It grew cold in the night. Just after dawn, Alby and his brother Franz crawled under the covers with us. There really wasn’t room. I was on my back, and Günter was already asleep on my left side. Franz lay down on my right, and I slipped an arm behind him, just like I had behind Günter. That pretty much filled my bed, and left little room for Alby.
Undeterred, the eight-year-old climbed onto my belly, planting a knee in my appendix in the process.
“Geez, Alby!” I cried out in a whisper.
Unfazed, he lay down between the other two boys, belly to belly on me, and nuzzled in under my chin. Somehow, I got the blanket up to all our necks, kissed Alby on the top of the head, and even fell back asleep; surprisingly comfortable under my blanket of boys, even though my cock had risen up between Alby’s skinny legs.
There is a type of boy who is a tender and dedicated caretaker, whether by nature or circumstances, whether looking after a little brother or sister or a grandfather. Since that first day that he volunteered to be my servant, Günter considered himself to be my caretaker, and he looked after me with as much dedication as any boy looked after anyone.
In the mornings, he helped me dress and comb my hair. When Bruno didn’t require his help during the day, Günter came to work with me and helped me. At night, he bathed me. It wasn’t one-sided. I did those things for him as well, and I enjoyed it immensely. It was a joy to do those things for Günter because I loved him, and curiously, the more I took care of Günter, the more I had sudden moments of deep affection for him; the more I felt my love for him. Serving someone can build your love for them. Some of our most tender moments came when we were washing each other’s hair, or bathing one another, or helping one another dress.
We often undressed each other for bed. The moment was usually sexual. We’d climb into bed and Günter would push me onto my . He’d lay on me, belly to belly, his face over mine, just talking and laughing until we had sex. In the mornings, we would touch each other and rub against each other sleepily before getting up.
That Sunday morning though, with Alby and Franz both in our bed, there was mostly sleepy shoving. Günter gave me a helpless, apologetic look. I smiled and mussed his hair. Günter smiled and his blue eyes sparkled. I gave him a hug.
It was a clear day, and it quickly warmed into the fifties. Someone found a soccer ball, and the boys, along with the men of the house, played for hours in the street in front. We made sure every boy scored a goal. When Günter scored his first, I picked him up on my shoulders and did a jig, laughing. So when Alby scored his goal, he insisted I pick him up, too. Franz tried climbing me, and the whole thing devolved into a wrestling match… me, covered by boys. I called in Nigel for reinforcement, and he was mobbed as well.
They wore us down until we were on our backs, buried in triumphant boys. But then, some of the men of the house started up the soccer game again, and the boys scattered back to the game.
Clay, a sewer plant specialist from California, managed to make a couple of gallons of sweet tea for us. He handed me a glass and I eyed it a moment, thinking about making a sewage joke.
“One more sewer , and I’m gonna drown somebody in that tea.”
I held my hand up defensively. “It looks great to me!”
I sat on the side of the road/soccer field to drink my tea. Alby crawled into my lap. When he wanted some of my tea, I shared it.
As thanks, Alby wiggled his bottom in my lap and grinned up at me.
“Hey,” I protested with a small frown, flattening my hand on his belly to stop him. I shook my head slightly. “Behave.”
It bothered me that an eight-year-old’s bottom could give me an erection, but if Alby kept wiggling like that, he was going to do just that. It was impossible to get mad at the kid, though. He was only having fun, and his disarming grin said so.
Clay sat down beside me. He looked at Alby and then smiled at me. “You’re really good with kids, Michael. They like you.”
I shrugged. “I like them.”
“Like them or not, you’ve bitten off a lot of work, my friend,” Clay told me.
I glanced down at Alby’s blond head. “It’s not so much,” I said.
Clay grinned and mussed Alby’s hair. “Does this little guy speak English?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you, Alby?”
Alby looked up at me when he heard his name, but it was obvious he didn’t know what I was asking.
“No,” I repeated. “I don’t think he does.”
