Jack Edwards

Waisen 12

It had become a favorite time of day for me, just after supper, sitting beneath an open window in our little office, sipping the one cup of coffee I counted on every day. Our “office” was the same small room off the kitchen that began as my own room when I first arrived. Now it held a table, made from an old door, which served as a desk for both Nigel and me. It also held one of the few armchairs we owned. It was my chair, this time of day.

It had rained earlier in the day; the air was cool and damp. Mixed with the lingering, rich smells from supper, was the scent of rain, and the autumn feel of late September.

Boys with kitchen duty were working noisily; I’d left the door open, because I liked listening to them. Other boys played outside in the growing dark. I could hear them through the window. Boys were upstairs in their rooms, studying for their new school classes. The house had a full, contented feel.

Every evening, I made myself a cup of coffee and sat in ‘my’ chair to read or write letters. In my lap that night was a Life magazine from the States.

The door to the kitchen closed, and I looked up. Peter was watching me. He wore a pale blue shirt, loosely buttoned, and a pair of very short tan shorts. As they usually did, my eyes dropped to his long legs. At fifteen, he looked more the scholar than ever. His brown hair was always shaggy, and he had just the beginning of sideburns; little wisps of hair. His look tended to be serious, like it was as he stood inside the door.

I smiled. “Hi, champ.”

Leaving the doorway, he came and knelt beside my feet. I, too, was in shorts, and he ran his hands up the outside of my thighs and into the legs of my shorts, shoving his fingertips into the sides of my briefs. He rested his chin on my knees, looking up at me. My cock began to thicken because of where his fingers and chin were.

“Alby says you want to adopt me and Heinrich.”

I set the magazine on the side table beside my coffee, and stroked the sides of his forearms. “I was waiting on a good time to talk to you about it.”


“Because I wasn’t sure what you and Heinrich would think?”

“I mean, why do you want to adopt us?”

I frowned. “Because I love you.”

Peter lifted his chin off my knees, his brow furrowing, thoughtfully. At the same time, he ran his fingers under the elastic of the leg openings in my briefs, up from the sides to the top. “You would adopt Heinrich because of me?”

“Well sure,” I said. His long forearms were smooth. I ran my fingers over them. “I thought you two would want to be brothers.”

“Do you love Heinrich?” Peter asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Do you think he is sexy?”

I thought of fourteen-year-old Heinrich. He had returned from his train trip with Harrison and Peter, a changed boy. His natural good humor had returned. He had put on a little muscle and he looked healthy again. Though Harrison had monopolized Heinrich’s attention for much of the night, I had sex with him that evening, and enjoyed it. Heinrich did too. That we hadn’t had sex since, I attributed to each of us being protective of our relationships with Peter.

“Yeah, I think he’s sexy. I enjoyed him that night on the train, and I used to enjoy watching you two in the attic when you made love.”

Peter’s fingers inside the leg holes of my briefs, slid down into the creases of my legs, touching the sides of my scrotum. His eyes dropped there.

“Michael,” he said, still thoughtful, “you sleep every night with Günter, and Alby, and Franz. You have sex with me.” His eyes rose to mine. “If you wish to adopt Heinrich, you should angel him. If you adopt him, it should be because of you and him. Do you understand what I mean?”

I nodded. In a house full of sexually active boys, I’d tried to discipline myself to think of only Peter, Nigel, my bedmates, sexually. Heinrich had been a challenge because we did have sex together. When Peter made his suggestion, my shorts fully tented.

Peter smiled. He used the heels of his hands to push my legs apart and then he placed his hand on my swollen package.

“Someone could walk in on us,” I pointed out.

“It wouldn’t be something they hadn’t seen before.”

“But we tell them to keep sex to the bedrooms and attic.”

Peter smiled, and, grabbing the outside of my hips, he pulled my butt forward and the front of my shorts closer to his face. “They will understand,” he whispered.

He draped his elbows over my legs, and lowered his face to my crotch. He rubbed his face there. I closed my eyes, laying my head back in the chair.

Peter unfastened my shorts and pulled down the zipper. Grabbing the outsides of my shorts and briefs at the same time, he pulled them down past my balls. My cock sprang up free.

“Oh, damn, Peter,” I murmured. “We should go somewhere else.”

He ignored me, and closed his mouth over my cock.

My head came up, mouth dropping. He was so damn good at this. With half my cock in his mouth, he looked up at me. He liked to watch my face when he sucked me.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and clasped the sides of his head.

