blue and asked if he could help. Well, wasn't a lot he could do, to be honest, but it was quite handy having a lad to do the fetching and carrying sort of thing, and then when it came to painting and decorating her I was going to hire in someone to do it, but the lad asked if he could have a go, and bloody good he was at it, as well. Everything you see is his work."

"Saved you a penny or two," Reggie smiled.

"Bloody did," the owner agreed, "So when we were nearly done I thought it'd be a nice gesture to let him name her as he'd be painting the name on the side. He asked if he could name her after himself, so we did, and that's why she's now the Richard Harris.

"That's rather sweet," Reggie grinned. Curious then because even the mere mention of a teenage boy stirred Reggie's curiosity, "The lad still around?"

"Not seen a hair of him since the boat was finished," the owner shrugged. "Pity really. Nice lad, always smiling and happy. Don't get a lot of kids his age like that nowadays."

And that, Reggie thought, was certainly the truth!

Reggie stowed his stuff aboard, had an increasingly admiring look around, started the engine to get the generator running and thought about making himself a coffee. He decided against it because he just wanted to get the boat out on the water, not thinking that, later, making a coffee and steering a boat at the same time could be a problem.

He'd been chugging up the canal at the breakneck speed of three miles per hour for about fifteen minutes, mostly just enjoying being on the boat and thinking how fortunate he had been in going for the Richard Harris instead of getting a modern, steel hulled version, when he began to get a feeling that he was not alone.

It was nonsense, of course, because he'd checked over the boat with the owner before casting off, and there was certainly no-one else on board then, and he doubted that anyone could have jumped aboard unseen when he was casting off.

It was total nonsense, but the feeling persisted, and not just persisted but grew stronger.

Giving in to it, Reggie turned from view ahead to look behind him and got a shock of seismic proportions. Lounging against the deckhouse door just behind him was a teenage lad, grinning cheerfully from ear to ear.

"What do you think of me?" the boy asked before Reggie could demand what the hell was he doing on the boat.

"Think of you?" he said, puzzled.

Puzzled though he was, his brain had still managed to register that he was looking at a teenage boy, and a very pleasant example of that species as well.

Apart from his infectious smile, the boy had a lot going for him in Reggie's opinion. About five feet six inches in height, willow slender without a hint of skinniness, and with legs that seemed to go all the way up to his armpits, though they did, in fact, stop being legs at the place where legs cease to become legs in the normal course of things, they were the sort of boy legs that a man of Reggie's inclinations had an instinctive desire to uncover and admire with more than simply his eyes.

All this was topped with a tidy, neat and fairly short cut head of light brown hair and blue eyes that twinkled in sympathy with that infectious smile.

Reggie's immediate thought was to respond to the lad's question with a heartfelt `I think you're fucking gorgeous,' but instead managed only that `Think of you?'

"Of the boat, silly," the boy grinned even more widely and Reggie's heart did a jump or two.

The boy's voice was a sweet as his appearance, a teenage voice that had broken but not yet been smashed, a sort of treble tenor, not a hint of baritone or bass in it.

"I think it's wonderful," Reggie croaked, meaning really, `I think you're wonderful'.

"Good. I'm glad you like me," another huge smile.

`God,' Reggie thought, `I wish you meant you and not the boat!'

"I do," he said instead, "I think you're a work of art." And that he meant about the boy as well as the boat.

"Oh, good. I hoped you would."

Reggie stared at the boy, at his face, which was not spectacular, just teenage boy; at his shirt covered chest, which was slender and firm looking; at his faded blue jeans covered legs that he couldn't help wondering how they would look without the faded blue jeans covering them; and at the boy's centre point, hoping that those faded blue jeans would give some hint of the boy's essential delight, but, try as he did, he saw nothing there, though his boy-addicted mind hoped that what he could not, and undoubtedly never would, see was as pure, complete and perfect slender teenage boy as the rest of him.

But, delightful as the boy was to look at, and despite the fact that Reggie had been without boy company for far too long, practicality over-ruled all other thoughts and inclinations and he felt obliged to ask what the boy was doing on the boat.

"I'm Richard Harris," the boy smiled, and it seemed that he could do nothing except smile, "And this," he said, indicating the narrow boat around them, "Is Richard Harris as well, so I suppose you could say that I belong on it."

"But you can't just sail up and down the canal for a fortnight, which is what I intend to do," Reggie pointed out, resorting to practicalities. "Parents, relatives and such will all be wanting to know where you are."