Clay leaned closer. “I’m not sure how you want to handle this, but… and please understand, I know how these boys were having to live… but the tallest boy over there… Peter?”
“Yeah, his name’s Peter.”
Clay nodded in Peter’s direction. “He tried to proposition me this morning.” Clay frowned sympathetically, and laid his hand on my shoulder. “It’s like I said, Michael; I understand how these boys have had to live, but none of them have to do that here. And the way most guys feel about queers, Peter’s likely to get his teeth knocked down his throat if he tries that on anyone else in the house.”
“But the way he looked at me; he wanted me,” Peter protested.
Peter protested too loudly. I winced. I had pulled him aside as the other men and boys returned into the house that evening. Some might be close enough to hear.
“You misread him,” I explained, turning Peter away from the house. “Look, Peter, you don’t need to do that sort of thing here. None of the men expect it; not even Nigel or me. You’ve already got food. We’ll get you clothes if you need them… ”
“Money?” Peter asked, interrupting with a frown. “Will you give me money?”
I frowned in turn, my face flushing hot. “Why do you need money? If there’s something you need, we’ll try to get it for you.”
“Maybe I want money.”
It crossed my mind that Peter could be trying to blackmail me, but then I rejected the idea. It was more likely that he was simply being a fourteen-year-old who wanted money of his own. I could understand that. Sighing, I nodded. “I’ll try to find you a job.”
Peter’s look softened. His eyes dropped to the ground. “It wasn’t really for money,” Peter said. “Clay is handsome, Michael. I thought he wanted me.”
I smiled sadly. The poor boy was hopelessly queer… like I was becoming, like Nigel. I put an arm around his shoulder. “Peter,” I tried to explain, “most guys aren’t like us, liking other guys – even the ones who paid you to suck their cocks or to let them fuck you. Oh, they might do that when they’re horny and can’t get a girl, but most of them want girls, or want to want girls. That’s true at least for American guys. I think it scares them to have homosexual feelings. You could get a fat lip trying what you did.”
I hugged Peter by the shoulders. “I think Clay simply liked you Peter. A man can like a boy without wanting him sexually.”
Peter nodded, his head down.
“Look, for sex,” I said, trying to be helpful, “you have the other boys. You have Heinrich, right? You two are very close, aren’t you?”
Peter nodded, but then his eyes rose to mine. “I want sex with you, Michael.”
I shook my head, sadly, stepping back. “I’m sorry.”
Peter frowned, angrily. “I’ll tell you something. He acts like it wasn’t him, but Jerry, who lives on the first floor; he paid me for sex downtown before. Maybe he’ll pay me again.”
I returned Peter’s frown. Our starring match stretched out for several seconds. If he was trying to make me jealous, it wouldn’t work. If he was trying to upset me, it already had. Peter finally turned away and went inside.
I sighed. I should have realized, with all the men in the house, one of them might have used a boy when they were on the street. What to do about Jerry? For the time being, it might be best to say nothing.
Peter was gone Tuesday when I came home from work.
“He’s not coming back,” the boys told me.
“Men give him money in town,” Günter added. “Peter want money.”
An excuse, I thought. That’s not really why he would leave. I glanced at Heinrich. “Are you alright, Heinrich?” I asked.
He knew enough from my tone to know what I was asking, I think. Heinrich shrugged sadly.
Heinrich slept by himself that night and I worried for him; glancing occasionally at his bed. Günter noticed and stroked my face, kissing me. His head lay on the pillow, his eyes close to mine. In the faint light, they searched mine, and I marveled at how unlike an eleven-year-old Günter was at times.
Günter smiled. “You love me?”
I nodded, moving closer, interlacing legs and pulling bellies together; oh, his hit me at the sternum, but I pulled us together. Our noses touched. “Yes,” I whispered. “Sometimes, I love you so much… it hurts.”
He laid his palm on the side of my face and kissed the tip of my nose, and then my lips, and then my cheekbone. “I love you,” he whispered.