He bobbed slowly, twisting, using his tongue under my shaft, sucking, frequently looking up at me. My shaft grew wet; very wet.

I laid my head back, just feeling… and listening to the quiet sounds of Peter’s mouth as they mixed with the other sounds of the house.

Peter bobbed deeper; all the way down, swallowing me whole. Drool ran down onto my balls.

The door opened. I looked up. Two of our older boys had stopped in the doorway. They grinned; one waved. I groaned and laid my head back. I was too far gone to stop.

The door closed again.

Peter’s head rose higher. He grabbed the base of my cock with one hand and stroked, while at the same time, he swirled my crown with his tongue.

I gasped and instantly climaxed.

Peter stroked and drank, swallowing it all, and sucking when no more came.

Then, quietly, he lifted his head and pulled my shorts and underwear back up over my wet genitals. I watched him, smiling dreamily.

He zipped me up and patted the front of my shorts. Then he climbed up onto the chair, straddling my legs, his knees deep into the back of the chair on either side of my hips. He settled onto my thighs and put his hands on my shoulders. “Tomorrow night, you angel Heinrich.”

I rubbed the sides of his hips and legs. “Let’s make it a ceremonial bathing,” I suggested. “The whole family; you, Günter, and Alby, too.”

Peter smiled. “That’s good, Michael. I like that idea.”

“But keep it quiet,” I said. “I don’t want any of the other boys to feel badly because they aren’t being adopted.

I pulled the shirt out of his waistband and ran my hands up the smooth skin of his sides. “You know, I wish I could adopt all our boys.”

Peter’s jaw dropped and he laid his hand on the side of his face, as if he were scandalized.

I laughed and popped the side of his bottom. “Not that way, smart-ass!”

He grinned and took the sides of my face into his hands, smiling at me.

I unfastened his pants. “Your turn,” I said.

Peter’s smile widened. He knelt up for me, the front of his pants coming closer to my face. We both pulled down his pants and underwear to free his cock and balls. I loved Peter’s cock. It curved up thickly to a head not much larger than the shaft, a head that angled forward slightly, like the head of a snake.

Grabbing his narrow hips with one hand, and his shaft with my other, I pulled that head to my mouth and kissed it. Then I opened my mouth and pulled his hips forward again.

That night in bed, I told Günter, Alby, and Franz about the ceremonial bathing planned for the next evening. Peter told Heinrich, and Heinrich hung around close to me after school the next afternoon, grinning. Though I’d told the boys to keep it quiet, word must have gotten around.

Little Siggy crawled into my lap in the office and asked if he was going to be adopted some day. As I passed through the kitchen later, one of the older, street-wise boys quipped, “Michael can adopt me any day.” It was a joke, and didn’t sound resentful. But I was concerned. Nigel, the boys and I, had started as one family in the attic. I didn’t want to lose that. I wouldn’t let it happen.

Heinrich showed up for supper in his best pants and shirt. His hair was carefully combed, and he wore the silver wristwatch Harrison Caldwell had given him on their train tour.

Günter, Alby, and Franz came to supper dressed in their twelve, eleven, and nine-year-old best. I glanced at Peter, down the table. Even his shaggy hair had been combed. I hadn’t really thought of it before, but the night would be a special coming together for all of the boys.

Günter had kitchen duty that evening, but he had traded off, and so, we all agreed to meet in the third floor bathroom shortly after supper. I quickly shaved my poor excuse for a beard, and groomed my hair. I changed to the silk shirt and fine trousers Harrison and the boys brought me after their train trip. Then I hurried to the bathroom where I found Peter and Heinrich. They were in each other’s arms, kissing.

A moment later, Günter, Franz, and Alby arrived together. They had found fall flowers and handed small bouquets to Peter and Heinrich. The older boys kissed each of the younger boys. Then everyone stepped back from Heinrich and me.

I held open my arms. Smiling uncertainly, Heinrich came to me, his face tilting up to mine. I was tempted to do as I would have with Peter, and pull him to me by his bottom. Instead, I wrapped my arms around Heinrich’s shoulders, and kissed him affectionately on the lips, once, twice, and then my lips settled on his.

He took me by the sides of my waist and pulled us together. We opened our mouths to each other and our hardnesses pressed.

