In the Spotlight 1

MY LIFE STORY,in as few words as possible

without the express permission of the author.

DISCLAIMER: This story is true, and only a few of the last names are made up as I have

forgotten them.

WARNING : If you are under age (18) to read this material, PLEASE leave now.

CHAPTER 7

IN THE SPOTLIGHT

I knew morning would come way too soon, and it did. The ringing phone slowly pulled me from my state of unconsciousness. “Hello, yes…yes thank you Manny” I spoke, my words all thick with morning mouth.

Hanging up the phone, I so much wanted to roll over and reclaim my place in dreamland. Before my eyes could close again for the second time, I forced my unwilling body from its resting place. All I could manage was one foot in front of the other, as I stumbled toward the bathroom and a wakeful shower.

As my breakfast of ham and eggs, two cups of coffee and a cigarette settled. I stood at the front desk bidding my two new friends good-bye. “How much is a stamp for a local letter?” I asked, handing Helmut a letter I had written for Heinz.

“One mark and fifty Pfennigs’ (pennies)” Helmut informed me, making change from the two marks I’d handed him. “You want we should mail this, for you?” he asked, recognizing who it was addressed to. I just nodded in the affirmative and thanked him.

“Herr Cook…Herr Cook” came a cry from Manny, as he scurried from the elevator toward me waving a paper bag in the air. “Here, for the train” he smiled, adding “I make better lunch than on that damn train, besides…Es ist zu teuer (It’s too expensive)…I save you some little money” he winked.

Taking the bag from him, I pulled him into a hug kissing his cheek. “Ah Du, meine liebe freund (Oh you, my lovely friend) I said, giving his cheek another peck. Something I thought I wouldn’t see, Manny actually blushed. Helmut just stood back grinning ear to ear.

“Ach, Du (Oh, you)” Manny said, still a bit pink. With a gentle slap to my shoulder, he scurried off back upstairs to finish serving breakfast to their other guests.

After another quick round of good-byes, I loaded myself up like the proverbial pack mule and headed off to catch my train. By the time I came in sight of the station, I was already tired. Sorry now for having turned down Helmut’s offer of calling a taxi.

Having arrived at an empty track #16, I let the bags fall at my feet, while I stood panting out of breath. Eight thirty, I’m early. With twenty minutes to kill, I thought of having another cup of coffee and a cigarette while I waited. Then dismissed that idea, knowing I would have to lug everything over to the little café near the entrance.

As if answering an unasked prayer, a small cart being pushed by a Grey haired, slightly over weight lady clad in a white apron, came up the concourse and rolled to a stop next to me. “Guten Morgen Mein Herr, wurden Sie sich etwas pflegen (Good morning Sir, would you care for something)?” she offered. The twinkle in her eyes and her rosy cheeks reminded me of my own grandmother Cook.

“Was Haben Sie, vielleicht ein Kaffee (What do you have, maybe a coffee)?” I asked her, as my gaze wandered over the cart.

“Kaffee…Ja, mit Milch und Zucker (Coffee...yes, with milk and sugar)?” she inquired, holding up a Styrofoam cup.

“Schwarz mit einem kleinen Zucker, Bitte (Black with a little sugar, Please)” I told her, digging in my pocket for a couple of Marks, having read the price list on the side of her cart.

“Zwei Mark, Bitte (Two Marks, please)” she informed me, as she handed over my piping hot beverage.

I gave her the two Marks and a fifty pfennig coin as a tip. “Dank Sie, Sehr Viel (Thank you, very much)” she nodded, with a big grin.

Looking up, I became aware the concourse had filled with travelers. My little German grandma soon had her cart surrounded by would be patrons. Astoundingly, she worked with such haste filling the requests of her customers; I could only chuckle to myself at her nimble dexterity.

Minutes ahead of its scheduled arrival, the dark green cars making up my train slowly advanced up the track. The huge DBB (Deutsche Bundes Bahn) stenciled on the side of each car, did add a certain air.

