Date: Sat, 15 Dec 2007 12:14:56 -0700
From: Jay roberts <diplomat1501@msn.com>
Subject: "1886 Home for Orphan Boys" Part One  by Jay Roberts   Gay Historical

++This history is private.  It is not for children under 18 and heretofore
has not been revealed to anyone of any age, but now all will all be told.
But the telling will not proceed until all tikes of less than 18 years or
less are gone from this page, and succeeding pages.


In 1880 I was the Vicar of a small hamlet near Berwick-upon-Leeds.  I was
only 22, just out of divinity school when I took the post.  I must confess
with some chagrin that I was a miserable failure at that pursuit of
godliness and goodness.  My sermons became tepid and unconvincing and by
the end of 1885 the elders of the parish asked the Bishop to transfer me.

My interview with Bishop Lord Wemberly lasted over a fortnight and by the
end of this exhaustive period the Bishops suggested that I was more suited
for a different calling within the church.  He explained that there was a
need for a new Home for Orphan Boys in Berwick-upon-Leeds and I was perfect
to organize and command such a position.

I agreed, mostly because I had no other recourse.  Shortly afterward I was
installed in a stone cottage overlooking the wild seacoast of that area.  I
proceeded to procure local workman to construct a wooden house, large
enough to house about sixteen boys.  There needed to be space for my
office, a small gymnasium, communal showers, a dinning hall, and a
dormitory.

With the fierce winter coming on within three months, the men worked hard
to finish the outside of the structure and complete the interior even after
the heavy snows began to accumulate.

At last, six months after beginning the project, the Bishop, the Lord Mayor
and other dignitaries gathered in the largest room of the house, which was
the dinning hall.  The house was blessed and I was urged to save the souls
and bodies of the poor unfortunate youths who will shortly inhabit this
house.

Within another month, lads arrived, straight from jail, or having been
picked up in a round up that day.  I had hired a male nurse, two gardeners
and a cook.  We were ready for them.

The newly arrived boys stood shivering in the chilly foyer, their rags
insufficient for the weather.  They were dirty.  Their hair long and matted
and most had poor imitations of footwear being hardly more than rags.

I apologize for failing to introduce myself so far into this narrative but
I think my name must remains secret, considering the events that occurred
in this alms house in spite of my best efforts and good intentions that
became diluted by other matters, as you will shortly learn.  I will suggest
you refer to me as Dexter.

I fetched George, my young assistant and nurse.  George was a comely fellow
of about my age.  His most outstanding feature was his small stature.
Later, he would often be taken to by one of the residents, by new fellows.
He would shortly be popular with the boys as he was a humorous fellow and
very loving to all.  "The first order of business should be to feed these
starving lambs, but I cannot allow them to bring lice and other dirt into
our pristine quarters."

"I quite agree," said George.  A good washing with lye soap and hot water
will do it and then straight ways we will dress them in our newly acquired
store of night shirts and then," he turned toward the sullen, boys, who
stood there swaying with fatigue and hunger, their head drooping. "We shall
fill their bellies with hot grub."

There was a faint cheer from the hapless lads.

Now to digress a moment I wish to agree that our Boy's Refuge was
contemporaneous with Dickens famous poorhouse.  You all know the story of
poor Oliver Twist requesting a second helping of porridge and the dire
results.  Well our Home for Boys was a world away from that London horror.
Our intention was to bring comfort to these neglected boys, some, education
and fear of God and finally some training in a trade that might offer them
a way to make their lives meaningful and prosperous.

George led, whilst I brought up the rear, marching the boys to the far end
of the building where the shower room was located.  Being behind them, the
full strength of their putrid, boyish, unwashed odor assailed me.  Still I
could not held admiring their slim, sapling-like bodies and I particularly
became misty seeing the back of their young. almost frail necks.  Once
inside the room, George turned on the spigots of the eight shower heads to
allow them to bring hot water from the heaters.  Meanwhile the boys stood,
not sure what to do, in front of the benches lining one side of the room.
George called out, "Now boys, right smartly, no delay, do you hear, we
don't want you to get a chill, take off your garments and pile them in the
corner near the door."