Before that fall, I would have doubted that any eleven-year-old boy could really love, but I didn’t doubt Günter at all, not at all. I nuzzled into the side of his neck and held him close to me.
I ran my hand down his back, down to his bottom, cupping it, feeling his smooth skin. He was erect. I was becoming so. I held him and we ground our cocks together. We rocked our hips back and forth until I finally rolled him to his back. I moved over him then, my hips settling between his legs.
We simply rubbed; frotted. We kissed and stroked one another’s skin. And then we held each other, my cheek against the side of his head, and we ground together until I came. Then I slid down between us and licked my cum from his belly. Under the covers, I rubbed my face on the underside of his erection and on his balls. His scent was just slightly stronger than when we first met. I wondered if he would have pubic hair soon.
I closed my mouth over his crown. His skin there was smooth; as smooth as the inside of my cheek which I rubbed over it. He tensed. I felt over the slender muscles of his thighs and over the soft skin inside them. I fondled his balls. And then I swallowed his length and began to bob.
He squirmed. I loved to make him squirm. And I loved to make him come. With that resilience of prepubescence he could come repeatedly, and that night, I didn’t let him go soft until I brought him off twice.
Then, silently, I slid up by him. He rolled to his side, his back to me, and we nested together like spoons. I held him and kissed the back of his blond hair. We fell asleep that way.
Heinrich, like Peter, was gone the following night.
I worried for the boys, even more as the weather grew cold again, and then very cold.
When I arrived home Friday night, there was a new boy; our first new boy in a week. He was a tall, thin ten-year-old named Reinhart. Reinhart had a black eye.
“Peter bring him this morning,” Bruno told us. “Reinhart cold and soldier hurt him.”
“A soldier hurt him?” I asked, surprised.
“In sex,” Bruno said, simply. “Some men like hurt.”
I was still incredibly naïve back then, despite knowing what all the Nazis had done, and despite being with these street-savvy boys. It horrified me that anyone would want to hurt a boy like this. It was totally incomprehensible to me that hurting a boy could give some man sexual pleasure.
“One man’s pleasure is another man’s perversion,” Nigel told me with bland sophistication. “What we do, even if it was with each other, is considered perverse by most people.”
I shook my head angrily. “Not hurting a boy, Nigel,” I said. And then I looked him in the eye. “Don’t ever hurt one of our boys.”
Nigel studied me for a moment, and there was an angry glint in his eye. I assumed he was angry that I thought he could.
Then his look softened, and he turned away. “You don’t understand everything, Michael. For one thing, you didn’t grow up like I did.” He smiled and turned back to me. “If I get in the mood to have my butt whipped, though, I’ll come to you.”
For an instant, I imagined my hand slapping Nigel’s firm, bare bottom, and it embarrassed me that I thought I would like that.
Nigel smiled and turned to other business.
It’s surprising how many ‘traditions’ begin with one event. We bathed new boys when they came to us. We did so, mostly in self-defense against filth and lice. But Reinhart particularly stirred the boys’ sympathy, and Bruno took charge of his first bathing.
He gathered a couple of the other boys to help, and then Franz asked if he could help as well because he wanted to be Reinhart’s friend. And that’s how it started; the ‘ceremonial cleansing’.
It became an instant tradition. From then on, the night a new boy arrived, Bruno would organize a bathing party of two or three older boys, along with a boy who wanted to be the new boy’s best friend. The term we used was, ‘his angel’. Each new boy got an angel. Sometimes two boys volunteered to be one boy’s angels. It was a buddy system of sorts, but much more. It was a pledge, really, of faithfulness to a perfect stranger. And it was sexual; it would be a sexual bonding. The boys who came to us, came off the same streets our earlier boys came from. They’d had sex.
Peter brought us several new boys those next few weeks. Even the few he didn’t bring were street boys.
