(No warnings -- you know why you're here.


My regular readers know I have no great love for the present, so this story is set in New York in the 1860s. Things were not great back then, what with the Civil War and the draft riots and cholera and such like, but men of wealth could have whatever they wanted. Well, I guess they still can.


This story is public domain, free of all copyright protection. Steal it if you are so inclined. Although the story is free, Nifty is not. Go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html and make a tax deductible contribution.)


The River

Part One


When I was little, I lived with my mother. We had a room on the top floor of a boarding house, and not much else. The top floor was the cheapest, because you had to walk down four flights of stairs to get to the privies in the back yard or the pump to draw water or the kitchen where we got our one small meal each day. I suppose I had a father someplace, but I don't think I ever met him.


I attended the public school because I was still too little to have a job, so I walked there in the morning when my mother went off to work at the laundry, sometimes with a little bread and butter in my belly, and sometimes not. I did well, because mother had been born to a higher station before she fell. and taught me proper grammar and pronunciation. Sometimes another boy, whose family had more than mine, would share some of his lunch. Most nights, supper was thin soup and stale bread. If I put my bread in the soup, it got soft enough to chew.


After supper, we went up to our room, and my mother would sit in the light of a single candle and drink from her jug of rum until she fell asleep. If the jug was empty, she would go out and try to find some man to fill it for her. Usually, that meant the man would come home with her, and I would have to sit in the corridor until they were finished.


Then, one night, she didn't come home at all. I waited for her four days, until the landlady came to collect the next week's rent. Then a man came and took me to the orphan home, and I ate a little bit better, although most of it was corn mush. We younger ones had lessons from the Reverend Robertson two or three times a week, so I learned some more letters and numbers, and Bible stories. Boys who could not answer questions -- mostly Bible questions -- were caned. I paid close attention.


The older children were sent to work at a nearby factory, and I thought I'd be joining them very soon, when Mr. Wilder arrived. Mrs. Conway gathered up all the boys who were roughly my age, which I think was about ten, and stood us in a line. Mr. Wilder walked up and down and looked at us. He dismissed the fat boys and the boys with pushed in faces or scars from the pox, and just five of us remained.


Then he told us to drop our trousers and show him our bottoms.


"Mr. Wilder!" exclaimed Mrs. Conway.


"A test of character, my dear lady," he replied. "I wish to see how often they've been marked by the cane. Least marked is best behaved."


We showed him our bottoms, and I suppose Mr. Wilder was right. You could tell that William was a rascal because his bottom was crisscrossed with red welts and older white scars. Mine, by contrast, was unmarked. Just once, Reverend Roberson struck me because I could not remember Peter's name before Jesus changed it, and I resolved it never would happen again. I was a very, very good boy.


Mr. Wilder stroked my bare bottom, gave it a squeeze, and said, "Now this is a well behaved lad." Then he turned me around, looked me up and down, and told me to pull up my trousers. "Have you ever been on a riverboat?" he asked me.


"No, sir," I said.


"Then you're about to have a splendid adventure," he replied.


..........


I was employed. I was to be the new cabin boy on a Hudson riverboat, carrying freight and passengers between New York City and Albany. Mr. Wilder waved down a hack, and we went to the the west side docks. The riverboat was very big, and very beautiful. I could not believe my good luck.


Mr. Wilder, who was the riverboat's owner, introduced me to Captain James, who commanded the crew. Then he handed me over to Charles, the former cabin boy, now promoted to steward. Charles's new job was to serve the passengers in the same way I served Mr. Wilder and Captain James, and to instruct me in my new duties. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, still a boy, but a much bigger boy than me. He put an arm around me, and led me to the little cabin we would share. There was just the one bunk, but neither of us was especially large, so we would fit.


"The job," Charles said, "is not especially hard, but maybe not exactly what you'd expect. Mainly, you just has to do whatever Mr. Wilder tells you."


"I can do that," I answered.


All the adults but a pair of deckhands had gone ashore, so Charles found us some bread and jam for our supper, and then we went back to our cabin. "Get naked," Charles told me. I must have looked surprised, because he rolled his eyes and said, "If I'm to teach you your duties, we have to get naked." Then he proceeded to remove his clothes, and I followed along.


Then he sat on the bunk and had me stand in front of him. He took my little willy in his hand, and said "What do you call this?" I told him I called it my willy.


"Do you play with it sometimes, and make it hard?"


I felt myself blush. "You do," he said. "All boys do. Did anybody else ever make it hard for you?"


I shook my head.


"Then I'll be the first," he said, and then did something I found very surprising. He leaned forward, took my willy in his mouth, and tickled it with his tongue. It got hard. It got very hard, and when he pushed back the skin that covered the end and licked underneath, I was overcome with sensation. Even though it seemed very strange to me, I was liking it. I was liking it very much.


"But I pee from there," I protested. Charles didn't seem to mind. He just kept on sucking.


Then, suddenly, it felt like I really really had to pee, but I didn't. I just got very tingly all over, and I couldn't help but grab Charles's head and pull it hard against my belly. I was breathing very hard, and my toes curled, and then it was over.