The three other boys came close. Their hands reached between Heinrich and me, and they unbuttoned our shirts. Heinrich and I continued to kiss until our shirts were off. Then we remained close, stroking each other’s bare shoulders and chests as the other boys removed our shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. We looked down between us as our cocks sprung up free, and Heinrich gave mine a playful swat with his. Like Peter, Heinrich was nicely endowed.

We came together again and, this time, I did drop my hands to his firm bottom. I pulled us together, forcing our cocks up between us. Heinrich’s face was as smooth as when we’d met, but he was a little taller. He had a tight, but luxuriously thick pubic patch. His body had the flat symmetry of a boy in early adolescence. He was nicely endowed. And I genuinely liked him. My other boys were for it, so I would love Heinrich; I would purpose to love him as I loved them. And that’s how I held him.

We pressed, and we explored one another’s body with our hands, and our mouths. The other boys undressed beside us.

Heinrich pulled away from me. With an inviting smile, he sat down onto the floor and lay back on the bathroom rug. He opened his arms and legs to me, and I settled onto him. While we kissed, I felt hands between us once more. The other boys shoved folded towels under Heinrich’s bottom. They fondled us.

“Lift your hips, Michael,” Peter instructed quietly.

I lifted my hips, and three sets of hands reached between Heinrich and me to apply lube to his bottom and to my cock. Someone grabbed my cock – it felt like Günter’s hand – and guided my crown to Heinrich’s opening.

They pushed my butt, and my crown popped inside Heinrich. I closed my eyes to enjoy the slide of his tightness down my shaft. Heinrich clutched my shoulders and I heard his breathing in my ear.

Extending my legs, I went flat onto him, pressing his upturned cock between our bellies. I kissed and sucked on his neck, and he sucked on mine. Heinrich wrapped his legs around my waist and his heels dug into the backs of my thighs. His hands on the small of my back pulled our bellies tight. I slid my hands under the backs of his shoulders and, supporting myself on my elbows, I covered his mouth again with mine.

The hands of the other three boys ran over my back, my butt, the backs of my legs, and inside my legs. I could feel their arms and hands working around me, stroking and caressing Heinrich’s legs and bottom.

“You feel very good, Heinrich,” I told him. “You have a fine young body. I like how you move.”

He murmured. “You make it feel good, Michael… like Peter make it feel good.” He hugged me around the neck. “You feel strong.”

I ground into him, pumping, not just from my hips, but sliding my belly over his upturned cock as well. He wiggled under me, grinding back against my deep thrusts.

The hands of the other boys left us. I glanced to the side and saw the three of them lay down onto the floor together, Peter over Günter and Alby beside them, pressing into them. They kissed and caressed. I hadn’t seen them like that before, and it struck me that Peter and Günter must have had sex together at some point. They seemed to be enjoying each other as if they had.

My attention returned to Heinrich, but then, a few moments later, I glanced over at the other boys once again. Peter was still on top of Günter, only now he was inside him. Alby had mounted Peter from behind. There were no smiles, simply concentration and looks of pleasure.

I spent the night with Heinrich in his room. Peter, Günter, and Alby spent the night in ours. The next night, I spent the night with Peter, and Heinrich joined the other boys. We spent the third night, all of us together, in my room.

I won’t pretend that the boys never argued, or that I never got angry with them, or them with me. Nor will I pretend that there weren’t tensions from time to time in the house, even between groups of boys. But it is that way in any family, and in any large group of boys. I’m sure that Nigel and I having sex with the boys could have complicated things, but it never seemed to.

Nigel always said that the boys idolized me. When I look back at photos of me, from back then, I wonder who that great looking guy is. I never felt like I was that good looking, but the boys did seem to like me; and I know they loved Nigel. We certainly loved them.

In the past, British boarding schools had many of the same dynamics as we had at Engelheim, including young men sleeping with boys. But boys seem to have a built in inclination to sex play and a capacity for handling relationships that include it.

In Engelheim, we added another dimension.

My adoption of Peter and Heinrich became official very quickly. By then, we knew all the appropriate authorities and had all the necessary connections in the newly forming government. We also had their sympathy. They knew that, because of our boys’ older age, and because they came off the street, few, if any of our boys would ever be adopted by others, and so, at our request, the government extended to us an uncommon privilege. Just before Christmas, I stood at supper, and made the announcement.

“I hope you all know how much Nigel and I love every one of you,” I said to the boys. “The time we set aside to be alone with each of you each week, is much, much less than what we want to have. Every one of you is remarkable in your own way. You are, each of you, a treasure and a treasured friend. Every day, Nigel and I feel more and more privileged that you live with us.

