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All the usual disclaimers apply. No one in this ongoing story is a depiction of any real person, alive or dead. This story includes all manner of social, anti-social and homosexual behavior. I try to be accurate when using historical references.
jet2larkin at Geemale dot kom (reinterpret)
After a hiatus of one year, I am continuing the story. I am not sure where it will lead us but your comments could influence the direction it takes.
New York 1912
The trip home was not as eventful or as enjoyable as the trip over. There was no randy cabin steward to pique our interest. Tony was cranky most of the voyage. I could see that he needed a stable and predictable routine to resist, instead of the uncontrolled chaos of travel.
Life was different. When we arrived at the slips on the Westside and disembarked, there was no Billy to meet us, no rackish Peter to greet us. There was no mother to humor and tend to. It was just Tony and myself. I allowed my 34th birthday to go unnoticed. It's time to stop counting.
Manhattan seemed bigger and grander than it was before we left. I remember when it was all horse carriages with the scent of manure in the air. This evening on our way home there is a torrent of auto traffic and the endless sounds of horns during the rush hour.
Tony and I settling into single parent domesticity. When Billy was here and not off in England with What'sisname. He could take Tony off my hands once in awhile. I didn't really mind but I could not answer my usual urge to roam the streets of New York looking for new adventures,.. And, why would I with a little gem like Tony at my side?
In the middle of the night or the middle of the day, Tony would prompt my passion, initiating my interest and then, I would resolve his exquisite lust at least three more times over the course the same day....This is usual.
All that aside, there was still his education. I devoted time to teaching the adored monkey boy, demon how to read. The course of study started with phonetic sounds, consonant blends, simple words and then syllables. He proved to be very intelligent. The method I used was to read his favorite story over and over again until we both knew it by heart. Gradually I would get him to read the story himself, word by word and little by little.
“Tony, it is important for you to learn how to read.”
He would say, “Why?”
So that you can read the story whenever you want to.”
“Why? We've read this story.”
“Because if you can read this book you can read any book.”
“Because I would like to hear it again.”
Because that's how you learn.”
“Because I have better things to do.”
And so it went on like that.
Brother Mark was sent over by Father Carmichael from St Paul's and from the looks of Brother Mark, Father Carmichael “musta known somethin.”
He came complete in the long black seminarian robe, an article of clothing I would not be caught dead in. Brother Mark sat with me for a half an hour before Tony was to join us. He brought reading books, English books, history books and elementary arithmetic.
He pressed a small prayer book into my hand and said, “And please, have him read at least one prayer a day. If he can't manage it, perhaps you could read it along side of him. It will do you good. Do you think you could do that from me? The Lord will surely thank you.”
I wasn't so sure about the Lord thanking me, but I looked more carefully at this young acolyte. Brother Mark was much better looking then he probably imagined himself to be, making him a likely candidate for friendly exploitation. To do this would advance my cause for atheism. He had a disarming lisp that stirred whatever it was that was I had tucked in my underwear. I wanted to say to him in the most accepting and reassuring voice, Brother Mark, you're not fooling anyone, but I didn't.
When Tony came down we went over each of the subjects and Mark told Tony what he expected of him when he came again at the end of the month. He set Tony up with some lessons.
I stood up offered Brother Mark a brandy. “I'd better not being that there is a prohibition.”
I cleared my throat. “Brother Mark there are a few more things I like to discuss before you go.” He dutifully followed me upstairs leaving Tony with his lessons.
As I get a little older, I receive more and more pleasure by subverting those that purport a greater morality or claim innocence, setting them above the rabble.
Once in my studio, I asked Brother Mark, “If it is not impolite, how old are you?”
“I am 17.”
I again, offered him a brandy, “Oh comon Mark! It's Christian Brothers Brandy!”
I sat next to him on the small studio couch. “Please, have one more.”
I refilled his glass. I put my arm around him in a fatherly manner and he seemed to melt like a boy. I was enjoying this no end.
A consistent characteristic about homosexuality is that in most cases, no mater the age, one will always play the role of the boy.
I placed his hand on the growing lump in my pants and when he gently squeezed it I felt free to bring it out for inspection. When I did, he took hold of it. I guided my cock into his mouth and began to use him in a friendly but rude manner. It was apparent to me that he has done this sort of thing before and that he probably pretended that it had never happened. He would carry on the pretense until the opportunity presented itself again. I call this, moral amnesia.
I was curious about the kind of pants he wore under his ridiculous robe and what they may look like pulled down around his ankles putting him into a state of encumberance. They proved to be gray flannel ready-mades that showed off a skinny pair of legs and not much of a bottom. Now I was dying to see what sort of underwear he might be wearing and if he was tidy or not. Disgraceful is more my taste. These things are important to me. Disrobing him hardened my cock. I didn't compel him into any activity other than sucking my cock. By now I knew that there would be other opportunities. Twice a month to be specific. Holding careful aim, I ejaculated into Brother Mark's mouth. Before beating a shame filled retreat, I stopped him to give him a reassuring and fatherly hug.
There would be other encounters. At every visit Brother Mark would load the boy down with lessons and then come upstairs with me to be soundly fucked. He would be trembling with antisapation and offer himself to me in whatever way I wanted. After probing his hole with my tongue I would mount him and go for depth. Brother Mark moaned and cried out as if he was already burning in the fires of hell.