"They all know," another smile from the boy, "And I promise you they're all quite happy about it."

"They are?" They couldn't be, Reggie knew that for sure. No parents in this day and age would let a boy in the perfection of his early adolescence sail up and down a canal on a narrow boat in the sole company of a man of fifty five.

"Really, they are," the boy assured him, "They know exactly where I am. Unless you don't like me, of course, and decide to throw me overboard," and that delivered with a huge grin.

"Last thing I'd ever think of doing is to throw a boy like you overboard," Reggie said with real feeling, and followed that up with a very daring, "Be a total waste of a boy, wouldn't it?"

"You think so?"

And this time Reggie thought he detected a trace of something else in the boy's voice and question, a trace of the innocent but not so innocent teasing that some boys in the perfection of their early adolescence like to indulge in.

"I most certainly do," Reggie smiled in his turn this time and the boy's blue eyes twinkled.

It was sheer madness, and Reggie knew that it was sheer madness. There was absolutely no chance that he'd get to sail up and down the canal for a fortnight with this boy for company, but until the boy's phone summoned him home to irate parents or the boy was taken, protesting from the boat by parents or the forces of law and order, Reggie was going to enjoy every second of the delight of adolescent boy company.

That it could progress to enjoying other delights that adolescent boys sometimes offered crossed Reggie's mind only as an `I wish!' and not as a practical possibility.

Twenty years ago and Reggie would have been already planning and scheming for ways to part the boy from his faded blue jeans, but it wasn't twenty years ago and Reggie was resigned to being fifty five and his chances of boy jeans removal so slender as to be hardly worth more than a dream or two.

"Any chance you could steer the boat while I make coffee?" he asked.

The boy gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I told you," he said slowly and clearly, "I am Richard Harris, so don't you think I have some idea of how to steer myself?"

The boy's emphasis on `am' gave an ambiguity to the name that followed it, but it was an ambiguity that Reggie dismissed as being simply adolescent boy playing on the name, though Reggie did have the thought that the boy could steer himself to his bed any time he fancied.

The day passed and other narrow boats went by down the canal as they were going up it. They waved and were waved to and no-one seemed to find anything strange in a man of fifty five having a boy in the perfection of his early adolescence as a companion on a narrow boat.

And it was a definite help having the boy around when it came to opening and closing locks, but even so, Reggie was fairly worn out when he decided to tie up for the night alongside a stretch of the canal designed for such a purpose.

He kept the engine running so he could use the generator to grill a couple of steaks and fry some chips which they washed down with a glass or two of red wine, and when all was done and cleared away the boy announced he was ready for bed, and left Reggie to smoke a cigarette and savour a glass of brandy.

It did occur to Reggie to wonder where the boy had bedded down; there was only one bedroom with a double bed made up. True, there were pull out bunks, so the boy had probably found one and was sleeping there, Reggie concluded.

Tired and relaxed, Reggie headed for bed, hoping to have sweet dreams of adolescent boy, and dreams were as close to adolescent boy as Reggie had got for more than five years now.

The dim glow of the night light in the bedroom cabin was enough to startle Reggie from dreams of such dreams.

Adolescent boy was in the double bed!

It was a warm night, and adolescent boy had pulled the covering duvet down far enough to reveal narrow adolescent shoulders, but not quite far enough to expose adolescent nipples. Enough though, for Reggie to have no doubts that the top half of adolescent boy at least, was naked. He couldn't see, though he tried hard to see, if there was a pile of adolescent clothing anywhere around, and he wondered just how far he should unclothe himself.

His shirt, obviously; but his shorts? There was only Reggie under those shorts and if he took them off he'd be naked.

Could he get into bed naked with an adolescent boy? Without saying anything first? Without asking permission?

That was stupid. How could he possibly say to Richard Harris, `I sleep naked. Don't mind, do you?'

It might have been okay if he'd made some moves towards seducing the boy earlier, but he'd made not a single one.

There was just enough light to see that the boy wasn't even asleep! He was awake, blue eyes wide open and smiling his ever-present smile.

"I ... er....need to find something to wear in bed," Reggie stumbled out the words.

"You certainly don't want to get those nice shorts all creased and crumpled," the boy grinned in the almost dark. "Richard Harris won't mind if you go to bed as you usually do."

Once more, Reggie had that sense of confusion, was the boy referring to himself or to the boat? Or even both?