The there were no movements to undress.  They looked at each other in
perplexity.  They were not used to exposing their nakedness to others, in
fact, rarely to themselves.  Mirrors were hardly a fixture in their hovels.
Nevertheless, one or two brave lads shrugged the soiled rags off their
shoulders, allowing them to droop over their ragged trousers.  Then they
shook their feet and the makeshift shoes fell away, exposing their young
feet.  There those few stood naked, their cupped hands in front of their
privates, their faces bright red with embarrassment mixed with the pride of
bravery.

In a moment, all the others followed suit.  Soon the room contained a line
of sixteen nude young male figures.  They were silent, still awed by the
sight of their naked fellows and their own naked selves.

I stood transfixed at the charming sight of the saplings, ribs showing,
tiny arses clinched.  Some boys had a slight bit of hair on their chests
and lower legs, but most were hairless.  I called out, with authority,
"There is soap in the dishes, two of you to a shower head.  You may share
the soap, but don't waste it.  Now...come...go!"

They seemed to shake off their trance and crossed the space to the showers
and allowed the warm water to cascade over their bodies.  George walked up
and down instructing them the use the soap.  Dark tan water flowed in
rivulets into as dirt washed off their young bodies.  George carried a long
handled brush and made the youngster lift their feet for a further
cleansing.  When they lifted their legs they exposed their ball sacs.  Some
were surprisingly developed.  After all some of the lads were seventeen,
but most had the small tight scrota of early adolescence.  I noted that
their hard life had, in some, produced the beginning of fine musculature.
The pleasure of the warm water and the delight in getting clean returned
the children to an earlier age.  They became giddy at the fun and there
were broad smiles and laughing.  They seemed to quickly lose their shyness
as they jumped about, penises flopping.

George called out, "Lads, fun is over.  There are towels at the end of the
bench.  Each of you shares a towel.  I watched them dry off, a bit dismayed
that the towels came away with quite a bit of soil that the showering
hadn't removed.  Still they looked clean and pink to the eye.  The cool
airs from the other rooms washed into the shower room and soon the boys
were shivering and producing chicken flesh.  "There are night shirts and
slippers waiting.  I have warmed the night shirts so they should feel nice
to you."

In a moment they rushed to don the garments, smiling at the warm feeling
the heavy cotton garments engendered.  Young feet into slippers.  All lined
up as if they were born to behave.  This was gratifying.  We marched them
to the dining hall.  Cook had prepared big steaming pots of meat and
vegetables.  In front of the sixteen places were small bowls.  Cook began
ladling the stew into the bowls.  The boys fairly dripped spit awaiting
their turn.  The bowls were emptied and sat in front of them.  I spoke to
them, "This is no poor house boys.  If you want a second helping, just lift
your bowls."  They did for a second helping and yet again for a third.
Their ravenousness emptied the contents of the large pots as cleanly as if
they were washed.

We led the boys into the lounge where a strong, lively fire was blazing.
"Now," I said, "Let me learn your names and a bit about yourselves."  I
turned to the smallest lad.  "I know you are Toby.  How old are you?"  He
told me that he was not sure, that it was between eleven and thirteen.
Going around the room and chatting with the boys, I noted that some spoke
with changing voices, cracking from soprano to baritone as their responded.
Some were already well into their maturity and spoke with mainly voices,
sounded incongruous.  The room was growing warm.  I noted that some of the
boy had difficulty in keeping their eyes open, though they tried manfully
to do so.  Some of the smaller boys had already succumbed to sleep and
their heads were resting on the shoulders of the next boy who seemingly
paid no attention as they were almost asleep themselves.

George whispered to me, "Time to get the lads to bed."  We each helped the
sleepy boys to their feet and led them into the sleeping area where a warm
stove had brought the room to a pleasant temperature for sleeping.  Some of
the kids were walking whilst fast asleep and we had to put their hand into
a partner's to get them all herded to the dormitory.

