Jack Edwards

Waisen 10

At the end of the war, the United States was intact. It’s industrial capacity had tripled from before the war. Fortunes had been made. Men had become rich. And now, more money was to be made in the reconstruction of Europe.

Harrison Caldwell was patrician; a man in his early sixties, still slender, with still thick gray hair, and piercing, dark eyes. Ben Jamison brought him by on a Thursday evening, without any warning. It was just after I came home from work. Nigel was in England with Bruno and Oscar, and so I went downstairs to meet the man with only Peter in tow.

“Clean the place up!” I barked out to the boys in German before leaving the attic. “Günter, Heinrich, do what you can.”

Mr Caldwell looked me in the eye and shook my hand with a firm grip; a grip he held longer than was customary. I didn’t pull my hand away. I met his gaze which wasn’t easy. I’d never been so impressed by a man at first sight. I could believe he was rich. He oozed power and confidence.

He spoke to Ben Jamison, the young lieutenant, while still holding my hand and looking me in the eye. He said, loud enough for me to hear, “He’s every bit what you said he is, Ben.”

My face flushed, embarrassed, wondering if I’d heard right. The only snap judgment the man could make about me that quickly had to concern my looks. The eyebrows-raised smirk Peter gave me convinced me he thought the same.

I gave them a tour. By then, we had forty-six boys. For them, we had the attic and all six rooms on the second floor.

“And yet, your bed is still up here in the attic?” Mr. Caldwell asked. “Why didn’t you take a room for yourself?” There was a twinkle in his eye as if he thought I must organize boy orgies around my bed at night.

“It just didn’t seem right to take one of the rooms for myself when the General had them cleared them for the boys to use,” I told him.

Harrison studied me for a moment, and then seemed satisfied that I was sincere.

“For a while,” I said, “all we had was the attic. It was really crowded then. We’ve moved the older boys down into the rooms and kept the younger ones up here for now. It may get crowded again soon, though. The Red Cross has already brought us two boys from Munich, and Dietrich Kline – he heads up the Red Cross here – says they have more boys from Munich and other cities to bring us. They bring us the street boys.”

Mr. Caldwell cocked an eyebrow. “Street boys only, huh? I’d heard that.” He looked around the attic. “You could wind up with a lot more boys.”

I nodded.

“And it’s just you and your English friend running all this?”

“Yes sir, but the older boys all help out. Bruno is in England with Nigel and he’s like, head boy. He watches the boys while Nigel and I are at work. Peter here is the oldest and he helps me a lot with purchases and schedules and things… sort of like our quartermaster.”

Harrison Caldwell eyed Peter a moment. “How old are you, boy?”

“Fourteen,” Peter answered.

Mr. Caldwell nodded with a look of approval, though I didn’t know whether the approval was for Peter’s looks or his help.

“Does the Red Cross provide you with food and clothing?” he asked, looking at some of the other boys in the attic.

“Michael pays,” Peter said. “He and Nigel use their own money.”

Mr. Caldwell looked at me.

“We stretch our paychecks,” I said. “Sometimes the Red Cross helps out, or people give us money. While he is in England, Nigel is visiting friends who might be able to help.”

Our rich American looked around the attic a final time, and said to Ben, “I’ve seen enough.”

He turned to me. “I’m here on a train. The allied governments rounded up a handful of industrialists like me, and they’re hauling us all over the continent to survey the reconstruction work. The train’s down at the station. Come back with me for supper, and we can visit in my private car afterward.”

“I’ve eaten, Mr. Caldwell,” I said, “and I need to stay with the boys.”

He frowned at me. “Call me Harrison. I insist,” he said. He looked at Peter. “Peter can watch the boys for a few hours… can’t you, Peter?” he asked.

Peter nodded, glancing at me.

I shook my head. “I have appointments.”

“Appointments?” Harrison asked.

I told him how Nigel and I spent one-on-one time with each boy and that we scheduled it so that we made sure every boy got his time.