So, beginning that first night with Reinhart, new boys were given a princely welcome. They were cleaned thoroughly, but tenderly and respectfully. Those who bathed them, played with them sexually as well; the way only boys can play sexually… boys who are friends. That first night, Franz, because he wanted to be Reinhart’s angel, kissed him, and held him, and gave Reinhart his own body for pleasure; one buddy for another.
After the bath, Franz led Reinhart to his own bed, undressed him, and crawled into bed naked with him. The boys embraced, Franz possessing his new friend; Reinhart accepting his new home.
Alby watched for a moment. Then he came into bed with Günter and me, as if Reinhart had bounced him from his own bed and he had only ours to come to. We let him. His presence wouldn’t stop Günter and me; all the boys had already seen us going at it.
Night time sex in the attic had become just as much a part of the boys’ day as scratch games of soccer, meals, chores, and other play. On their bed, Nigel, Bruno, and Oscar didn’t always keep the bedcovers up when they were having sex, and it wasn’t unusual to see the three of them in various sexual combinings. Though Günter and I generally kept the covers up, our activities were pretty obvious as well. All across the attic room floor, at bedtime, boys talked and had sex together, sometimes switching around, occasionally arguing – when they argued, we generally let them work it out. Most often, it was Bruno who settled things when it was needed. Often he took the warring parties into a bathroom and locked the door. I suspected that, and found out later for sure, he often used sex as much as talk to smooth things out.
So that night, when Alby climbed into our bed, he watched. Günter lay on his back and opened his legs and arms to me. Alby watched as Günter and I kissed and embraced and frotted, and then he watched as I lubed my cock, and Günter wrapped his legs around my waist and I eased my cock into his bottom. Alby watched Günter and me go flat together. I held Günter, covering his mouth with my own, and Alby watched closely. He watched as I pumped my hips and Günter’s tightness milked my shaft while at the same time, I used my own, taut belly to rub Günter’s cock.
I felt Alby’s small hand on my back, feeling my muscles as they flexed. He slid his hand up and down my back, and onto my bottom, and that excited me more. I began to pound into Günter; his bottom bones hitting on either side at the base of my shaft, stretching the skin down my shaft.
Günter’s hands were on my back as well, on the backs of my shoulder blades, holding on. His body moved under mine, and his mouth responded to mine. Günter liked our sex together, and I liked him liking it.
The bed bounced rhythmically; Alby bouncing with us. Elsewhere in the room, boys laughed, and murmured, and grunted softly in sex or watched others have sex. Nigel’s bed sounded a rhythm like our own.
When we finished, and our last kisses turned to nibbles, and while my cock was still up inside Günter’s little bottom, Günter turned to look at Alby. He smiled at the smaller boy and reached down between Alby and us, finding the eight-year-old’s stiff little cock.
“Michael,” Günter whispered. “I take care of Alby.”
I let him out from under me, and then watched as Günter reversed himself over Alby’s body, burying his head between the littler boy’s legs. Just as naturally, Alby rolled to his back and pulled Günter’s hips over his face, taking Günter’s still-stiff twig of a cock into his own mouth. It was my turn to watch, and I did, stroking Günter’s back and thoroughly admirable bottom.
For those who’ve never seen an eleven and an eight-year-old in a sixty-nine, it’s difficult to describe. On the one hand, the passion of an older couple is missing, but the sucking can be no less avid. Alby wrapped his arms around Günter’s waist and sucked on Günter’s stiffy like a hungry puppy on a teat. Their movements were jerky at times, and they giggled a lot, but they had fun at it, and even Alby came, and that was pretty spectacular; watching a little eight-year-old overwhelmed by a dry orgasm.
Alby bathed with Günter and me the next evening, and in the tub, they thought it would be fun for Alby to try to put his little erection up my butt. We tried me on all fours, and that barely worked. Then I sat on him, and that worked marginally better, but I volunteered Günter’s bottom instead of mine, and Alby liked that just fine. I lay back in the tub and watched Alby on his knees behind Günter who was on all fours, and I told them a very perverted version of Goldie Locks and the three bears and finding something ‘just right’.