Unfortunately, I received a letter from Father Carmichael informing me that Brother Mark was being transferred to Philadelphia and that he would send a replacement for me to interview.
Brother Silas was a colorless individual more like a bitter old bitch than a young acolyte. He prided himself in being a strict disciplinarian and he expected me not to interfere in the regiment that he had prepared for Antonio.
I know that there are some wayward boys that actually need this sort of guidance and there are particular catamites that may even relish the prospect of a teacher who specialized in corporal punishment but this is not Tony's nature and not the way I was going to have him raised. I had no intention of exposing him to a world of shame and contrition. That is what the church is for.
I had a pleasant telephone conversation with Father Carmichael. “Edmund, I must apologize, but I could not spare anyone else. If Brother Silas is unacceptable I certainly understand. Give me a little time and I will see what I can do.
About this time Tony began reading on his own which I considered a monumental accomplishment. The education he had gotten from myself and Brother Mark was strong in English and classical history. Tony did not have a head for numbers and needed special attention in the area of mathematics.
Where both Brother Mark and myself were wanting was in the natural sciences. I because in had little interest and Mark because of the Darwin controversy.
With Mark's departure, I thought maybe the little demon had been sufficiently socialized to be returned society. Not St. Paul's, but a different school where monkey boy's reputation would not precedes him.
I selected the Allen School for Boys on 78th street East side of the park is perfect. His walk to school in the morning would take him through Central Park and if he decided to play on the way home, it would be in the park and not in the streets.
Tony had entered the age of reason and he was gaining in the ability to grasp abstract concepts. At least as much as could be expected for a 11 year old.
Before I entered him in a new school we had to have a long talk.
“Tony, do you know how you behave with me, especially at bedtime?”
Not looking at me and leafing through a comic he said, “No.”
“Tony, you know what I mean, how we cuddle and play with each other?”
He was engrossed in the comic.
I took the comic away. “Tony I need to have this talk with you and when we are done, I will give your your comic back.”
What followed was a struggled to see who could get the comic. He climbed on me with his bare feet and there was a toss and tumble and a battle of wills. In the end, he retrieved the comic and went back leafing through it.
“Please Tony, I have to have this talk with you.”
Having read one page, he turned to the next.
“Tony, do you know what authority is?”
Still reading, “Yeah.”
“Ok, what is authority?”
“I don't know.”
“The Authorities are the people in charge. Like the Brothers teaching you at St Paul's, the President of the United States or the policeman on the corner. They are the people that uphold and make the rules. If you break the rules they tell everyone that you are bad and must be punished.”
He stopped reading and lay on his side next to me.
“Rules are what most people decide are the way things should be. When they make rules, sometimes they are wrong. If you know that you are right then when you must pretend to follow the rules but inside, be true to yourself...”
Legs in the air, he strained his body producing a buzzing fart.
“Tony, remember when you were jerking off in class at St Paul's?”
“They told you that it was bad and sinful. Why do you think that they sent you home?”
“I don't know?”
“Because seeing you jerking off makes some people angry. I can't really tell you why because I don't know, it just does.”
“Oh who knows? Maybe they want to keep everyone under control. I think that they are afraid. Tony, I love you and you can do anything you want when you are with me but outside of our home you must be careful of the people that make the rules. They can do you harm.”
“I don't know, I guess the world is stupid. It means that you must become careful and clever.”
“What if I want to jerk off my friend?”
“As long as you both agree then you can but you must do it in secret or they will catch you and punish you both.”
“Is a secret a lie?”
“Not always but if you have to hide when you are jerking off makes it sort of a lie. This is what we must do. This is just how the world is.”
Tony took out his penis and started playing with it subverting me and our entire discussion.
I told Tony about it and bought tickets well in advance for the opening night. It was the New York premier of The Phantom of the Opera. It was a formal affair to be held at the Astor Theater downtown on Broadway and 45th, complete with a 60 piece orchestra.
At this time, Tony was just entering the very beginning of his pubescent growth spurt. I could see that he was evolving from the energetic jungle boy into the still small but slender and graceful and adolescent. If I had the power to maintain him forever in this state of iridescence, I would. Tony had the kind of beauty that catches everyone's eye. My guess again would be 11 or maybe 12 but it would remain a mystery. I bought him a dark blue corduroy suit for the occasion. He wore a white shirt and an ultramarine silk bow instead of the more adult cravat that I would normally wear. He chose not to wear a hat in favor of showing off his mass of curly black hair. Suddenly he was elegant and fashionable and I would find myself completely overshadowed by this stately little prince. Old acquaintances would greet me just to get a closer look at my Antonio.
I had accompanied my mother to see a few stage plays which I had found boring and I had been to a few classical symphonies but the combination a huge orchestra creating thunderous music and having a moving picture filling my vision was absolutely overwhelming. For almost two hours we were transfixed. I looked at Tony in the seat next to me and his eyes were much wider than I had ever seen before. There were several points where he clutched my hand and during the unmasking of the phantom, he cried out loud. To be fair, he was not the only one. The performance was so intense that at the end, I was physically exhausted. On our way out to catch a cab I looked down to see that poor Tony had peed his pants until he was soaked. He was embarrassed and uncomfortable.
In the dark backseat of the cab heading uptown on Broadway, I put my arm around him and said, “Tony....Tony, you are my treasure.”