Harrison listened, but then waved dismissively. “Tell them you’ll meet with them later. I want some one-on-one time with you.” He pointed at Peter. “You watch the boys. Tell them that I’ll give a buck to every boy who behaves himself.”

Peter nodded, grinning.

Harrison, threw an arm over my shoulder. “You’re coming with me, son. I want to find out more about you and your English friend.”

At the train, Harrison told me to step out of the car, while he talked to Ben. Then when Harrison got out, Ben drove off.

I frowned.

“We’ll find you a ride when the time’s appropriate,” Harrison promised.

The train was Swiss. Inside, the cars were modern and well-appointed with polished wood and plush furniture.

There were other men in the dinning car; other industrialists and their staffs. Harrison introduced me from the doorway.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, “this is Michael Conti, from Chicago. He’s an engineer, like some of you. He’s over here working on the reconstruction effort in Cologne.” He looped his arm behind my back and rested his hand on my shoulder. “But he’s also teamed up with an Englishman by the name of Nigel Stokes, and the two of them have started a home for some of the war orphans here. Before we leave Cologne, I’m going to pass the hat for you rich fat cats to help him out.”

My face grew hot. I was not a public person by nature, and these powerful men intimidated me. Harrison led me to a table with three men.

“These guys are with me, Michael,” he said. He introduced me to them, an engineer, an assistant/secretary, a company president, all older than me by at least ten years.

Then Harrison led me to an empty table and we sat down across from each other. The table had candles, fine linen, and silver. A valet quickly lit the candles and waited on us. The food was rich and served with fine wine. At the other end of the car, someone started a phonograph playing big band music; some band I didn’t know.

The luxury, the food, the exalted company, the respite from the stresses of the house… it was like a dream. Harrison asked me about my family and background. I learned more about him and his companies.

Afterward, he led me to his private car. It was opulent, at least compared to what I was used to. A sitting room/office occupied two thirds of the car and a bedroom occupied the rest. We were alone. Harrison motioned me to a couch, removed his coat, and poured us brandies.

“I suppose you’ve lost track of things stateside,” Harrison speculated, taking a seat beside me. “How long have you been here in Germany?” He offered me a glass.

I accepted the brandy from him. “Not quite a year, yet,” I answered. “But it seems like ten.”

“Tell me about all about it,” he said. “Tell me how you wound up with an orphanage?”

I told him. The wine, the food, the comfort, and now the brandy, loosened my tongue. I still was unsure of what Harrison might want of the boys, so I held back telling him many of the intimate details. I told him about starting with only Günter, and then how things developed with Nigel and Bruno, then the other boys.

Harrison probed, with knowing questions. I saw it in his eyes; he knew exactly the directions our relationships had taken. He sat sideways, facing me, leaning close with his arm cocked on the back of the couch, his leg touching mine. He probed until he asked outright. “You sleep with Günter and Alby?”


“You have sex with the boys?”

I dropped my eyes.

“Shit, Michael. Don’t hold back. I don’t want you telling anybody, but I’ve had boys before. Didn’t Ben give you that idea?”

I nodded.

“I take it that Bruno and Oscar are Nigel’s boys the way Günter and Alby are yours?”

It was too late now. I nodded.

Harrison patted my leg. “Günter and Alby are a bit young for my tastes,” he confided, “but then, what you’re describing is more like a family relationship, isn’t it?”

I nodded, relieved, smiling; he understood, or seemed to. He kept asking questions, kept nodding, kept encouraging me to talk. He squeezed my leg. He squeezed my shoulder. He smiled. We drank brandy. I wound up telling him even more; about ceremonial baths and angels and naked wrestling.

“My god,” he gasped. “I’d love to be there for that.”

As soon as he said that, I regretted that I had told him so much. He saw my regret, I think, and patted my arm. “I won’t intrude, Michael. I’m sure my presence would disrupt everything.”

He poured me more brandy.

“So what are your plans?” he asked. “When do you go back to the states? What will you do with the boys? Will Nigel stay on, do you think?”