Günter orchestrated bedtime. He had me lay on my back while Alby knelt between my legs and sucked my cock. He didn’t do so with the enthusiasm he had for Günter’s dick the night before, but then, he couldn’t get my cock into his mouth the same way. Alby enjoyed himself with it, though, and I enjoyed that. Günter fucked him from behind at the same time, and that’s another one of those things that’s difficult to describe. A skinny eleven-year-old fucking the butt of a skinny eight year old doesn’t have the erotic grace or beauty of even a teen couple, but there’s an earthy, boyish rawness to it that’s exciting, all on its own.
Next, Günter sucked me, while I sucked Alby. I believe I had as much fun with Alby’s little stiffy as he did the night before with Günter’s. I did the hungry puppy thing, and was really pleased when Alby went a little crazy with his dry orgasm.
We became, more or less, a threesome. Alby made sure of it. I think Franz’s attachment to Reinhart just gave him the excuse he wanted.
It was a little over three weeks later that Alby lay down on his side on the bed, and told me to get behind him. We used lots of lube, and Günter sucked on Alby’s cock to distract him. I leaned back to see what I was doing, but when I pressed my crown between Alby’s slippery little butt cheeks it looked hopelessly impossible to me; his bottom was so small, it made my cock look like a huge sausage, and way too big to slip up the little boy’s bottom.. But hard dicks being what they are, I wanted to give it a try. Very slowly and very carefully, I worked my crown against his sphincter.
It slipped in surprisingly easily. I’ve since learned that sometimes it is that way with boys you’d otherwise think were too small; as long as you use lots of lube.
He was tight, though. The ring of his little sphincter constricted around my shaft, just behind my crown. I gasped and Alby whimpered. But I was in, and not ready to pull out. I waited a moment, and then eased in a little more. We went very slowly, and I made it most of the way in. I barely moved, but didn’t need to. Little Alby was tight. In fact, when I started to come, his tightness almost choked off the flow. But then, after I did come, he was slippery enough that I made it almost all the way in.
After that, Alby and I stuck mostly to oral for a while.
It was about that time that Bruno invited Günter to his first ‘ceremonial cleansing’, a new, nine-year-old boy they teasingly called “Zeppelin” because he wasn’t as thin as the others. He wasn’t fat; no German boy was fat in those days. By American standards, he was pleasantly muscled.
I knew Günter would have sex with the others; we all knew what happened at those ceremonial cleansings by then. It bothered me a little, and yet, next to Bruno, by right of his relationship to me, Günter was a leader among the boys, of sorts, and it actually seemed right for him to be involved in those intimate, first welcomings of new boys.
Besides, I reminded myself, Günter would only be turning twelve in January. Despite our feelings for each other, sex for a boy Günter’s age was something entirely different than it was for a twenty-two-year old like me.
It’s funny, but that night things were a little quieter, a little more serious between Alby and me. I think we drew a little closer. Günter was all sexed out, and watched. I kissed and held Alby, much like I always had Günter, and it seemed sort of right to do so.
I was growing to love Alby. Not like Günter, of course, but we were a threesome. Outside of ceremonial bathings, as far as I knew, Günter and Alby kept sex to our bed.
Nigel and I cared a lot for all the boys, of course. Our affection for each of them grew daily. We sacrificed for them; we worked for them; we took care of them. We invested our souls in them; each one of them.
We scrounged for wood and nails. We borrowed tools. Gradually that winter, we expanded our attic dormitory. It was still crowded. We were up to twenty-nine boys before Christmas.
We continued to take in only street boys. They were good boys, though. Hard life had not yet made them hard. They ranged in age from as young as eight, up to fourteen. Only one or two had family, but families who had so little food, the boys were on their own.
We did set down rules. One was to not proposition the men in the house, even if they thought the recognized a man as a former customer. The second rule, we laid down when two of our boys were caught, butt fucking in the kitchen – no sex outside the attic.