"You said you liked me," the boy said, lifting one side of the duvet in clear indication that he expected Reggie to join him in the bed, "And we like it that you like us."

There it was again, only this time surely no confusion! The boy had used the plural. He did mean both himself and the boat when he used his name!

"I do like you," Reggie said, his voice a little thick, his fingers paused on the button of his tailored shorts. And, playing the boy's game, he added, "Both of you."

"We so hoped you would," the boy beamed, "We want so much to be just perfect for you."

"You are," Reggie gave up pretending and dropped his shorts, getting into bed as fast as he could because his semi wouldn't stop inflating and he was still worried that, full grown before he even entered the bed, would give the boy the wrong impression.

The boy's intentions became perfectly clear the moment Reggie was in bed, Before he even had time to settle he had adolescent boy all over him, the warmth of adolescent boy flesh pressed against him and the hardness of adolescent boy poking against his stomach.

A long sigh of bliss from man and boy and, what Reggie could have sworn was a purr of satisfaction from the boat, but that was only the generator putting a final charge into the batteries before it shut down on its timer switch.

"You are beautiful," Reggie whispered in adolescent boy ear after his hands had stroked and admired the perfection of his body, leaving nothing out between knee and neck, back and front.

There were the first feels of hair growth on the back of the boy's slender but shapely thighs, hints that on the fronts fuzz was starting to turn to hair, and above the perfection of adolescent cock there was definite growth, but nowhere near enough to spoil the admiration of that perfect boy cock.

Perhaps five inches of slender delight, a bud of foreskin still evident even though the delight was as hard as it could get, and Reggie had the dilemma he hadn't had for more than five years now – should he suck the boy before he kissed him, or do things the other way round?

Some boys, Reggie knew, don't go in for kissing. Almost anything else they are happy with, but they draw the line at kissing. And Reggie hadn't shaved before going to bed, a day's stubble was on his face, and even most of the boys who did permit kissing, didn't like being scratched around the face when they did.

"Haven't shaved," Reggie mumbled when the boy moved his face into kissing location, "Be all scratchy."

"Let you off for tonight," the boy giggled and fastened lips to lips.

Of all the things that a boy can allow a man to do, there are two that show how much the boy wants to be with that man, and one is to kiss. Proper, deep, tongue twisting saliva exchanging, tonsil searching kiss. This was how the boy kissed Reggie, and how Reggie kissed the boy.

Although he could not remember with any clarity the last time he'd entwined tongues with a boy, Reggie was sure that it had been nothing like this!

Gentle at first and then developing into uninhibited male on male kissing. No hint of wet lettuce here, but boy kissing man because he was a boy in the perfection of his early adolescence, and man kissing boy for the same reason.

Lips were puffy when they parted for air, but puffy lips simply mean that there is more lip to kiss, and kiss more they did, though hands roved and wandered as they kissed.

The boy's thighs were almost, for Reggie, the perfection of boy thigh. Long and slender, but firm and with that curve of muscle that leads upwards to the greatest delight of all; perfection spoiled only by that beginning of hair growth to spoil the silky smoothness of boy skin.

His arse was a joy, round and firm, and though Reggie, as yet, did not venture between the cheeks, he knew he would and he knew as well that the boy would permit him to venture there.

The splendour of his cock and balls was again not quite perfection. Balls had grown hair and that would spoil the delight of licking and sucking them, but spoil it only for Reggie and not for the boy and so those balls would be licked and sucked for the boy's pleasure, because Reggie had always thought more of the boy's pleasure than of his own, his joy coming from the boy's enjoyment.

He would have shaved the boy, cock, balls and thighs, if he had him for his own, but for now he simply enjoyed the flesh that fate had presented him with, knowing from the sounds of contentment that the boy made that he was happy to have his flesh enjoyed.

What more could a man ask? Reggie thought, the taste of boy in his mouth and on his lips and the source of that taste pressed close against him, and he slid down so he could enjoy different boy flavour and make the boy purr as his balls were licked and sucked, his cock engulfed in the warm wetness of mouth.

Purr the boy did, and stroked Reggie's hair and scraped his fingers on Reggie's back, urging Reggie to suck more and telling him that being sucked was pure boy delight as Reggie used his lips, tongue and mouth with all the skill he had learned from years of pleasing boy cock, and boy and man knew this sucking would not end until Reggie's mouth was filled with cream of boy.