“We have adopted some of you. We have said before that we wish we could adopt all of you.” I looked around the room. “The new German government has given us permission to do just that. We have received their approval to adopt every one of you.”

Boys around the room glanced at each other.

“Here is how we will do this,” I told them. “Every one of you has come into Engelheim with an angel. All of you have at least one best friend. Nigel and I want to adopt each of you and your best friends as brothers. In the coming days, we will sit down with you and your friends, and ask if you will let us adopt you. If you will, Nigel or I will adopt you and your friends… as brothers.”

The boys started to talk among themselves, but I lifted my voice above the babble. “I want you to understand that, if ever any of you boys are fortunate enough to find your family or find some one who wants to adopt you, you’ll be free to go with them. Your future, and who you call family, will be in your hands. But Nigel and I promise you this… you will always be in our family. You are the family that we have chosen. Even if you decide to not let us adopt you, we are still going to love you, just as much as ever. No matter what decisions you make, now or later, you will always have a home here, with Nigel and me.”

Nigel spoke up. “Any new boy who comes to Engelheim from now on – after he has been with us long enough – will be given the same choice we are giving you. That’s because we aren’t really an orphanage. We are a home,” Nigel said. “Michael and I invited you into our own rooms to begin with, and we have been a family from the start.”

“So whatever your choice about adoption,” I said, “we are going to stay a family, all of us.”

We sat down, and the room remained quiet. But then Willie got up from his chair and climbed into Nigel’s lap. Nigel hugged him, and the room erupted into a babble of boy’s voices as they turned to their angels and best friends. Frankly, I think most of them were most excited about being officially brothers.

Every single boy chose to be adopted.

Nigel had his boys and I had my boys, but we were one family. Within our family, every boy had his angel or angels and his best friends and brothers. My angels were Günter, Peter, Franz, Alby, and Heinrich.

Harrison returned in the summer. He took me and my angels around Europe in his private car. The next summer, he took Nigel and his angels, Bruno, and Oscar. By then Willie and Siggy had pretty well adopted the three of them, and the little ones traveled with them as well.

In August, after Harrison, Nigel, and his angels returned, Harrison paid for me and my angels, my inner family, to cross by boat to the States to meet my mom and grand parents.

Though my family loved the boys, my granddad couldn’t understand why I would choose to stay in Germany and run an orphanage when I could return to a successful civil and, possibly political career. But he accepted it. He and my grandmother even made contributions to Engelheim.

So did many of Harrison’s friends. He brought us to New York before we returned to Germany. The ‘wealthy’ were returning from their summer homes. Everyone liked the boys. We met some of our best patrons that year.

Günter, Alby, Franz, and I were still sharing one room at Engelheim that fall, and we chose to stay in one double bed, even when we had the chance to have a second bed. For almost two years, my three boys had remained fairly constantly in my bed at night.

The boys grew a lot in those two years. I remember the morning I woke with Günter on my side and realized that his toes were on the tops of my feet and his forehead was against my jaw. That was just after he turned fourteen, and he had become an amazingly beautiful boy, just like I knew he would.

Two years of Günter lying on my side in the night, and it was more a delight than ever. He would lie on me, his slender leg over mine, the warmth and softness – or hardness, depending – of his young genitals on my hip, his head on my shoulder or right beside it, and his hand on my chest or shoulder. I would stroke the long muscles of his increasingly firm back, or with my hand, caress the globes of his smooth, firm bottom, or, I would draw my fingers up the soft-skinned warmth between them. He would lie on me, and I would feel incredibly contented.

He seemed so much older than his age. In our relationship, he took care of me even more than I did of him.

I always felt very proud of Günter; not just because of the way he looked, though he was quite beautiful, but because of who he was and who he was becoming. From the beginning, when he offered to be my servant, he made choices that put me first. Day by day, I saw him make choices that put Franz or Alby, or even Peter and Heinrich, first. I saw him look after younger boys. I saw him help with work around the house when it was not required of him.