“Nigel and I are sticking together. We’ve promised each other. We’re virtually married,” I told him with a grin, but then regretted saying that because of how utterly queer that sounded.

Harrison cocked an eyebrow.

“Not really married,” I hurriedly corrected myself. Then I told him about Nigel’s and my talk, when we committed to stay with each other and with the boys.

“That was your first time to make love together?”


He smiled. “Did you like it? You say Nigel is twenty-one?”

“Yes, sir.” I smiled. “He’s very nice.”

Harrison returned my smile and leaned back with a sigh. His dark eyes studied me a moment, his jaw working. “It strikes me,” he said, “that you’ll find it difficult to advance your career while running an orphanage, Michael. You know that sooner or later, you’re going to have to choose between the two.”

I shrugged. “I don’t see how I can give up work,” I said. “We need the money. And I can’t just leave the boys.” Then I laughed and said something that was so beyond what I dared to hope, I made it a joke. “Not unless your rich friends want to fund an orphanage,” I said.

Harrison didn’t laugh.

I swallowed, my smile fading.

He poured me more brandy. I was amazed that I had already drunk the last. “No more,” I said, setting down the glass on a table beside the couch. “I’m not used to so much brandy.”

Harrison smiled. “You know how brandy tastes best?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He took my hand and held it palm up, molding it into a cup. Then he poured a tiny amount of brandy into my palm. He set the brandy down, and I prepared to drink it from my palm, but instead, he took my hand into both of his.

“Brandy,” he said, “is best when sipped from the palm of a lovely boy.” He held the back of my hand, cradled in his two hands, and his eyes roamed my face. “You are still a boy, Michael,” he said, shaking his head. “Twenty-two is young. Twenty-two is very young.” He bent his head over my hand, pressing the brandy from my palm into his mouth. Then he licked my palm, thoroughly; and I was surprised at the erection that gave me.

I chuckled, and Harrison looked up at me with a grin. “Ticklish?”

I shook my head. I was a little silly from the wine and brandy, otherwise I would not have been so honest.

“I was thinking how funny it is,” I told him. “We thought you’d want to sleep with our boys. Nigel and I got all worried about prostituting them out. Peter and Heinrich even volunteered for the duty. But I’m the one who Ben dragged off to bed, and now you… “ My grin faded and I swallowed. I’d gone too far.

His eyelids lowered. “So you’re only here for money?” He asked, leaning back.

I swallowed again, and cleared my throat. “That’s why I came here,” I admitted. I glanced up at his hooded eyes. “That’s not why I’m still here.”

Harrison said nothing, watching me.

My eyes dropped. “I like you,” I said. I’d had no dad growing up. Maybe that’s why I wanted Harrison to like me.

He leaned forward and stroked hair off my forehead. “I like you, too, Michael,” he said.

My nervous smile returned. “The way you sucked brandy from my palm made me hard as hell.”

Harrison laughed, considered, then lifted the brandy bottle and my hand once more. He poured a little into my palm and lifted it to his mouth. He sucked the brandy from my hand, licking, licking up my wrist.

A quiver ran through my body.

He leaned into me, kissing my neck. “I have a hobby, Michael” he whispered. “Rich men have hobbies, and mine is giving massages to the bodies of beautiful young men. I bet you have a very fine body, don’t you?”

His hand pressed my chest, feeling with his fingers. He kissed my neck again. “Have you ever had a good massage, Michael?”

“No,” I murmured.

“Come back to the bedroom. I’ll show you what a good massage is like.”

I had come with the attitude that if Harrison would give us money, I would do anything. On the way to the train, I had decided that trading my pride for a few bucks, considering how desperate our need was for so many things, would be a good trade. Besides, Harrison was handsome, and if I would consider letting one of the older boys entertain Harrison, then I would be awfully two-faced not to do so myself. However, all that rationale had little to do with what followed.