Filled it was and with the essence of boy. It came in spurts, each shot a creamy, flavour-filled delight to Reggie's taste buds.

The taste was spunk, but Reggie would swear it was the sweetest spunk he'd ever eaten, creamy and slightly salty in its sweetness; thick enough but not too thick, just like the cock that fed it to him.

Reggie did venture between the boy's arse cheeks as he sucked him, a finger probing at his entrance, and that entrance didn't shut its gates, but pulsed and slowly opened as it was probed, welcoming Reggie's finger inside, clenching around it as it delved into him.

The boy sighed with pleasure as he spunked and Reggie moaned with happiness as his mouth was filled. For Reggie, the best moment had always been when a boy spurted in his mouth, feeding him essence of boy, the elixir of youth.

They slept then, though in a manner Reggie had never before slept with a boy. This was not turn over and sleep, this was cling as close as possible, legs entwined sleep.

They were still that way when day came once more, the boy morning hard against Reggie's stomach.

Reggie longed to kiss the boy, a morning `you are wonderful' kiss, but morning breath is not something boys find over-pleasant and Reggie resisted that urge.

Instead he untangled legs and slipped down; the boy's slender, five inch cock wouldn't object to morning breath and Reggie's mouth adored adolescent cock as much in the mornings as it did in the nights, and in all the hours between as well.

"Mmmmm," the boy sighed as he was sucked, "Naughty man wants boy for breakfast."

That boy had no objections to providing a naughty man's breakfast was obvious, and he sighed with pleasure as he allowed himself to be sucked to a release of his overnight build up of adolescent cream, smiling at Reggie with total happiness as he watched his essence being eaten.

"Take your time," Reggie whispered adoringly to the boy as he left the bed, "I'll give you a call when your breakfast is ready."

He thought about finding his shorts, but decided that the time for modesty was passed and went, naked as he would have done had the boy not been on the boat, to the little galley, though he stopped in the head to wash, shave and clean his teeth first. He also wondered as he went through his morning ritual, if it might be possible to talk the boy into wearing shorts instead of those leg-concealing faded blue jeans, but had to dismiss the idea, at least for the moment, as adolescent boy sized shorts were not items he had thought to bring with him when he packed for his boat holiday.

"You like me better like this?" early teenage treble tenor behind him asked, and Reggie turned.

The boy wasn't wearing his faded blue jeans; the boy wasn't wearing anything, and Reggie's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and his breath stopped when he saw the pure teenage perfection standing for his admiration.

What he saw was boy in the ultimate perfection of his early adolescent beauty; where there had been hair earlier now there was just skin. Somehow, while Reggie had been frying bread and eggs and bacon and sausages, the boy had made himself as smooth as any boy who'd ever been summoned by Reggie's boy-adoring mind could possibly be.

"Ooooohhhh," Reggie breathed as he took in the perfection before him, "You look ......." he couldn't find a word to convey his meaning, so settled for commonplace and boring, "Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

The boy's smile was as delightful as his freshly smoothed body.

"I thought you might like me better like this," the boy grinned, "And I wanted to be perfect for you."

"You are! You were before, but now ....." Reggie just stared, forgetting the sausages sizzling, "Well, now you are simply a dream come true."

"Good," the boy smiled his wonderful smile. "Would you like me to stay like this all the time?"

"Naked?"

"You like me naked, don't you?"

"I adore you naked," Reggie stumbled, "But on deck ....."

"Oh," the boy shrugged, "Don't worry about that. I'll make sure no-one else sees."

How the boy could possibly do that, especially when there were locks to open and close, Reggie had no idea, but he was saved from voicing his reservations by the little galley starting to fill with smoke from over-cooked sausages.

Even though the sausages were a little blackened it was still the best breakfast Reggie had ever enjoyed, and that was simply because it was the first breakfast he had ever enjoyed with a naked teenage boy sitting beside him.

Reggie's attention strayed constantly from the sausages on his plate to the far more delectable sausage between the boy's legs, a sausage that, at the first opportunity, Reggie reached for, felt and adored while the boy simply smiled his appreciation of Reggie's actions.

"You really like my cock, don't you," the boy treble-tenored at him sweetly, "And I really like you liking my cock," he smiled and blew Reggie a kiss to prove it.

