Date: Tue, 18 Jul 2006 16:17:39 -0400
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: HOBO TEEN - 1

Copyright 2006 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Hobo Teen" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  As
in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold gradually.  Comments on the
story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at
carl_mason@comcast.net

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.

This story is highly indebted for its inspiration and many of its details
to the book Riding the Rails; Teenagers on the Move During the Great
Depression by Errol Lincoln Uys.  New York: Routledge, 2003, and the
award-winning documentary film by Michael Uys and Lexy Lovell, Riding the
Rails, produced by WGBH Educational Foundation, Boston, 2005.


CHAPTER 1

(Gloucester, Mass. - May, 1933)

The smell of tar, salt air, and drying codfish in his nostrils, the solidly
built fourteen year- old made his way home from school along the narrow
streets of Gloucester.  One more week and school would be out for the
summer; another, and he would celebrate his fifteenth birthday!  Outwardly,
Cyrus Whitman - known as "Cy" to his friends - appeared to be the typical
"boy next door," a handsome lad, 5'6" tall, with curly chestnut brown hair
that glistened in the late afternoon sun, the rare clear skin of a
blue-eyed brunette, and the promising beginnings of his adult physique.

True, as is the case with all human beings, perfection escaped him.  During
the last few months, for instance, he had put on some extra pounds.  It
really bothered him, for he took great pride in his athletic body and found
even the relatively small amounts of unfamiliar fat to be pretty gross.
One might guess that his body was already gearing up for the "Big 15"
growth spurt.  Unlike a goodly number of his ninth grade classmates, he had
yet to go "girl crazy" - and physically not everything was in proportion.
Damn!  Early in his twelfth year, for instance, his legs had suddenly
gotten so long that he constantly tripped over them...and his big feet!
Now it was even more embarrassing!  During the last few months, his
personal equipment had seen startling development - to the point that his
track coach had to intervene.  (Note that his father had simply deserted
the family four years before and moved to San Diego where he joined the
Navy.  No one ever gave him a reason, though Cy's mother assured him that
his father loved him.  He did in fact receive occasional postcards from his
father from all over the world.)  In his father's absence, it was his coach
who had to show him how to tame an increasingly long, thick cock and a
lengthening, hairless sack.  Complete with two golf-sized balls, it had
grown until it had actually begun to interfere with his sprinting!
Baby-smooth other than for tufts of hair under the arms and a thin patch
above his genitals, he commonly got razzed in the showers by classmates who
envied the prominently displayed flesh, the likes of which none of them
enjoyed!  His mother would forever be grateful to Coach Bellows, himself a
dad, for roughly hooking a hefty arm around Cy's neck, introducing him to
some heavy-duty jock straps (one of which he had personally bought for the
boy in Boston), and giving him a few man-to-man hints on how to cope with
that much meat.  Needless to say, the coach couldn't keep it from
frequently itching or, without warning, from going rock-hard at the worst
possible moments.  He still thought the coach was pretty great.  Indeed, as
he jacked off in front of the full-length mirror in his mother's room, he
frequently fantasized that the coach was his dad.  God, he wished he had a
dad around! He loved his mom, but there were so many things that were
confusing.  Besides, what guy was going to talk to his mom about needing a
super jock strap!  Holy cow!

Gradually, he worked his way through a group of friendly Portuguese
classmates who had stopped at a local mom and pop store.  No, he hadn't
been surprised when the frosh team stomped St. Matt's in the dual track
meet last week!  No, he wasn't taking either Patty Ryan or Rose Santos to
the dance this weekend, for he had some jobs that he had to finish.  Yeah,
he had to get right home.  Slave labor...  Continuing up the street, he
grimaced as he told himself that he just couldn't follow his best friend
Joey's suggestion and ride his heavy old bike out to the statue of the
Gloucester Fisherman that overlooked the harbor.  His mom would have his
head when she got home if he hadn't gotten those garbage cans washed out
and the small front and back lawns cut.  A wicked grin flickered across his
face as he realized that he had successfully put it off for several days!
Time to pay the piper, Cy, old chop...  Once past the large sailmaking
loft, he turned the corner and entered his street of small, weathered frame
houses.  Entering his room, the youngster discarded his shirt and school
trousers, pulled on a pair of shorts, and lit into the day's tasks.

About an hour later, vigorously rubbing his thick head of brown hair, he
walked back into his bedroom from a much needed shower to find his pal,
Joey, stretched out on his bed.  "Yuh didn't ride out to the statue, he
mumbled as he threw the towel onto a handy chair.  "Nah, Ma had stuff for
me and Ella to do the moment we walked in the door!" his chum responded in
a disgusted tone of voice.  Cy felt a twinge of excitement as he noticed
(surreptitiously, of course!) that Joey's eyes were following his stuff.
Freeing his heavy dong from his nutsack with a seemingly random flick of
his fingers, he slowly (and with just a touch of dramatic flair) drew his
undershorts up his thighs, made sure that everything was tucked in, and sat
down on the edge of the bed.  "Man, what in hell are we going to do this
summer?" he groaned.  "My mother really needs some help."  "I only wish I
knew," Joey retorted.  "There just aren't any jobs available in this town,
at least for us!  Shit!  Men with families are taking the lawn jobs that
seventh and eighth graders normally get!"