For those who’ve never been seduced by an older man, it’s difficult to describe the heady affect of the attention and adoration of a rich, handsome, and powerful man. The wine and brandy had an effect, certainly, but that Harrison desired me, excited me. Enough people had told me I was good looking that I believed it, but I’d never been called a ‘lovely boy’, and Harrison made me believe that I was.

“I have work tomorrow,” I said; making one last, weak protest.

“No you don’t,” Harrison said, squeezing my thigh and kissing the inside of my neck once more. “I told Ben to take care of it.”

He stood at the door and watched me undress. “Briefs, too,” he said when I paused. I pulled them off. My cock was heavy, on the verge of another erection.

“Turn all the way around,” he instructed.

I complied, and he watched smiling.

“Beautiful, Michael,” he said. His eyes dropped to my twisted shin and then back up my body. He shook his head slowly. “A wounded angel if ever I’ve seen one.” He stepped around to the side of the bed and pulled back the bed covers. “Lie down on your stomach.”

Again, I complied, and then watched as Harrison undressed. Other than some, small effect of gravity and years, he still had a slender body. His chest was mildly hairy with gray and black hair. His pubic patch was thinner and more diffuse than the boys I was used to. The hair was stringy and pale. His circumcised cock stood at attention. Even some of the boys had bigger cocks, but Harrison’s had a large crown and looked rock hard. He had nice, heavy balls.

He reached for a jar of what looked like facial cream, sitting on his built-in dresser. “You work so hard, Michael,” he said, “tonight I’m going to pamper you. I’m going to use my own, best ointments and creams on you.”

He climbed onto the bed, straddling my butt. I jumped slightly when his hands, with cool cream, touched my shoulders, but I quickly relaxed as his hands went to work. Harrison was good.

He worked over the back of my neck, my shoulders and upper back, then my lower back, then my feet and up my calves, then the backs of my thighs. His hands, working inside my legs, had me hard. He worked over my butt, and rubbed down between the backs of my legs, rubbing under my perineum. I spread my legs. Gently, he pulled my balls back and lotioned the skin of my scrotum very carefully between thumb and finger, deftly moving my balls out of the way.

His fingers returned to my perineum, and I sighed. His fingers slid higher and higher, into the crack between my buttocks. “Not a feather,” he murmured, caressing first one globe, then another. “You’re remarkably hairless for an Italian,” he said.

“My mom has Cherokee blood,” I told him.

“No wonder you look like you do,” he said as I felt his finger probe at my opening.

He eased his finger inside me and probed. I widened my legs and moaned.

Harrison repositioned himself behind me. He pulled his finger from inside me, and then I felt his large crown in my crevice. He entered me and settled onto me. With his knees, he pulled my two legs between his and he slid his hands under the fronts of my shoulder.

“Oh, shit this is good!” he murmured, his breath on the side of my neck. He ground down into me. “I’ve never been with a boy like you, Michael,” he whispered. “Not with a body like yours; not as beautiful.”

I intended to please him; not just because we needed his money. I wanted to make sure that no one he’d been with compared to me. I moved under him the way Peter moved, or Günter, or Nigel… when they were excited and moving with me. I wrapped my hands under the backs of his and used my knees for leverage, grinding back up into him, taking him deeper.

I gave him the best night of sex I could. After his fourth orgasm, he begged me to let him collapse in sleep. I did, molding my body to his from behind. It had been good sex, and Harrison seemed to be a good man.

He woke me in the morning with a washcloth on my cock. I lifted my head, sleepily.

Harrison grinned. “I had something special in mind for my breakfast,” he said, “but since this was up my butt last night, I wanted to give it a little cleaning.”

I was tired and would have preferred to sleep in for a change; his bed was incredibly comfortable. But Harrison’s attentions were changing my mind. Besides, I still wanted to give Harrison a good time, as we used to say. “Pass me the washcloth when you’re done,” I told him. “I’ll have breakfast with you.”

Harrison grinned, and tossed me a second washcloth from beside him. “I hoped you would be in the mood.”

He asked to see my work that day. After he gave instructions to his people to keep them busy, I took him around to the places I worked and introduced him to the people I worked for and with. Recognizing that Harrison might be an important person, they all spoke highly of me, and I appreciated it.