Reggie had enjoyed a number of teenage boys in his time, in the days when he felt he could reasonably hope to catch one when he hunted it. A few had been rampant sluts, some had been working on becoming rampant sluts and some had been just ordinary boys who'd simply experimented with satisfying their hormonal urges by allowing their cocks to be enjoyed.

Richard Harris was different. He so obviously enjoyed being caressed and fondled. Enjoyed being kissed and sucked, and enjoyed being naked so his adolescent glory could be seen and admired. He'd even, unbidden, got rid of every single hair on his young body because he thought Reggie would like him even more if he was smooth. But there was nothing at all sluttish about him; and neither was there anything of the shy, `just to see if I like it' about him either.

He knew, as all adolescent boys know, though for many that knowing remains a hidden secret even from themselves, that he was sexually desirable, and he delighted in being so and was making the most of having a man around who so openly desired him in a sexual way.

Innocently, he was completely lacking in innocence and Reggie adored him for that.

"I think your cock is pure perfection," Reggie said, and meant every word of it. "Exactly the cock I would dream of finding on a boy like you."

"You can find it any time you want," the boy smiled, "I like it when you find it."

"Don't tempt me," Reggie grinned, "Or we'll never get anywhere on this canal. I'll spend all day every day just sucking you dry."

"I'd like that," the boy agreed, "It's nice the way you suck me. But if you suck me dry then I won't have anything to feed you with."

His grin as he said that was pure adolescent boy wickedness, and delivered with a twinkling in his eyes that made it clear he really liked feeding Reggie.

The next time the canal went through a decent sized village, Reggie left the boy in charge of the boat and went in search of a shop where he could buy adolescent boy sized shorts, and purchased a pair that were, according to the label, designed for boys of ten to thirteen, younger than the boy on the boat. They would, Reggie reasoned, fit round the boy's waist and be short enough in the leg to allow some display of adolescent thigh.

"I really don't need them," the boy said when Reggie handed them over.

"You will when we get to the next lock and you have to help with the gates."

The boy sighed and shrugged, but put them on anyway, and, Reggie thought, looked as sexy as a boy can look with at least half of his slender, and now smooth, thighs on show below the sky blue of the shorts Reggie had bought for him.

That, Reggie conceded, was possibly because he knew exactly what those shorts concealed and raised in him an urge to reveal what there was to reveal.

No-body seemed to notice, and no-one commented on a boy in the glory of his early adolescence clad only in a pair of brief, sky-blue shorts when they opened and closed lock gates, and when they tied up for the evening beside a canal pub and went in for a meal, boy wearing a shirt as well as his brief shorts, no-one commented then either.

Plates emptied Reggie thought to leave, the need to indulge again in perfect adolescent cock strong, but departure was delayed by an elderly gentleman crossing to their table and saying,

"You the fellow sailing that boat named Richard Harris?"

"That's me," Reggie said, a churning in his stomach as he instantly thought that someone had reported seeing a naked adolescent boy on board.

"Never thought I'd see her afloat again," the old fellow said, "She yours?"

"Hired," Reggie told him, his stomach settling.

"Someone done a damn good job of restoring her," the man said, "Mind if I joins you for a bit?"

It would have been impolite to refuse, even though Reggie wanted to get at the boy's cock again, and the boy gave him a smile that said quite clearly, `Don't worry, it'll still be there later.'

"You won't know her history, of course," the man was saying as he sipped at a pint. "Strangest thing ever happened on the canal."

He rambled on about how the narrow boat had been a working boat fifty years ago and named back then The Spirit Of The Avon, not the Richard Harris, and how it had been owned by a family who worked it.

"Mother, father and a lad of around fourteen, they were," the man said, "And down the canal a bit the boat got struck by lightning. Bad it was," the man sipped his pint again, "Mother and father were found on the deck, stone dead they were. Electrified the coroner said. Must have been because they were battening down the doors to the hold and them things had metal handles on them. Must have been holding them handles when the lightning struck, I suppose. Anyway, dead as doornails they were, but, strange thing was, they never found no trace of the boy.
Cabin wasn't there no more, just a blackened hole where it had been. Some experts or other said that were where the lightning struck and it must have been an enormous one as they reckoned it hadn't only destroyed the cabin but had hit the boy and done him in as well."

"It disintegrated him and fused him to the boat," the boy said, but it seemed the man never heard him because he just went on with his tale.

"Not a trace of him, there weren't, not a single hair anywhere. Boy just weren't there no more apparently.
Course, no-one would touch the Spirit of the Avon after that, so she just rotted away where she was like."