Alby, Franz, Peter, Heinrich… they all were good boys, too. The house was full of good boys. One day, as I watched two older boys helping a younger boy with his math homework, in my mind’s eye, I suddenly had a vision of all of our boys on their way to manhood as if they were on a road. I saw all the fine choices they were making as choices to go in the right direction, though they didn’t know where their choices were taking them. It was as if I could lift my eyes and see their future and the men they would become. Until that moment, I had no more idea than they, where we were headed. But now, after all our work and all our worrying over how we would provide for the boys, and all our doing without, I saw Nigel and me as accompanying these boys, whom we loved so much, on the greatest of roads. It moved me deeply. It gave me hope.

One night, when Günter was with Zeppelin and Hagan, and Alby was with Siggy and Willie, Franz chose to remain with me. He was probably thirteen at the time, and an awfully cute boy in his quiet way. After we stripped for bed, he asked me to read to him the way I used to read to the boys, and still did to the younger ones. He lay with his head in my lap while I held the book to read in one hand and stroked his hair with the other.

The book was Kidnapped, and I got into it as I read. Eventually, Franz grew so quiet I thought he’d fallen asleep. But when I set the book aside, I saw that he was crying.

I pulled him up, sitting him sideways in my lap, and wrapped my arms around him. “What is it, Franzy?” I asked gently, using Günter’s nickname for him.

He shook his head and buried his face in the side of my neck. “I wanted to tell you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I wanted to tell you something, a long time.”


His breath caught, and he squeezed my side in his hand. It hurt, but I tightened my muscles and rocked him. “What is it, Franz?”

“Reinhart,” he said. “I didn’t save Reinhart.”

“What?” I asked. I knew that Franz had been with the other boys at the river that day, but… “I thought no one saw Reinhart disappear.”

Franz sobbed. “I didn’t see because I was with other boys. Reinhart wanted me to play but I was with other boys.”

“Then how could you have saved him?”

“I was with other boys,” he sobbed.

It is surprising, how close to the surface a profound grief can remain; even after two years. Tears came to my own eyes. My throat constricted tightly. I clutched Franz to me. “Oh Franz,” I said, “that didn’t make it your fault.”

He pressed his face to my neck and his tears ran down onto my chest.

“It was my fault,” I told him, quietly. “I could have gone with you, when you and Reinhart asked. I could have gone and left older boys in charge. Or I could have sent older boys with you… I could have done a hundred things that might have saved Reinhart. You have no idea how I thought of that, over and over, until I couldn’t let myself think of it any more.” I kissed the top of his head, wetting his hair with my tears. “I can’t tell you how many times I have remembered the disappointment in Reinhart’s face when I told him I couldn’t go with you.” I squeezed him, and my voice tightened. “It wasn’t you, Franz; it was me.”

“It was me,” he sobbed.

I held him. I rocked him. We wept. When we grew quiet, Franz kissed my neck. “Reinhart would forgive you,” he said. “He loved you.”

“He loved you, too, Franz. He would forgive you.”

Franz laid his hand on my chest. “Do you think he can hear us?”

I kissed Franz’s wet hair. “Yeah, I think maybe he can.”

“I have told him,” Franz said, “every night, as I go to sleep; I have told him that I am sorry, and that I miss him.”

My throat caught and new tears squeezed from my eyes. “I miss him, too,” I whispered.

Franz leaned back and looked up at me with eyes whelming with tears. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

“I’m so sorry, too,” I told him.

He swallowed, and attempted a smile. He kissed my wet cheek. “I think Reinhart knows.”

The word they use these days is ‘closure’, and somehow, those four words gave it to me, and I think to Franz. “Yes, Franz. I think he does,” I finally managed to say.

I hugged Franz. I rocked him in my arms. I felt washed out, but good. “Do you feel better now?” I asked.

He nodded.

“You hungry?” I asked.

Franz looked up and smiled. “Yes.”

“Let’s go make a sandwich.”

We went down to the kitchen in our underwear. When we returned, I closed our door and pulled Franz into my arms. I held him, and he melted into me. His skin was soft and warm. I ran my hands into the back of his briefs and pulled his package to mine. I kissed him gently.

We pulled off our underwear, and I lay back on the bed. Franz climbed onto me, belly to belly, the way he liked, and we ground gently, almost dreamily. I held his bottom. He held my shoulders. I pulled up my knees, his narrow hips between them. And we rubbed our cocks.

After we came, Franz grabbed one of the hand towels we kept beside the bed, and cleaned between our bellies. Then he lay back down on me, belly-to-belly, the way he liked, and pulled the covers up over his back. Our still-thick cocks felt good between us.

His legs fell between mine and he nuzzled in, under my neck. Under the covers, I stroked his back until his breathing became soft and regular, and then I dozed off myself.