My first European travels by rail having only been aboard a TEE (Trans-European-Express), I guess left me quite spoiled. The layout of the two trains are as different as night and day. The long sleek TEE being open (No doors to open between cars), overstuffed seating, with bar and open dinning areas, all very plush. In the words of Thurston Howell III “It’s Very Top Drawer”.

As I boarded I counted six or seven individual compartments to a car. Each could seat six comfortably, or eight if needed. In first class the bench seats were sofa like, thickly padded and quite comfortable. With the armrests up I would be able to stretch out and sleep very well, when the time came.

I tossed my luggage up in the overhead racks, and claimed a spot next to the window. Setting my lunch on the table under the partially opened window, I stuck my head through the opening and watched down the track as people boarded.

The concourse emptied as the last of the stragglers came on board. With a sharp blast of its whistle, we began to move. My German grandma, pushing her cart back up the now barren concourse, returned my wave as we slipped passed one another.

Until we slowed to a crawl passing through the high barbwire gates of the DDR (Deutsche Democratic Republic) border control station, I’d almost forgotten about the armed soldiers of East Germany. Admittedly the banners, flags and military display were very impressive; still it left me with a sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. Knowing they had shot many people, young and old fleeing to the west, only added to the trepidation I felt.

I needed a beer, maybe even two. The seat being guarded by my small bag, kept company by Manny’s lunch, I went in search of a little libation. Even though still early in the am, the bar was almost filled. Most appeared to be enjoying a coffee, some with a little brandy blended in.

Fortune smiled, a small table at the end of the car was unoccupied. The hesitation I felt in ordering a beer so early was abated, when I observed the nearby table with three guys enjoying a beer. I felt more at ease, noticing there were others, mostly men imbibing too.

Sipping my beer I lit a cigarette, watching the lush green farmland race by. Green fields, houses, people on bicycles, pastures filled with cows, tractors hauling carts of hay, sped passed. Lost in my own thoughts…my mind wandered back to the very first time I was ever on a train alone, without any supervision. I had reached the tender age of twelve.

“Mom…please, hurry…please, I’ll miss the train” I begged, urging her along. Union Station, downtown Los Angeles eight thirty am, another beautiful southern California day was just beginning.

My exuberance bringing a smile to her face, “We’re early, thirty minutes early, Jimmy. You’re not about to miss it” she reassured me, in spite of my hurrying a few steps ahead.

Walking down what could only be described as a large tunnel like hall from the main passenger terminal, you went from track 1, 2, 3 ect. . Moving through the “Tunnel” approaching your track the signs at each told you the train, the departure time, and the numbering of the cars. So you knew whether you needed to go up the right or left ramp to find your correct numbered car, saving you a long walk checking car numbers.

At the entrance leading up to the Pullman cars on track #7, I impatiently waited for mom to catch up. Union Pacific’s The City of Los Angeles stood patiently waiting, its magnificent diesel power quietly resting. The bright golden yellow train, lined with red stripes running along the top and bottom of the cars appeared so sleek and modern. Each car suspended on gleaming silver undercarriages.

Dressed in a freshly ironed white coat, brass buttons gleaming in the bright California sun a colored porter waited, standing almost at attention. His broad smile an open invitation to be of service, he tipped his hat at our approach. “Young Sir, may I be of assistance?” he asked, noticing the ticket in my outstretched hand. His manner not in the least patronizing, “Yes Master Cook, car 1040, roomette 108. May I take your luggage to your room sir?” he offered, replacing his hat and reaching for the two bags at my feet.

“Please sir…Thank you” I replied feeling more grown up than my years. Mom and I followed him up into the car and along the corridor in search of #108.

Having said our good-byes, I received a kiss on the cheek from my departing mother. Alone, and with great expectations I sat gazing from my window. I spied mom and the porter conversing, somewhat animated on his part. The porter kept nodding and smiling, I suppose reassuring her I would be well looked after.