"The man who restored her did say she'd been struck by lightning," Reggie agreed, "But he never mentioned anything about people being killed."

"Wouldn't, would he," the man swigged beer, "Be bad luck, wouldn't it. No-one would want to hire a cursed boat, would they."

"I don't think it's cursed at all," Reggie said, defending his floating holiday home, "I think the Richard Harris is just perfect."

"Well, folks round here don't think that," the man emptied his pint glass, "An' I reckons you be probably the only person to ever hire her. Cursed and haunted that boat be."

"I thought that old fool was never going to shut up," Reggie moaned as they made their way back to the boat.

All he'd been wanting to do for the last half-hour or so was to get his hands on the boy. Half an hour of good boy fondling time wasted, he thought.

It was, Reggie decided, dark enough for him to risk putting an arm round the boy's slender shoulder as they walked back, so he did and the boy sniggered in the darkness.

"What's so funny?" Reggie demanded.

"Only that it's not where you want your hand to be," the boy laughed. "You had to sit and listen to him, and all the time all you wanted to do was get me back to our boat and get at my cock again."

"You guessed," Reggie was forced to grin.

"Not difficult," the boy sniggered again, "It's all you ever want to do."

"Not true," Reggie said, "And even if it was true, then it's your fault."

"Why my fault?"

"For having such a lovely cock," Reggie squeezed the boy's shoulder, "And for letting me enjoy it so much."

"I want you to enjoy it," the boy said, "I want you to enjoy all of me."

"I do," Reggie affirmed, "Believe me, I do. It's just possible," Reggie gave in to an impulse to tell the truth, "That I enjoy more than just your beautiful cock, and that I just like being with you."

This was dangerous ground and Reggie knew it was dangerous ground. Some boys like soft, silly talk, want to be treated as though they are more than just cock; others hate it, terrified that they are being thought of as, in some way, not real boy, as a substitute for girl and not as the male they are.

"I'd like being with you even if that wonderful cock was out of bounds to me."

"Well," the boy said without a hint of a pause, "It's not out of bounds to you. It needs all the attention you want to give it. And so does the rest of me."

There was something about the boy's words that made Reggie think. He'd had boys before who gave their all in the lust of a bed, but never come across a boy who talked so openly about his cock and his needs.

Any normal adolescent boy was desperate for sex, and, for some, any sex would do, anything that was a step up from wanking themselves, but Richard Harris was way beyond that. He wasn't, as Reggie had already decided, a slut who would throw himself into any man's bed, quite the opposite. Reggie would swear that until the moment he had got into the bed with him, the boy was a complete, one hundred percent, never been touched before virgin.

He hadn't behaved like one in bed, that was most certainly true, but, thinking about the boy's behaviour then and after, Reggie was coming to the conclusion that the boy's eagerness for bedroom type activity was just the release of long pent-up needs and urges.

All adolescent boys are a churning mass of hormones – that was one of the things that Reggie found so delightful about them, but, somehow, this boy seemed to have more than his fair share of them.

The moment he stepped back on the boat now, he shed his shirt and shorts without a second thought. He wanted to be naked. He knew Reggie liked him naked and he understood that his nakedness was sexually arousing and desirable and being sexually arousing and desirable was exactly what he wanted to be.

That, in itself, was not all that unusual for a teenage boy, but Richard Harris had it in spades.

"We should have a little talk," Reggie said to the naked boy snuggled against him on the sofa in the boat's long cabin.

Reggie's spare hand – one was round naked adolescent shoulder – wandered caressingly up and down utterly smooth boy thigh, eventually coming to rest with boy balls and soft boy cock in it.

"Should we?" the boy asked, all innocence despite his nakedness and his cock and balls being in Reggie's hand.

"We should," Reggie affirmed, "A truth talk."

"Can't you just cuddle me and kiss me and play with my cock instead?"

An answer like that was exactly the reason why Reggie needed to talk, to find out the truth.

"I love having you with me, I adore your body and I think your cock is the most magical cock I've ever felt and sucked," Reggie said, fondling the boy's softness. "I love playing with it when it's soft, and when it's hard I love sucking it and having it feed me. We both know that."

"And I love you doing those things," the boy whispered into Reggie's shoulder, "I want you to do them all the time."