There were no separate beds.  There was one long table-like affair, long
boards placed over sturdy legs.  The boards were covered with padding and
their were about a dozen blankets to cover the boys when sleeping.

They quickly crawled into the great, long bed, their heads resting on their
arms.  George and I opened the blankets and spread them over the almost
asleep boys.  As soon as the toasty warm blankets were tucked around their
shoulders, each child sighed and allowed himself to hurl into a deep,
longed for sleep.

George and I sat on chairs in the room, waiting to be sure all was well.
Within moments, the sweet sound of sleeping lads filled the room.  The even
breathing soon became soft snores as they enjoyed their rest at last.

I took the first watch, four hours long and George the second.  I walked up
and down to check the boys during my watch.  I was gratified, and I must
admit, somewhat sexually stimulated by their winsome faces as they slept,
the innocent sleep of babes.  I marveled at their eyelashes, lying across
their downy cheeks as they fluttered at times...perhaps a dream.  They soon
began to reach, in their sleep, for each other.  A natural seeking of human
touch.  Some boys ended up with their heads on their neighbors' chest,
whilst that child rested his hand on the boy's shoulders, as if he had a
Teddy Bear to hold.  Other boys snuggled their rear ends into the curve of
their sleeping neighbor, pressing their backsides into the middle of the
other boys.  I was certain that that boy's penis must be pressed into the
indentation of the arse cheeks of the other.

Still other boys, I found, were embracing, face to face, their arms about
each other, like lovers.  All this, I was certain was unconscious.

I checked the coverage of the blankets.  Some boys slept with jerky motions
and became uncovered during the night, their young legs entirely exposed,
sometimes even their genitals.  I pulled down their nightshirts and
replaced the blankets, noting in some cases they were quite fully erected
with heavy sleep induced erections.

I should not have done so, but the warm air in the dormitory and the soft
breathing of the boys quite lulled me to sleep.  I awoke with a start in
the morning with the light streaming through the paned windows and little
George shaking me.  "Sir, it's time to wake the lads, get them cleaned up
and in the dining room for their breakfast."

I roused myself.  Then George and I gently awakened each lad.  Some thought
we were the police shaking them and chasing them from their nighttime
hiding places.  When they realized where they were, they broken into smiles
of gratitude.  It was very heart warming.  "To the sinks boys.  Does anyone
not know how to use a tooth brush?"  George held a toothbrush high in the
air, at least high as he could reach.  Several of the boys admitted that
they had never seen such a clever little brush.  George had taped the name
of each boy on the handle and he distributed them.  "Now who is handy with
the brush?"  A tall child came forward.

"I used the toothbrush and powder each morning at the mansion.  At least
until my mum married the evil Mr. Wilson and he took me deep into the woods
and left me there."

He elicited many sighs and sounds of sympathy.  Soon he stood up on a
raised box and showed the boys how the brush their teeth.  In a moment the
lavatory was filled with the sounds brushing and spitting.  "Show me your
teeth," said George, inspecting the gruesome grimaces exposing their teeth.
As he walked down the line he stopped twice, "Lad, I can still see the stew
from last night.  Please try again with more spirit."

I had been watching the whole spectacle.  I suddenly realized that they
thought this was a one-time cleansing.  "You all know that you must do this
each night before bed and again each morning.  In that way you will retain
your teeth into old age.  Now boys, you may remove your night clothes and
hang them on the pegs provided with your name taped on it."

They were all naked in a jiffy.  George eyed their morning penis' fullness
with pleasure.  "I have a happy surprise for all of you.  The local parish
has provided clothes and shoes for you to wear while you are living here.
They are not fancy or stylish, but they are study and made of thin warm
wool."

I brought out the supply of shirts, trousers and slippers.  No shoes were
provided.  The shirts were all in one size that fit the older boys, but
required rolled sleeves for the smaller ones, as well as rolled trouser
bottoms.  Once they were dress and slippered they seemed proud of their new
clothes.