When I released Charles's head, he let my willy out of his mouth and said, "That was good, wasn't it?"


All I could do was nod.


"Well, then," he said, "now's your turn to do it to me."


He just lay back on the bunk, and I gathered I was meant to lean over him. Well, he had done mine, so it seemed only fair that I should do his.


He called it "Birdie."


Charles's willy must have been twice the size of my little thing, and there was a little patch of hair over the top, although it looked like somebody might have shaved it a few days before, because it was short and stubbly. I remember thinking how I hoped there wasn't any pee left behind in it, but I soon found out there wasn't, and that it was not at all a bad thing to suckle. It fit my mouth just about perfectly, and it was rather a thrill making my new friend so very happy.


I was not perfect, because at one point I must have scraped him, and he grunted, "No teeth." Afterwards, I made sure it was all lips and tongue, and he put his fingers through my hair and banged himself into my face over and over again. Actually, it felt like he'd grown a little larger, and was pushing up against the back of my mouth, but not far enough to make me want to cough or gag. My own little willy got all hard again, and I had to reach down to stroke it. It was an extraordinary new experience, and I knew I'd want to do it again.


It occurred to me that I genuinely loved my new friend Charles, because nobody ever before had made me feel so happy.


It was not long after that that something wet shot out the end of Birdie. I was sort of afraid he'd peed, but that wasn't it, because when I let it drop out of my mouth onto his belly, it was a kind of milky white stuff. I'd never seen anything like it before. I wasn't sure what to do.


"You was supposed to swallow that," he told me. "It's boycream, and it makes you grow big and strong."


"It does?" I asked, and he said, "Yes, it does. Now lick it all up and swallow it down."


It was kind of gooey, and not especially tasty, but not entirely terrible. Also, I wanted to grow big and strong, so I licked it up and swallowed it, even though I didn't like it all that much. I guess if I'd just swallowed it when he'd first shot it into my mouth, it probably would have been simpler, and gone down easier. In the future, I decided, I would just swallow it as it came.


..........


It came again a little while later, and I swallowed every last bit, although I suspect it was not quite so much as the time before. Still, I was determined to grow big and strong.


Charles lay me on the bunk on my belly then, so he could caress my bottom. It felt nice. "You know," he said, "you've the prettiest bottom I've ever seen. You must have been sucking somebody's cock to keep it so unmarked."


"No," I said honestly, "yours is the first I ever had, and I think it always will be the best of all. I would like it if we could just go on playing our games forever."


He parted my bottom cheeks, and said, "And never been fucked neither. You had a charmed life, boyo."


I didn't know anything about fucking then -- I'd heard the word, but never asked about the meaning -- but still I had a feeling about it having to have something to do between men and women -- something that happened when my mother had me sitting out in the corridor of our boarding house room.


"Well," he said, "it's a cute little pucker, and I reckon I ought to start getting it ready. Come the weekend, it likely won't be quite so little anymore."


He pushed his tongue against it, and swirled it all around. Then he poked it up me a bit, and I giggled and tightened it up. I was about to shout, "But I poo from there," but I didn't, thinking how dumb my comment on where I peed from had been earlier. I didn't know what my bumhole might do, but I was willing to find out.


Well, it was not quite so nice as having my willy sucked on, nor even so nice as sucking on Charles's Birdie, but it still was very nice, and I liked it a lot. When Charles flipped me over and sucked on my willy again, I was incredibly happy. I loved his so much right then. I loved him more than my mother, or anybody ever.


I'd never felt so good.


..........


The next morning, Charles wet his finger and put it up my bum. It was a small finger, and it didn't hurt much, but I still tightened up. "Oh, just relax," he said, so I did and I just let him do it. After a while, it just made me feel kind of dreamy. Anyway, I really loved Charles, and if he wanted to stick his finger up my bum, I thought it must not have been anything bad. As he pushed it in and pulled it out, my willy started getting stiff again, but maybe that was because we were hugging and kissing each other's faces, and just loving each other a lot.


Charles was my first true love, and I would do anything for him. Anything at all.


I sucked Birdie some more, but after a while it was time to get out of bed and go to work. He presented me with a uniform with brass buttons that had been his when he first came aboard, and was just a little bit large for me. He gave me stockings, and shoes, neither of which I'd ever had before. My feet, of course, were hard and horny. "Mr. Wilder will want them soft and tender," he told me. I had no idea why.


The only thing that seemed a bit odd was the knickers. They were my first knickers, because both mother and the orphanage thought knickers were just a waste of money, but I never expected them to be quite as they were. Charles said they were made of silk, which was something only rich people got to wear. When I touched my willy through them, or when Charles rubbed my bum over them, the feeling was quite lovely.


"Silk knickers makes Mr. Wilder and the Captain happy," Charles told me. "That's why you've got 'em. Expect their hands down your pants a lot today. And don't let it bother you. It's just the job."


(More to come from heedon@tormail.org )