We ate a late lunch at another small restaurant, down by the river. Then we returned to the train. “An afternoon nap,” Harrison said with a grin.

I brought him to two orgasms, and then we did take an afternoon nap.

We woke slowly, languidly, rolling up to face each other. Harrison kissed me, and then, holding my shoulder, looked deeply into my eyes. “Michael, I have something to say, and I want you to listen to me,” he said. “You’re a fine young man; perhaps the finest young man I’ve met. The way you work so hard to take care of those orphans, and yet, you still turn out work that all of your coworkers and bosses praise. They said you’re a first rate engineer, and I believe them.” He squeezed my shoulder more tightly. “I want to hire you, Michael. I want you to be my right hand man.”

I frowned.

“Hear me out, Michael,” he said, squeezing my shoulder more tightly. “We’ll hire someone to run your orphanage for you; anyone can do that. You can return and visit whenever you want.” He gave my shoulder a little shake. “You’re capable of greater things than being a cook and maid to orphan boys.” He smiled and gave my shoulder a stroke. “You’ll work at my side. I’ll introduce you to important men. I’ll make a way for you, and I’ll pay you well right from the start. I’ll teach you business, Michael, and if you’re the man I think you are, you’ll become a rich man, yourself.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I mean… I’m adopting Günter and Alby. The boys need me.”

“You can adopt them, and you’ll be able to buy a home for them and yourself,” Harrison said. “As for the others, I told you; we’ll hire someone to run the orphanage.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t leave the boys.

Harrison pulled my belly to his and he looked hard into my eyes. “Michael, I’ve been married twice. I have three children; two boys and a girl. None of them are worth spit. There’s no one in my life who I love. There’s no one in my life worth loving. But you… you’re solid. You’re good. Let me make a life for you.”


“Shsssh. I want you with me. I’ll groom you myself. You’re wasted here.”

“No, Harrison. I can’t leave the boys; not right now.”

He pushed me onto my back and looked down into my eyes. “Think with your head, boy, not your cock. We can find you more boys. I’m talking about your future here.”

“I know the future I want, and it’s not about sex,” I said, firmly, pushing him off me. I got up from the bed, looking for my clothes.

“A future of poverty?” Harrison asked. “Germany is a shambles! You don’t have a penny to your name; you or Nigel. Think how much better you can help these boys if you make good money; if you become rich like me.”

I said nothing, but pulled on my briefs and then my pants.

“I’m not helping those boys if you walk out of here, Michael,” Harrison threatened. “You won’t get a cent from me, or from any of the men on this train. I can guarantee you that.”

I paused. I hated not getting money from him. Worse, I’d made him mad. What if he reported to the authorities what we were doing with the boys? I’d told Harrison way too much.

I took a breath, and continued dressing. “That’s your choice Mr. Caldwell. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I know what you’re offering me is the chance of a lifetime. It’s just that I’ve already made choices for my life, and I’ve made commitments. I have promises to keep.” I glanced at him. “It’s not my cock I’m thinking with. It’s my heart and my head. I belong with Nigel and the boys now.”

“Think, Michael!” Harrison said sternly. “How can you say you care for those boys and turn down what I’m offering them?”

I tied my shoes and stood at the door. “The boys need money. They need many things. They need me, Mr. Caldwell. I’m sorry you won’t help them, they really need it, and you seem like a good man.” I bowed my head. “I’m very grateful for the kindnesses you’ve shown me.”

“Ask them!” Harrison called after me. “Would those boys choose you over soft beds, decent clothes, and good food, Michael? Ask them yourself! See what they say!”

It was a long walk back to the house, and I asked myself Harrison’s question, over and over.


Well... chapter eleven got so damn big on me that I split it, so, there are still two chapters to go, but definitely, it ends in 12. :) Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter. I always appreciate hearing when someone likes a chapter. My email address is jnuanced@gmail.com, and thanks for all the encouragement!