In the morning, we searched until we found two fishing poles that we could borrow, and I took Franz fishing, down at the river.

Franz was almost fourteen when the Red Cross brought us a new boy from Berlin. Karl was only twelve, but had a toughness to him. Something, though, struck a chord with Franz, and he angeled the boy. Something about Franz struck a chord with Karl, and Franz quit coming to my bed at night.

Alby angeled a new boy himself, and soon, his appearances at my bed were rare as well.

But even though Günter spent many nights with Zeppelin and Hagan, he spent most with me. We had become comfortable lovers, doing the things we liked from the beginning. But then, I woke one night, when Günter was still fourteen, to a hot body pressing mine, and I realized, really realized, that I had a teenage boy as my bedmate.

I was on my back, and, when I woke, Günter’s hand was pressing my cock up against my belly, rubbing. His breath was hot on my neck; his body felt feverish, and his legs gripped mine, hard. His cock, which was now almost as long as mine, ground hungrily, demandingly against my hip. I felt enough of his precum that, at first, I wondered if he had cum. But then I realized what it was, and how hot he was for sex. His desire was electric. Even the familiar smell of his hair held a sudden intoxication. His lips on my neck were wet, sucking, pressing.

My belly heaved, and I opened my legs.

He moved up over me. In the dark of the room, the weight and heat and movements of his slender body were like fire. Günter grasped my hands with his and pinned them to the bed on either side of my face. He covered my mouth with his, grinding his cock between my legs while his tongue probed. His mouth was wet, incredibly wet; he was salivating, and I drank it.

I pulled my knees up, his hips inside my thighs. I planted my feet and lifted my hips to grind my cock up against his. He pressed the backs of my hands to the bed lifting himself over me. He probed hungrily, deep into my mouth with his tongue. I groaned.

Günter shoved a knee under the back of my thigh and I pulled my leg up. He did the same on the other side and I lifted that leg too as the tops of his thighs pushed up the bottoms of mine. He probed with his cock at my bottom, while still pinning my hands. No lube, no spit, just precum. I felt its wetness in my crack as the end of his cock slid up and down inside it.

I wanted him inside me as much as he did. I moved my hips to meet him. He hit the right spot and pressed in… a fast, desperate plunge in. For me, it was like the scratching of an incredibly deep itch in my rectum. He pressed hard at the end, pressing as deep as he could. I arched under him, thrusting my cock up against his belly.

Letting go of my hands, Günter sat back on his haunches and pulled my bottom into his lap, hard, with surprising strength. With my legs out, around his waist, he leaned forward, supporting himself with his hands on my shoulders, and he drove his hips hard. I grabbed his forearms and dug my heels into his butt, holding my bottom up for him to pound. It felt good, inside and out. His cock brushed my prostate, his pubic bone banged my perineum, his shaft worked my sphincter.

My mouth fell open. My breath grew heavy.

In the faint light of the room, I looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched. Muscles strained in his neck and showed in his chest and belly. His long, slender torso flexed agilely, even gracefully, but he drove with strength.

He wanted a better angle. He pulled out and lifted my leg across, in front of him, rolling my hips to the side. Then he tugged my hips, pulling me, bottom-high, head-down, onto my knees. Instantly, he moved behind me, and, holding my hips, he drove in again, filling me as his body molded to my back.

He pulled me by the hips so that he sat back on his haunches and kept my bottom snug to his lap. I came up onto my hands. Then Günter grabbed my shoulders and pounded fast.

I’d enjoyed being butt-fucked many times. In fact, I’d often come that way. But the sensations Günter pounded up my butt that night were literally dizzying. Making the entire thing so incredibly hot was that it was Günter, for the first time, a man like me.

I rocked with him. I butted back against him. I squeezed with my butt.

He shoved his hips forward, driving my hips down to the bed. But I held my upper body up on my hands so that my butt grabbed his cock even more tightly. I ground down into the bed with my cock, tugging on his shaft as he rode me.

His voice was changing, and his grunts came in a boyish falsetto dropping to male bass, in that wonderful, mixed coarseness pubescent boys sometimes have. He clutched my shoulders. I held my upper body up, on my hands. His mouth was at the back of my neck. He chewed on it, murmuring, grunting with each hard thrust.