George whispered to me that the little savages never even noticed that no
under draws were provided.  Then he turned to the milling about boys and
shouted, "Line up now soldiers, we are off to breakfast."

You may wonder how this community enterprise existed and who bore the cost.
In the answer lays an amazing fact: the community paid for the operations,
including the food and clothes.  The education teachers were retired
volunteers.  Why would they do this?  Because our lads, sweet and innocent
as they appeared, were miscreants who had bedeviled the entire area.  Yes,
these sixteen were now in our care.  They were the entire "criminal"
population.  I would aver that all raids on hen houses, shop lifting, break
and enters in houses, petty pick-pocketing and such had ceased with the
perpetrators safely and happily resident in our facility.  This was not
only my opinion, but also that of our local constable, the young and
handsome Francis Dickman, as you will learn later.

As the gray line of empty-bellied youngsters entered the dinning area, the
smile of kippers and eggs wafted to their delighted noses.  Several boys
called out, "Eggs, Gor, I haven't had eggs since...." And the cry was
completed by another boy, "Since you raided the hen houses off Main
Street."

Large platters of the fish and poached eggs were placed on the long table.
The boys politely passed the platter along.  I was pleased to see this
civilized behavior and hoped it was a sign of their becoming gentlemen, but
I was to be disappointed, as you will see.  Next came long breads, baked in
our own ovens, and farm butter.  This was a feast that they could only have
dreamed of whilst they slept in the cold, just days earlier.

After breakfast, we brought them to the large living room to relax.  We had
to wait to have the dinning hall cleaned up for the school activities to
come.  George and I were greeted with several requests, immediately.  "Can
I be excused to pee?"  "I have to shit powerfully." And such.  We
instructed them that it was not necessary to describe their elimination
requirements.  Phrases asking to be excused were sufficient.  One of the
boys, Toby, by name, whom I previously described as perhaps the youngest
turned out to be the joker of the lot.  "Then sir, it would be amiss to say
that I need to be excused to wank, that I have a powerful desire to do."

That produced laugher.  The whole wanking subject was very merry to these
boys, not treated as a hush-hush matter.  One of the other boys said,
"Toby, you wanked twice last night."

Gradually the boys, one or two at a time excused themselves for their
morning piss or shit.  Sometimes two seemed to take too long and George
hied himself to the lavatory to check them out.  He told me later than he
often found one boy sexually satisfying another one.  "They are barely
civilized humans, if they want a cum, they just ask the other to help.  I
have caught them wanking each other, or even, I must whisper, using oral
means."

In a few minutes, we all heard voices in the anteroom as the teachers
arrived.  There were two women, gray haired and, I thought, kindly looking.
They were recently retired and said to me that they were glad to use their
talents to help the poor unfortunate innocents.  I was glad they felt that
way, but innocents was the wrong word.

They took their places around the table, with much youthful punching of
arms and such nonsense until Mrs. Webber and Mrs. Ainsworth called them to
order in stern voices.  Said Mrs. Webber, "We will tolerate no outbursts.
If you have something to add to the lesson, raise your hand.  Speak in a
cultured, quiet tone, using correct English.  Words like ain't and other
slang will be corrected."

The first day's lesson was history.  They began with the founding of
England.  I was gratified to see that the boys were in rapt attention as
the tale unfolded.  It is hard to believe, but this information was heard
for the first time in their lives.  One kid raised his hand, "Yes young
man."  He wanted to know if Queen Elizabeth was there then.  A few laughed,
but I think several wondered the same thing.  Mrs. Ainsworth drew a time
line on the chalkboard.  I think they were amazed at the age of their
country.

End of Part One

We will leave our momentarily unrascally students to their lessons.  Part
Two begins one month later, wherein you will witness several sexual events
culminating in an orgy.  I may blush as I relate the happenings, but I will
faithful report them as befits an honest author.