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Aside from all manner of homosexual behavior, I have one additional warning.  There is occasional mention of drug use characteristic of the time period.   I promise that it is only incidental here and there and not constant. It was not included to proselytize but only for the sake of authenticity. 

Continued upon request:

jet2larkin  at  Jeemale dot kom        (reinterpret)



The Edmund Lowell Journals were written between the years of 1912 and 1959 ending with his sudden death of a heart attack.  The diaries consist of candid events recorded on a more or less of a daily basis.  Also included are recollections of events happening during his earlier life in no special sequence.  They are however, authentic depictions of homosexual behavior starting from his own childhood and into his later life. 

It was Mr. Lowell's intention that they remain private until after his death.  After that time, if publication is possible, it should be granted only if the social and legal impediments can be overcome.  

December 1964:  In the year of this addendum, there are several important cases pending in the Supreme Court that if the results are favorable, it may be possible for publication to go forward.

William Broome, Executor of the Lowell Estate.     


First Entry: 

New York City, Friday, April 5th, 1912

Waiting for the Titanic:

A small bracketed piece appeared on the front page of the New York World.

The White Star Line's new trans-Atlantic ocean liner, the Titanic will be departing Southampton at 3pm, April 10.  Its arrival in New York will be at 12 noon April the 20th at pier 59 at the West end of 18th St.  On its maiden voyage, there will be  a brief stop-over at Cherbourg, France and another stop-over at Queenstown, Ireland to receive additional  passengers.  The magnificent steamship is expected to reach New York in record time. The 880 foot long ship is estimated to be carrying approximately 1,300 passengers, 318 in first class cabins.

The paper had just arrived by motor carriage and bundles of the evening edition were tossed into the street only to be immediately surrounded in a swarm of newsboys.   Having purchased my paper,  I went on to the Little Cup Cafe for some supper and eventually home to my flat on West 10th street. 

Sitting alone at my table, I lowered  paper and considered sight of the gigantic ship of almost 1000 ft in length, steaming majestically into New York harbor.  We do live in a remarkable age.  I must make a point getting there before the rowdy crowd makes it impossible to get close enough for a good view of the arriving travelers. It should be quite a sight. 

After a pleasant supper and a smoke, I journeyed home and considered the evening.


By day, Peter delivers telegrams.  He has trimmed brown hair, carefully parted in the middle, presenting the appearance of being neat and tidy as required by his employer, Western Union.  He wears a uniform that consists of a dark jacket buttoned up to the top, narrow long cotton pants and a hat that he absolutely hates.  In pure defiance, he usually keeps it tucked under his arm. 

Peter is fourteen and carries with him the scent of full blown puberty.  He is a skinny boy just beginning to gain in height. It can also be said, that he is an enterprising and often an unscrupulous operator. Along with this initial impression is a sly regard that suggests that he is game for any number of propositions so long as they profit him.  He works from 6 am to 6 in the evening at which time I can occasionally expect a visit.  Once he enters my apartment, he can discard the polite formalities of his job.

"Hello Mr. Edmond.  How the fuck are you this evening?"

He presents me with my one ounce ball of opium wrapped in silver and red foil after which, I gave him 75 cents. 

This much opium should be only a half dollar, but I don't really begrudge him the commission.  Let's just say, "It's a given."  

Peter's side job is delivering drugs, informal messages and collecting money owed by this one to that one and it keeps him busy.

We first met when he was in the act of delivering to me an actual telegram.  I invited him in and he ended up sucking my cock for one dollar.  He was a year younger then and what a sight it was to see him in the act of receiving and swallowing my daily dose.  Paying him a dollar or two was sure to keep him visiting now and again.  Since that time, our roles have gradually reversed so that now I am the lowly cocksucker and he is the little tyrant.  I like it just fine.

"Sir Edmund," He feigns respect by awarding me with various titles. 

"I just can't make it back to Brooklyn tonight, you think you could let

me stay with you?"

Peter's voice was changing.  Whether it would go high or low or break in mid-sentence was unpredictable. It gave me great deal of pleasure just to hear him speak. 

"Good thing you brought my opium because if you hadn't, I would have had to go to the Chinaman myself and then after all that trouble, I would have to say no.  You may stay just as long as you reframe from searching my dresser drawers and private things when I am asleep."

He laughed.  "Edmund, I am not beyond stealing something left unguarded but I value my friendship with you far too much to damage it. You have always been good to me."

He tugged at his crotch.

True or not, I was gratified to hear this declaration coming from such a little rake. The messenger boy took off his shoes and crawled on to the divan with me. 

"So Edmund, you have your opium and I have this."

He displayed a square folded piece of paper.  I was taking a bit of opium and putting it into my pipe.

I said, "And what is that?"

Peter smiled and said, "Coca."