By late May of 1933, there was no doubt whatsoever that the Great
Depression had hit the Cape Ann fishing town north of Boston...hard.
Perhaps it was made even more painful by the fact that Gloucester - the
oldest fishing port in America - had always been so busy and
self-sufficient.  The boys had never known a time when there wasn't a fair
amount of business, admittedly mostly in support of the fishing industry.
Spar- and sailmaking, rigging and ironworking, and the like...  Today, more
and more companies were closing their doors, and foreclosures (on stores,
homes, companies, and fishing boats) were becoming increasingly common.  It
seemed so unfair.  For 300 years, the men of Gloucester, supported by their
women and children, had "go[ne] down to the sea in ships;" indeed, 10,000
of them had been lost at sea over the three centuries of her history.  All
of this was painfully brought home as both Cy and Joey tried to line up
summer jobs during the last week of school.  Nobody seemed to be buying -
and, sure as hell, no one seemed to be hiring.  Captain Sam, the skipper of
the "Betsy G," the boat on which his dad has last worked, said he'd try to
give him one trip out to the fog-shrouded Grand Banks, but he couldn't
promise and, in any case, it wouldn't bring him much money.  My God, even
lobsters weren't selling all that well on the wharves of Gloucester, and
the bottom had dropped out of the market for cod and the other fish on
which they depended for their living.  (This hit Cy pretty hard because he
had half hoped that he would be able to get regular work on the Betsy G
during his remaining high school summers.)  Two old retired couples from
Pittsburgh who had been summering in neighboring Rockport for years gave
them their lawns, but . . .

(The Rising Terror)

Well, the last, painful week of school passed and neither one of them had
found a decent summer job.  Friday night still saw them ready to celebrate.
Joey got permission to stay over and Mrs. W. made a super meal of cod
straight off the wharf plus some potatoes and other things.  The strawberry
shortcake?  Oh, man...  In Gloucester town as in all New England ports,
large and small, it didn't take the Church to tell them to have fish on
Friday nights!  Before long they were sprawled on Cy's bed, engaged in a
continuing game that had been going on for two or three years.  Joey
suddenly threw down his cards and pushed the chips towards Cy.  "Not my
night," he grunted in high disgust.  "You've really got to take care of
that thing," he continued, nodding in the direction of Cy's omnipresent
bulge.  His pal grunted, scratched vigorously, and with a determined
nonchalance responded, "Got any ideas, bud?  It's driving me nuts tonight!"
"Well," Joey responded, determined to appear equally nonchalant, "I don't
think I've ever seen anything quite like that before unless it was a pile
of dough that my mother was getting ready to knead into a loaf of bread.
Maybe it would help if I kneaded it...a bit," he continued, a slightly
lecherous grin quickly passing across his face.  Before he could change his
mind, Cy stripped off his shorts and superjock and sat back on his heels.
Confronted by the Unknown - and having fooled around...a little...for
several years - both boys gazed at the quivering mountain of flesh with
open mouths. "Do it!" Cy commanded breathlessly.  "Just take it easy!"

Slowly - almost ceremoniously - Joey thoroughly oiled his hands and held
them up as if ready to be gloved.  "You may begin, Doctor," Cy muttered
sarcastically.  Ever so gently, Joey worked his way under the pale mass,
noting that his two large hands could not contain all of it.  He was,
however, able to softly clench and unclench his hands which caused the mass
to begin to tremble and grow.  Emboldened, Cy's buddy grasped the phallus
which by now resembled a very heavy, three or four C-battery flashlight.
"Wow..." he breathed in awe.  Both boys jumped as the mass suddenly lurched
- akin, perhaps, to a bubble of yeast popping in the rising loaf of bread.

"I can do more, Cy.  Really I can!" Joey murmured with determination.
"It's just that I don't want you to get mad at me."  "Why in hell would I
get mad at you?" his friend growled hoarsely.  Do it!"  "Ok, but just
remember this wasn't my idea.  My crazy cousin...last summer..."  With
that, Joey leaned forward over the rising mass and licked the rosy head of
Cy's supercock.  Cy lost it on the spot!  Supercock gave a mighty lurch and
inundated Joey's face in thick, pearly cum.  Snapping around wildly as does
a fire hose suddenly filled with water, it belched cum all over Cy...all
over the bed...all over everything!  Joey exploded in his pants.  Ghe-odd,
what a show!  It was a good five minutes before the two shell-shocked
youngsters made their way to the bathroom for a major clean up.  Thank all
that's holy that Mrs. W. wasn't in the hallway!

The summer passed, as summers have a way of doing.  Naturally, Cy gradually
got used to his ripening body.  Missing his father terribly, he wouldn't
even go to the town's Fourth of July picnic down on the water.  Instead, he
sullenly shut himself up in his room and listened to the radio. For him,
the high point of the summer was a two-week trip to see his dad's sister
over in Lawrence on the Merrimack.  Aunt Sadie had always been a favorite
and loved him as much as he loved her.  (Funny...  When he got on the bus
for Lawrence, he looked up into his mother's face.  When he returned, he
had to look down.  He had grown nearly four inches in just two weeks!
Wow...)  Unfortunately, he was old enough to know that things were even
worse than people said they were.  On returning to Gloucester, for
instance, he learned that the Church would be charging tuition to attend
his high school - and that they simply couldn't pay it.  (For the time
being, the parochial grade school would continue to be free.)  In late
July, Cy's mother and her sister lost their small dress shop.  Life at home
quickly became leaner and leaner.  In August there were still more shocks.
The bank foreclosed on their home, and they had to move in with his
maternal aunt, her husband, and their children.  The enormous strain on
their working class family became obvious almost overnight.  There wasn't
enough room; there just wasn't enough money.

Cy stuck it out through the autumn and the winter, earning a buck here and
a buck there that her promptly turned over to his mother.  Captain Sam even
took him aboard the Betsy G for a week's fishing off the coast of Maine,
making up for the missed summer trip.  He actually earned a few dollars on
that one.  Increasingly, however, he sensed the impossible pressure on
everyone - as well as sorely missing the constant contact with his friends
in school and sports.  Early in the spring, the gangling fifteen year-old
announced that the family would have one less mouth to feed.  He was no
longer a child and would search for his father out in California.


To Be Continued