And then his voice squeezed tightly upward and his hands gripped my shoulders hard. Unbelievably, his cock went deeper and he drove his hips as hard as he could. He went rigid, gasping, and I felt him throbbing inside me. I felt my insides go slick.

We were frozen; the only thing moving between us was the pulsing of his cock up my butt. And then it stopped, and Günter ground his hips slowly, relaxing. His breath slowed, but stayed hot on my neck. He shuddered.

I squeezed his cock with my bottom. I wanted him to stay hard. I wasn’t nearly done. I pulled myself from under him and flipped Günter over onto his back.

I showed him my passion, and brought his on again. We clung to each other tightly. I pounded, he ground back. His lithe body writhed under me. Our skin grew wet with sweat. And then, when our passion was finally spent, we clung to each other.

Slowly, very slowly, we relaxed and I settled on to him. Our breathing was rapid, and our bellies pressed with each panting breath. I brushed his lips with mine and our breath washed over our faces.

He clutched at my hair; his eyes focused on mine. He smiled. He pulled my forehead down to his. “Wow!” he said, and I smiled because it was a good time to use the word. “Wow!” I echoed.

We were young; I was still only twenty-four. The next few days were almost a honeymoon. Not every night was filled with such virile passion, but many were. And always, after that, when Günter woke me in the night, with a hot and demanding body, it was always the best of sex.

Günter was almost sixteen when he discovered girls. He really was a beautiful boy, and girls melted before him. I assumed he took the same passion to bed with them; he became quite popular with girls.

But still, most nights, he slept with me, and we had good sex. We still loved each other, perhaps more than ever. He still tried to take care of me, and we spent time together as much as our schedules allowed.

Harrison returned every summer to take boys on a tour of the continent. He took an interest in several of the boys, including Günter. When it was time, he helped the boys with University.

They attended locally; at least the first ones did. In the beginning, Peter, Heinrich and the other older boys continued to live at Engelheim while taking classes. But Harrison thought it would be good if they started to get out on their own, and he provided flats for them to share with the understanding, that as long as they kept good grades, they could live in the flats, and Harrison would give them an additional allowance for food, clothing, etc.

Peter was one of our first two university graduates. He did so with honors in history. Harrison offered to help him pursue an advanced degree, and Peter returned to Engelheim in preparation to do so the next fall. We were a home, not an orphanage; Peter could graduate from college and still come home.

That same fall, Günter began his second year by moving into one of Harrison’s flats with other Engeheim boys. I helped him move, and we made love on his new bed before I left. He stroked the hair back from my forehead, and then wept as I held him. I wept as well. We told each other that his moving out didn’t mean anything had changed, but we knew it had. I returned to Engelheim with my spirits lower than they had been in years.

Peter came that night to my room with a suitcase. He was twenty-one, the same age Nigel was when we met. He still looked the scholar, with angular shoulders, shaggy hair, and a serious expression. I had just turned twenty-nine, and honestly, didn’t feel all that much older than him. I looked up from where I lay on the bed reading, and cocked an eyebrow.

Peter put down the suitcase and closed the door. He came to the bed and sat on the edge, looking down at me. He smiled and took the book from my hand, setting it aside. Then he bent and kissed me. I reached up, and wrapped my arms around his neck.


Over the years, many people helped Engelheim, though Harrison provided the bulk of the support. He returned every summer to take boys on continental train tours until the year before his death in 1963. From the first summer we met him, Harrison and his wealthy friends made sure Engelheim never lacked for food, or clothes, or soft beds, or friends.

We never grew larger than one hundred and thirty-seven boys, mainly because we continued to take only street boys. But they came to us from all over Germany, and the reconstruction lasted many years; there were always street boys. They grew fewer in the early sixties, but then grew more numerous again as boys wound up on the streets for entirely different reasons.

In 1963, I became one of the original board members of the Harrison Caldwell Foundation. Harrison created it before he died, and willed it a large chunk of his wealth. The purpose of the foundation was to “… provide support for Engelheim, and give the boys who grow up there, every opportunity possible to succeed in life.”

Over the years, our challenges changed as we eventually had to deal with drug problems and angrier boys. But we learned.

It was a source of pride to us that almost ninety percent of those early boys graduated university. Two-thirds of them married, and most of those had children. With a few ups and downs, those figures held largely true in the years that followed.

Bruno was one who attended university locally. There was never any doubt that he would stay with Engelheim and continue to take the lead with our boys. He and Oscar continued to live with Nigel, and Bruno eventually earned a master’s degree in counseling. He became the day-to-day director of Engelheim until he retired, just a few years ago.