I quickly exclaimed, "Peter, I've done Cocaine a number of times but for me, it can be very unsettling.  I have a tendency to develop manias and fears.  I prefer my Opium if it alright with you."

Peter was preoccupied and didn't look up. "I got it from the whores on Varrick Street and take it from me, it removes the fear of God and the Devil, freeing you to do absolutely anything and, Edmund, I know what a jaded old cocksucker you are."

Within the unfolded paper was about a teaspoon of white power. Peter sniffed it through a wheat straw, then making several contorted faces, did it again. 

"Edmund, perhaps you should do a little of both?  The opium can rein in the effects of the cocaine, in fact, let me smoke a bit of your opium and you do just a small bit of my cocaine.  You'll be no fun is you pass out into your usual opium stupor." 

I lit my pipe and drew in the soothing and aromatic smoke then gave it to Peter.  He in turn held the paper containing the coca while I sniffed it through the wheat straw, then settled in for an evening of rich and rare experience.

"Peter, have you bought me any gifts?"

He relit the pipe. "Gifts..., what the hell do you think the coca is?"

"Peter, I was thinking of your dirty bottom."

"That's just what I was talking about. You don't need the coca because you are already a filthy reprobate. You oughtta try the Tombs.  I was there once for a week and that was enough for me."

I gave him a knowing smile. "So it was the City Jail where you learned how to be so accommodating?"

He gave a rapid retort. "Shut your fuckin hole Edmund!"

He carefully folded up the paper containing his coca and  stretched out on my divan.  He rolled on to his belly so that I was presented with the seat of his tight fitting cotton pants. They fit so closely that they  revealed his bottom's exact shape and form.  The cloth gathered tightly into the cleft concealing his boy hole.   With my nose up closely, I breathed in evidence of his departed boy turds.  It gave promise of more to come.  He reached behind and pushed his pants down, giving me access to his post-pubescence ass. I held it apart and licked all around his boy hole.   I am hard pressed to think of anything in this world more delicious than Peter's stinky behind. 

I gave him a glass of wine which he drank immediately and then he took off his remaining clothes.  He presenting me with his soiled and flimsy underwear. The front panel was stained with urine and had the scent of his uncut cock.  The seat was streaked here and there and smelled sweet and exquisitely indecent.  I had no need for this ignominious item at the moment but I certainly would treasure it in his absence. 

"Buy me new ones and they're all yours."

Of course I agreed and carefully tucked them away.  

Peter was naked, entirely erect and it was apparent to me that he was getting considerable pleasure in just displaying himself to a jaded libertine like myself.  I considered his somewhat hairless and wiry body as a thing of beauty. 

He explained how visiting with me was different than buying a whore on Varrick street.  "Well first off, I have to pay them and I am limited in how much time I get to spend with them or pay for the whole night which can cost a dollar and if I get sick of them mid-way, I've wasted all that money so I got to do it like a stray dog and get out. 

He paused and gave me a doe-eyed look. "The truth is,...Edmund, I just like your company better."

The fact is that I pay him and not the other way around is a certain incentive but I cannot be sure if his innocent gaze is genuine sincerity or just Peter's manipulative machinations.    

He lay on his back and pulled both legs back granting me open access to his rear end.  I knelt at the edge of the bed facing his boy hole just below a compact set of balls.  Perhaps it was the result of Peter's brief stay at the Tombs that has made him apprehensive about getting fucked up the ass but he enjoys and even craves a the full length of a finger or two or my tongue as far up there as I can manage.  He was jerking off forcefully and I could see that licking round his hole would send him into a squirting orgasm.  The taste and scent of his hole was still sweet but with full on puberty, it was becoming richer and more intense.  I was probing his hole deeply with my tongue and finger when he came over and over on his smooth and lean belly and chest.  I had to share his cum because he relished it as much as I. He held up gobs of it and let it drop into his smiling mouth.  

Self-adoration is his most attractive quality.  An emotion rises up in me that is much like love, but I am not really sure.. Neither of us were very hungry so we talked and had some wine before we continued. 

Eventually, the miasma of opium, coca and wine reached an insane intensity and was made memorable when, still stiffly erect, Peter urinated on me.  He said I deserved it for being such a filthy wanker. The experience was heightened by his rude and irreverent laughter.

In bed and in a passive, opium stupor, he fucked me until we both fell asleep.  

When morning came, my Western Union messenger had vanished.  I left him 2 silver dollars which were gone as well. 

The only regrets I have about the night spent with my Peter was that I let him talk me into that unsettling drug.  I am even considering reining in my opium use before it gets the best of me.   

I took my time bathing and dressing, after which I headed out for my breakfast at the Little Cup Cafe on Bleecker.

Continued upon request:

jet2larkin  at  Jeemale dot kom        (Reinterpret)