On one of his trips by the house, Peter told me that Jerry from the first floor had paid him twice for sex. “He asked about the other boys,” Peter said, “but I told him nothing.”
That led to another rule; always keep Nigel and me in the know. If a man from the house approached one of the boys for sex, we wanted to know about it. And an even more important rule; no one outside of the boys, Nigel, and me was to know what went on between us in the attic.
We didn’t prohibit the boys’ sex; that would be impossible. But we did lay down rules for it, and we did prohibit stealing, fighting, and all the other things necessary to avoid when that many boys share their existence.
It was Bruno, though, who really managed the boys. The kid was a natural leader. He turned thirteen just after Christmas, and acted almost thirty.
Christmas was lean, but we managed to come up with a gift for each boy, one that would mean something. The men in the house put up a tree and prepared an American-style Christmas dinner with a large ham, and they fed us all. That night, the attic was quieter than normal; boys remembering their families and homes. And yet, I think there was also more tenderness and lovemaking between the boys that night, as they comforted and clung to each other.
It was one of the few times Günter wept, and that started Alby weeping. I lay there, holding both boys, and missed my own home and my mom. And yet, we were becoming our own family in that attic; by twos and threes, boys coming to love each other, and loving Nigel and me. My heart went out to them, and if I could, I would have held every one of them that night.
I lay there, and let myself realize, truly realize, that it might be years before I could go home.
Just after New Year’s Day, Peter brought Werner, a sullen, thirteen-year-old to us. I was there when Peter and Heinrich delivered him.
“Stay with us, Peter,” I told him. “It’s a frozen hell out there. You can’t be happy. We’ve got a warm home. There’s room for you and Heinrich.”
Peter looked me in the eye. “Will you sleep with me, Michael?”
I sighed, frustrated, and shook my head sadly.
Peter patted my arm. “Heinrich and me are O-K. We stay warm.” He smiled and took my hand, turning it up. Into it, he laid ten American dollars. “I have money to help you.”
“No, Peter,” I said, trying to give back the money. “You need it more than us.”
He wouldn’t take it, but turned, throwing an arm over Heinrich’s shoulders. They started out toward the street. Heinrich looked back at me, a little wistfully, I thought. I never spoke much to God, but that night I did… a wordless prayer to watch over two boys walking into a dark, cold night.
I kicked Werner out of the house a week later. He was a bad-tempered bully. He defied Nigel and me. He teased Bruno and tried to turn the other boys against him. His fourth fist fight was with Günter on Günter’s birthday. He beat him badly. I was furious and came close to hurting, really hurting, Werner. It scared me. Instead of punishing or hurting him, I gave him a warm coat and ordered him from the house.
We were quiet that night. No one regretted what I had done, more than myself. Werner could die out there; we all knew that. It left a pall over the house and I resented the boy all the more for that. And I resented him, because even when I calmed down, I knew that there was no way I could let Werner stay in the house.
I was sad for Günter, too, as well. We had so looked forward to it, but Günter’s first birthday with me had been a disaster.
The very next night, Peter showed up at the kitchen door, angry. “You kicked Werner out?”
“Yes,” I told him, taking him outside to talk. “He’s cruel to the younger boys and defiant to the rest of us.” I was angry, too, and I let it show. “It’s just me and Nigel, Peter, and we have to work most of the day. Bruno keeps things running, but it’s almost too much for him, and for us. If we had more help, we might be able to handle a boy like Werner. Peter,” I said quietly, “stay with us. Help us.”
Peter studied me a moment, then wrapped his arm behind my neck and kissed me. Even though we were alone outside, I held back, and Peter stiffened. He looked into my eyes sadly, turned, and walked away.
Catching up guys. It's still going to take a couple more chapters to finish the expanded plot. Do let me know, though, if you enjoyed this chapter. :) My email address is firstname.lastname@example.org, and thanks for all the encouragement!