"But you shouldn't, should you. Not all the time. There's nothing wrong in you liking them and I'm so happy that you do, but ......" Reggie paused, not sure how to say what he was thinking, "But a fourteen year old boy shouldn't just think of his cock all the time. There are other things in life beside cock."

"Like my bum?" the boy semi-sniggered into Reggie's shoulder.

"Let's leave your bum out of it for the moment, shall we?" Reggie wasn't going to be sidetracked, not this time.

"You don't have to, you know. You can have my bum as well as my cock. More cock than bum, though, I think," the boy said, sounding serious until he sniggered.

"Not your cock, and not your bum. It's you I want to talk about."

"Oh," the boy sighed, "I sort of hoped my cock and bum would be enough for you."

"More than I ever dreamed I would ever have," Reggie said, and meant it, "But cock comes with boy attached, and this wonderful cock comes with a very unusual boy. A very wonderful boy, a boy I know I could be very happy to have around for ever, and not just for his cock either."

"Would you?" the boy moved his head from Reggie's shoulder to look into his eyes. "Would you really want to have me for ever and ever?"

"If your cock could stand that much attention," Reggie grinned.

"It could."

"But, as I am trying to say," Reggie attempted again, "Beautiful as your cock is, it has a boy attached to it, and if I was going to have that boy's cock for ever and ever I would need to have the boy as well. All of him," Reggie stroked the boy's thigh again and then tapped him on the head with one finger, "All of this and what's in there as well."

"All of this is yours already," the boy said, meaning his naked body, "What's in here," he tapped his own head, "May not be what you want."

"It is," Reggie said, "Because only if I know what's in there can I really enjoy the rest of you."

"Your hand feels nice," the boy changed the direction of the talk, or tried to. His cock was still soft, unusually, and Reggie's hand was back where it belonged, fondling it.

"So does what it's holding," Reggie smiled.

"And isn't that enough?"

"No."

"My bum, then?"

"The truth."

"You know, don't you," the boy said, hiding his head in Reggie's shoulder once more.

"I think I may have guessed a thing or two," Reggie confirmed, "But I really do want you to tell me all of it. And then," he added, "We can both enjoy this as much as we both want to enjoy it."

He toyed with the boy's cock, bending it between his fingers, twiddling at the foreskin and still it stayed soft.

"And when I've told you, will you still want me?"

"Probably more than I do now. And I want you like crazy now, as you well know."

"Hold me close," the boy snuggled himself as close in to Reggie as he could, "And keep playing with me,"

Neither request was at all difficult for Reggie to comply with; having naked boy snuggled close was a pleasure Reggie had been without for far too long, and playing with adolescent cock, soft or hard, was his favourite game of all.

"Long ago," the boy began telling a story, "There was a narrow boat that worked up and down the canals. It was a working boat, carried things like dried peas for canning factories and barley for breweries.
A man and a woman lived on the boat and, eventually, they became a mother and a father. Their boy lived on the boat with them, grew up on the boat. When he was about eleven he showed some skill at painting canal designs, and his parents developed a sideline with him, buying pots from the factories in the midlands and selling the painted ones he did in towns the canal went through.
This was the boy's life, helping to run the boat and painting pots.
When he was twelve, getting on for thirteen, he discovered that he had a cock and began to play with it, wank it, whenever he could. There were no safe, secret places on the boat where he could wank, so he wanked whenever the chance came.
No other boys to wank with, no girls to distract him from his cock or make him think of using it on a girl, probably he didn't even know what a girl was apart from being a boy who didn't have a cock.
By the time he neared fourteen he started to think how good it would be to have someone else play with his cock. In magazines and newspapers he looked at pictures of footballers, their short shorts showed so much of their legs and looking at those pictures made him want to wank more, wonder what it would be like to have one of those men play with him.
Then, one summer day when he was the age I am now, there was a huge storm. The rain fell in sheets and the boy dashed to the deck to rescue the pots he'd just painted, while his mother and father were out making sure all the cargo hatches were tight shut.
His mother called to him to get out of the wet, to get his soaked clothes off and dry himself so he didn't catch a cold, so he went below and peeled his soaking clothes off, grabbed a towel and dried himself off.
Then, because his parents were still outside and he was naked, he wanked.
The next thing he knew was that he didn't have a cock to wank, he didn't have a body.
Slowly he came to realize that, somehow, he had become part of the boat. He wasn't him anymore, there was nothing of him left. Except that, somehow there was, because he was part of the boat and he still had a mind."