As mom disappeared in the shadows down the ramp, the porter picked up the little step stool placing back aboard. Checking first up then down the track, with a wave of his arm he ascended the stairs and closed the lower half of the door.

Imperceptibly at first, the massive diesels began moving us away from the terminal, into the maze of gleaming steel tracks surrounding the station. Sliding open the door, I moved out into the passageway between the cars. Coming up next to the porter, he grinned, and allowed me to look out the open upper half of the door.

The warm breeze blowing in the vestibule from the open doorway, had strands of my hair dancing about my face. The City of Los Angeles wound its way along the dry Los Angeles riverbed always moving closer to Pasadena, our next stop.

My first experience in a dinning car, a delicious chicken lunch served on fine china as we neared Las Vegas, was all and more than I imagined. Ordering from the menu, paying and tipping, made me feel quite the man about town, albeit a very young man.

Speeding through the sun baked Nevada desert, I sat playing solitaire in the air-conditioned club car. Occasionally gnawing on the ice in my near empty coke glass. The one drawback I hadn’t counted on, being so young I was lost in a sea of adults.

“Wanna play a little rummy or gin?” came a young man’s voice behind me. So startled I bumped the table, nearly knocking my glass over. Steadying my coke before it toppled, I glanced up over my shoulder finding a handsomely cute face wearing an impish grin. “Gotcha, huh…? Hey sorry…didn’t mean to spook ya” he chuckled, attempting to apologize.

“Huh…Ah, umm…what…I…Oh yeah, sure” I said, my nerves calming barely enough to allow my brain to remember what he had asked.

“I’m going to grab a coke first, let me get one for you…least I can do” he offered, seeing my glass held nothing but a little ice. Before I could get any words out of my mouth, he was off glass in hand toward the bar.

Only as he walked away, well really limping away, did I notice his left foot was in a cast. The rubber heel on the cast, made crutches apparently unnecessary.

Resulting from the messy divorce his parents had just gone through, John, broken ankle not withstanding, was bound for Chicago. Sentenced to spend the summer in his fathers care, leastwise that was John’s thinking. His father’s job always came before the wants or needs John or his mother might have had. He knew this was only David’s, his father, way of retribution against his mother for having sought and received a divorce decree.

We were so involved in cards, Rummy to be exact. Only when a white coat clad waiter from the dinning car made his way through playing his little hand held glockenspiel, to announce dinner. Did we fully realize just how much time we’d spent actually enjoying each other’s company. Grinning at one another, we both reached the same conclusion. It was time to replenish our empty bellies with what ever the dinning car had to offer.

Our prime rib dinners having been transferred from plate to stomach, left us feeling very full and a tad lazy. Even our waiter stared wide eyed at the amount we were able to put away, especially when the desserts disappeared.

With the patrons gone and the tables cleared, John and I thought we’d stay and continue our game upstairs here in the dome car, watching the sun sink below the horizon in its entire orange and purple splendor.

As will often happen when two boys are alone, our conversion became sexual and very graphic. In the beginning, I think we were each putting out feelers trying to ascertain the others sexual orientation. Although not totally certain, I was convinced enough John would be willing to mess around, I invited him to come to my compartment.

“Wow this is neat” John told me, his eyes wandering around the roomette. Adding “My dad is so cheap; all he would pay for is a coach seat. Yeah see though, he always goes first class when he travels. So it’s not like he can’t afford it”. John averted my eyes looking at the floor, saying almost in a whisper “I think he enjoys making things difficult for me, not to mention mom.”

“All the way to Chicago, damn shit John (kids love to swear when adults aren’t present), that’s three days. Man I feel for ya guy” a bewildered sadness in my voice. “Wish you were going to Portland, then you could just stay here with me” I suggested, not even really knowing if it would be possible.

