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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)
Recollections, 1906, Coney Island:
When I was 16, I graduated St Paul's School and everyone assumed that I would be off to university but I decided not to go.
My Mother didn't seem to notice but Father Meade, my English teacher pulled me aside.
He seemed rather angry at me."Edmund, I'm disappointed in you. You have no reason not to go. You have the wherewith all, the social class and the intellectual capacity. Why would you not go?"
I gave him a sheepish smile, shrugged my shoulders and said, "I don't know?"
This response irritated the shit out of him to the point where he huffed and puffed and got red in the face. "Edmund, please reconsider! Don't throw your life away."
I had no intention of throwing my life away. Outside of maybe being a writer after I've sampled life a bit, I had no profession in mind. Looking back, I probably should have gone to university but the lure of boys and men from the gutter had a hold on me that I was not able to resist.
Father Meade suggested the Seminary down on 20th street. "Edmund, you'll be close to home."
He spoke as if that was a positive incentive. The last place I wanted to go was to the Seminary. I had enough of churches and I had absolutely no belief. I later learned that sexually, the seminary was pit of vice and depravity that belied the religious facade tacked above the front door, but Coney Island was calling me and I had to go. I was an explorer, an adventurer not a pious hypocrite tied to a regiment of prayer.
I have relatives and friends, whose parents would never dream of getting onto public transport but I am enraptured with it.
Each person sitting in a seat or standing holding onto the rail, behaves with a strange insularity, looking as if they were completely alone and not on a crowded train, speeding 40 feet beneath ground. Silent and detached, as if they were only noticing a burnt out bulb in the train's center lantern or a spot on the window, but cautiously, they would be viewing each other with furtive side glances. They were all well aware of each other and maybe even longing for the physical contact of possessing or being possessed.
A pretty women dressed for counter work is glancing around to see if anyone has the eye for her. Other than looking and then quickly looking away is as far as she will go. A man might approach her, it could be any man, but it must be a man bold enough to break the rules that hold her so tenuously. Polite men are of no interest to her.
There were men that sat, legs spread even on a crowded train. This one had a long large cock, that stood straight between his legs or stiffly angled to the side and is only vaguely concealed in his soiled worker's pants. This is a common enough sight. Maybe he can't get enough or maybe his wife is encumbered in pregnancy or maybe he's unmarried. A man like this could go off with boys just as soon as a woman. He would because in the small, crowded tenement with a half dozen in one bed, he'd been doing for as long as he can remember. Why shouldn't he consider a soft boy like myself over a prostitute that may carry a plague. He scans the riders looking for someone that might want to ease his nagging erection.
A large immigrant women is repeatedly smacking her children to get them to behave. A filthy boy in bare feet wearing only jumper shorts, face smudged with city grime is none the less, bright and beautiful. He wanders within sight of his burdened mother and looks at people's faces and even into their eyes, momentarily disarming them.
This underground world is alive.
I took the subway part-way into Brooklyn and from there I got onto the Sea Beach Train that was to be replaced by the much faster subway. Beyond the city, the land flattens out as we approach the sea shore. On the horizon is an exotic panorama of castle like towers and spires. These are the amusement parks. Hippodrome at Dreamland, Steeplechase Park and Luna Park, all spread out along the boardwalk creating a wondrous and magical skyline. Together they provide a great chute for millions pennies and nickels belonging to the poor and common folk beguiling them with thrills and visions of an electric future.
There were plenty of girls but for the most part, they were escorted by parents, boyfriends or husbands. They might be shepherding children of their own. If there were none of these associations, you could assume that they were whores or at the very least, available. The police that walked the boardwalk were there to catch pick-pockets but also to enforce decorum and morality and no defiance was to be tolerated.
What I am left with are the truants, the hooky boys who have already spent all their money. I don't wear my better clothes on these forays and anyway it's too hot and I'd rather just fit in. I wear only knee length knickers and shirt sleeves. Being young and attractive it is easy enough to stand out with an observant look or a loitering pose. It was here and using just these methods where I met a boy very much like myself.
Sizing me up was easy. Just a smile, an expression of commonality was all that was needed to make an acquaintance. "What you up to?"
I returned the smile knowing that we had found a match in each other. Looking at the 3 quarter dollars that I had had in my pocket he looked into my face and said "We're rich!"
He had asked me if I had been here before. I said no and we were off.
It was at the tail end of the parks where paying to get in to the bath house gave you a tag to changing locker for the beach and then there was a pedestrian tunnel out onto the hot sand and the ocean.
"Next time, bring a bathing suit."
He scanned the horizon for possibilities, but he already had a modus operandi.
Let's go to the natatorium instead. It's not crowded because everyone is on the beach. We get to swim naked there."
When he walked ahead I looked at his rear and his cocky and frame. He was younger than me but not by much. Like me he was in shirt sleeves but was wearing a trim vest and rakish hat. The only identity we would have of each other would be our first names.
"You could call me Simon." He tugged at his cock through his pants. He smiled when he saw me look. He did it again only slowly tracing its outline and then moved on as if it was nothing.
The men's natatorium was for colder months. On this day, most everyone was out in the sun but we had other purposes already known to each other.
In the half light of the small changing locker Simon was already stiffly erect. He stepped out of his pants and I quickly took it into my mouth. Holding my head with both hands, he put one foot up on the bench, allowing me to lick is balls and then getting under him, even his ass.
He whispered, "I like you, you know what you are doin" and then effortlessly we switched positions.
Getting behind me he began pushing his cock up my ass. Holding me by my shoulders, he used me as leverage to get far enough up into to begin a fuck. There is something about being set upon from behind by someone you do not know. It is thrilling because it emulated the fantasy of surrendering and then being murdered. Holding me tight, his urgent efforts were causing a continuous bumping sound from within the small changing locker and I was sure that could probably be heard throughout.
Then the booming voice from one of the attendants. "There'll be no buggering in here and if it continues we'll have a policeman come to investigate."
We stood perfectly still and silent. When all was quiet again, we went back to sucking each other's cocks. First one and then the other, we masturbated into each other mouths.
For the moment, we were done and we went together to the large pool in the men's section. Our long adolescent spent cocks swinging from side to side while we walked. I'm sure a man resting on the bleacher saw us enter and seeing us dive into the water, could imagine the whole story.
It was in the pool that Simon and I actually became casual friends. I considered bringing him home but then thought better of it. My mother would know in an instant that Simon was working class.
We met numerous times during that summer until it just sort of wore off and then we never saw each other again.
If you've read this far, please comment otherwise I feel like I am spitting into the wind.
jet2larkin at Jeemale dot kom---- (reinterpret)