The boy paused, didn't look at Reggie to see how his story was being taken, but he did place a hand on top of Reggie's hand where it was still fondling his cock, pushing it down to make it clear he liked Reggie feeling him and didn't want him to stop.

"Can you imagine," he continued his story, "What it's like to be fourteen, have all those thoughts about cock that you have when you're fourteen, and not have a cock to wank? Try to imagine how that must be.
The boy thought of cock, his cock, other cocks, although he'd never seen another cock when he had a body and was a boy, he still imagined them. Imagined holding one, wanking one, even sucking one because he had heard, before he became a boat, that cocks did get sucked.
What would it be like to have his sucked? Would it be better than when he had had one to wank?
And he'd heard about bumming as well, though he had no idea what that really was, just that he'd heard that some men liked boys' bums for some reason or other.
That was life, if it was life, until Mr Jenkins bought the wreck of the boat and started to bring it back to life as a boat. And when he did that, he brought the boy back to life as well.
Slowly, very slowly the boy became a boy again, still part of the boat, they can never be really separated now, but he had a body again and, most important of all, he had a cock.
For more than fifty years he had been without a cock to wank and all he'd thought about for those fifty years was wanking. Can you imagine how ecstatic he was to have a cock again? He was still fourteen and he wanked and wanked and wanked.
Then he began to realise that no-one could see him; he was real and not real at the same time. He could make himself seen, he found that out when he appeared to Mr Jenkins and offered to help him.
Mr Jenkins had brought him out of the boat, made him a boy again; was there a chance that Mr Jenkins might be a man who liked boys?
But Mr Jenkins never even noticed that he was a boy, not really. Oh, he knew a boy was helping him but he never actually noticed that the boy was the same three years after he first helped him as he was when he painted the name on the boat.
The boy couldn't leave the boat, so he had to stay and hope, one day, a man would show up who liked boys as the boy wanted to be liked. To want to wank him and suck him, because all the boy could think about was cock.
Then you came to hire the boat and the boy knew you were a man like that, someone who liked boys that way.
He knew it because, when Mr Jenkins mentioned the boy who'd helped him, you wanted to know more about that boy, wanted to know if he was still around.
Then, when you first set eyes on the boy, you tried so hard to see through his clothes, to wonder what he would look like naked, but you made the boy understand that you were a man who didn't just want a boy's cock, you actually really liked boys."

"I do," Reggie confirmed, "But I like their cocks as well."

"And you like mine a lot," the boy looked up for the first time since he'd started his story and smiled his wonderful smile.

"The most wonderful cock I have ever had the privilege of being allowed to play with," Reggie fondled the boy, relishing the feel of soft adolescent cock and full adolescent balls in his hand.

"Do things to me a lot," the boy pleaded, "I don't care what you do, everything you ever wanted to do with a boy you can do with me. I was a long time not being a boy."

"But you're a boy now, a real boy," Reggie's hand stroked smooth boy thigh, real boy thigh. "The boy I have spent my life dreaming of."

"Only when I'm here or very near to here," the boy whispered sadly, "I cannot leave Richard Harris because I am Richard Harris."

"And here you will always be the wonderful, beautiful boy you are now," Reggie said softly and gently, "The boy of my dreams."

"I can never change," the boy had the beginnings of tears in his eyes, "Never be a real boy without Richard Harris."

"But I can change," Reggie dared to suggest, "I can sell my house and live on a narrow boat."

"You would do that? To be with me? For ever and ever?"

"To be with the boy of my dreams," Reggie knew he could do nothing else. He had found the boy he'd spent his life dreaming off, he couldn't lose him now he'd found him.

"I'll never grow up, always be fourteen," the boy said, hope now in his beautiful eyes.

"And that is how I want you," Reggie's hand wandered over warm, smooth boy skin, finding that when he came back to soft, adolescent cock, it began once more to grow and harden at his touch. "Always a boy and always wanting to be nothing other than a boy."

"And have a man to do the things a boy needs to have done to him," the boy whispered while a ripple gently rocked Richard Harris.

"All those things," Reggie kissed the boy gently on the forehead.

The boat moved in its moorings, bumping into the tow path, the bump only a little one but enough to send man and boy into each other's arms and the next kiss was not on the boy's forehead but on his lips and Reggie wasn't surprised at all when the generator started up even though it wasn't set on `Automatic'.

 

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My thanks for reading this one,

isukwell@hotmail.co.uk