“Portland..Portland Maine, boy you gotta long way to go. Then you’re just changing trains in Chicago?” John stated shaking his head, I guessed at the long trek he thought lay ahead of me.

“No…no, not Maine…Oregon, Portland Oregon” I said with a little giggle, wondering how he could be so dumb not to know this car went to Portland Oregon.

“We’re heading east to Chicago, how in the hell are you gonna get to Portland Oregon, its back to the west” he stated obviously not believing me. It took awhile, even the producing of my ticket to convince John that this car was indeed on its way to Oregon. He kept wondering why I was so anxious to prolong my time aboard a train. When the Coast Daylight traveled straight up the coast to Portland in just over twenty four hours. Instead of the four days I would spend going up there this way.

Telling him, with my parent’s approval, I simply wanted an adventure all on my own. John was eager to admit he was envious. Explaining, when this train pulled into Green River Wyoming, my car would be disconnected from The City of Los Angeles and sidelined. Awaiting the arrival of the west bound City of Portland, coming from Chicago some four hours later. With the reconnection of my car, I would be greeting my grandparents in Portland two days later.

Our card game continued into the wee hours, delayed at times by short forays to the snack bar. Upon its closing I decided it was time to put my plan, getting John naked in my bed, into action. Failing to get him completely in the buff, I was however able to talk him into my bed. Only our tighty whities stood as a barrier between our naked bodies.

John’s being two years plus a couple of months older, was quite apparent by the size of his package. Even though I’d matured early for my twelve years, already having hair around dick and being able to cum, my bulge appeared nowhere near his.

Luckily his cast proved not to be a problem getting undressed. We lay side by side trying our best to make the other as horny as possible, exaggerating our sexual exploits. At least I know some of mine were, just a tad here and there.

Stretching up towards my bellybutton the head of Jimmy Jr. began leaking, a wet spot appearing just below the waistband. Developing its own damp circle, Johnny’s Jr. had grown off to the left side in his underwear.

To scared, or maybe just too shy, I feared being the first to reach for the others dick. That dilemma resolved its self when John slipped his hand under the waistband of my underwear, and began slowly fisting my swollen cock. Taking my cue, I worked my fingers around John’s already slick meat. John like me was circumcised.

Our groping and fondling soon found both pairs of tighty whities tossed to the floor. His five and three quarters, left me and my twelve year old (plus two months) four inches feeling wholly inadequate. But as John kept saying, anything over a mouth full was a waste. He really seems to enjoy my cock between those sensual lips of his. With his almost six inches buried in my throat, he took to fucking my mouth like a duck takes to water.

Swirling my tongue around his cock head, with the occasional dip into the oozing slit, kept his fluid flowing freely into my waiting mouth. If his boy nectar tastes so great, Hummm... how’s his cum going to taste? I found myself wondering.

An accidental encounter with my cousin Jake who was then sixteen, and spending a weekend at our place, transformed me into a cock hound at the age of ten. At that early an age, I knew nothing of being Bi or gay. Only that I was sorely temped by cock, any cock.

Even though we had both filled each others mouth with cum once already. Our sixty-nine continued its fevered pace, until we had swallowed two more loads.

Although I’ve sucked cock and been sucked more than once. I’d never kissed another boy, until John kissed me. After I received a few lessons in the fine etiquette of smooching, we tongue wrestled naked, bathed in the light of the full moon. Entering the window and reflected too by the white sheets on the bed moonlight flooded the room, as The City of Los Angeles raced through the night.

John’s boner stood proudly shining, leaking pre-cum, in the glow of the moonlight. Unable to resist, I swirled my tongue around licking up his oozing boy sauce. From the first time I had devoured Jake’s (my cousin) fluid, I’ve been hooked.

Although we’d already popped three times, our boy meat remained hard…Ah…Youth.

CHAPTER # 7 “In the Spotlight” part # 2 Will be posted soon

This story (Autobiography) is my first attempt at writing, all comments are welcome.

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