It would take many, many pages to tell you about the coming and going of so many boys and friends over the years. We were never an orphanage; we were always a home. Every boy got an angel when he came. Every boy was adopted. Every boy received personal time with an adult, male who cared for and looked after him.

We always encouraged the boys to find the love and affection they needed with their angels and other friends, but on occasion there were boys who needed intimacy and closeness with a man, and we did not deny that to them. But every boy was special, and we treated them that way..

There were happy days, and there were sad ones. We lost many boys in the eighties because of AIDS, when many of them came to us already sick and an entire floor of Engelheim became a hospice.

I will tell you now, about my angels. They all attended university. Günter, Alby, and Franz each met, and married wonderful girls. Alby married twice. They all have children – which I marveled at for years, thinking I’d certainly turned them all gay. I am ‘Uncle Michael’ to all their kids, and Grandpa Michael to their children’s children.

Franz worked for the government. He and I taught his three boys how to fish, down on the river. Then we taught his grand children. Someday, I hope to teach a great grandchild or two of his.

Alby went into banking. He did quite well for himself, though, after his second marriage failed, he moved back with us for a while. But he had become too used to the good life, and eventually moved to Berlin. We lost him, three years ago, to a heart attack.

Günter became a physician and quite famous in our area. He’s still my doctor, and thanks to Viagra, he, Peter, and I played doctor only a couple of days ago.

Heinrich tried marriage, but decided he was truly gay. He and his partner of many years live in Bonn. They adopted and raised four of our boys before they retired.

Despite marriage, my angels remained bi, and we continued to get together over the years, even after we grew gray, and Günter grew bald – but a very, very sexy bald – and Alby grew a belly, which we had fun with. We still love each other. We love each other the way grown men, who have loved one another all their lives, love.

When my mother died, Günter left his practice and his family long enough to return with me to the states. Peter was going to go, but backed out when he learned Günter would be going.

“You need the time with him,” Peter told me.

After my mom’s burial, Günter rented a car and we traveled to the West Coast, because Günter had always wanted to see it. We took a month to visit Las Vegas, LA, and San Francisco. We visited the Grand Canyon, and Yosemite and Sequoia national parks. I was fifty-five then; Günter was forty-five, but for a while, it was like we were young again. We hiked. We saw Disneyland. We even danced at a gay bar – even bald, Günter was striking. I enjoyed the attention he received, and was tickled that there was even a young boy or two who flirted with me.

I treasured that trip with Günter. It was one of the finest times in my life.

And Peter… I haven’t told you yet about Peter. There is really too much to tell. He never left me. Over the years, our age differences mattered less and less. The difference between a twenty-one-year-old and a twenty-nine-year old seemed much less than that between a fourteen-year-old and a twenty-two-year old. Even less at thirty-one and thirty-nine. Even less at forty-one and forty-nine. Any difference ceased to matter a long time ago.

The summer after my trip to America with Günter – by way of thanks to Peter – Günter gave Peter and me a two-week cruise around the Mediterranean. Peter called it our honeymoon.

Peter never grew rich as a history professor, but after he retired, we were able to do more traveling, and enjoyed it immensely. We are both home-bodies now.

We are all old men.

It has been sixty-two years since that first summer. It has been fifteen years since we lost Nigel. On the day before his final day, I held him, and heard him call me Mikey one last time.

I think when Peter goes, I will go; we’ve been together for so very long now, and I love him so very much. But we are both in good health, and I hope it shall be a good while yet before anything happens to either of us, especially if Günter keeps writing us prescriptions for Viagra. (Sorry. Old men sometimes joke that way.) Peter and I live in a small house on the grounds of the new orphanage that was built before Harrison died.

I would like to see many more boys graduate from Engelheim before I go.

I went to see Harrison when he was dying. He was in hospital, in New York. I had just turned forty. He took my hand and thanked me.

“Because of you, I have done many good things, Michael.” He smiled, sadly. “I would not like to leave if I had not done so many good things.”

I feel that way about the boys of Engelheim. Because of them, I have done many good things. I would not like to leave, if I had not done them. And now, when I do leave, I think I shall find many friends waiting for me.


Please let me know if you enjoyed this story. I wrote it for you. :) My email address is jnuanced@gmail.com, and thanks again to all who wrote to me during the posting of Waisen. Thank you for all the encouragement!