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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 Slide

The Slide was in an old theater on the Bowery. The structure had fallen into disrepair when the Vaudeville houses moved up to 42nd Street. There they clustered around the moving picture theaters in the newly re-named, Times Square. The Slide moved in and it soon became one of the more popular dives in town.

Peter liked to say that the Slide's notorious reputation was because they only let the bad people in and turned away the good and the pious. They did not like nosy churchmen, suffragettes and the temperance league do-gooders because they were bad for business. If they got in on the sly they would then evoke God's wraith on the sinners claiming that the Slide was a new Sodom and Gomorrah and that something must be done! They would be quickly followed by newspaper reporters looking for a juicy story about vice and depravity. As a result, outrage would spread across the city and the Slide would have to close until public indignation subsided.

The seats were removed and a small orchestra consisting of only a concertina or a piano, clarinet, and a single drum would preside over a fairly large and dimly lit dance floor. At the moment the tango was very popular. It created a meeting place where the upper classes could mingle with the lower, engaging in what Peter casually called, slumming.

We were dressed with just enough flash to fit nicely in without drawing too much of attention. With Peter as my guide I met a number of his acquaintances. He introduced me to some young girls and more than a few attractive young men. If I became too interested in any particular boy he would lead me away. Peter no fool, was just protecting his interests.


He guided me to a queue where a few people were waiting to climb a fight of stairs that lead further into the building's dark interior. At the top of the stair there was a fare of 50 cents to be paid for entry to a darkened room. In the center of the room was a small illuminated stage that was separated from us with a dark screen or scrim. This allowed us to see the two performers and their actions but they could not see the people gathering around to watch. It was an elaborate peep show.

On the very small stage was a brutish sailor type. A tough customer to say the least. He appeared to be courting a young lady who was above his class. She pretended to be pure and innocent. The sailor's advances were coarse and vulgar. The young lady tried to look away every time the sailor did something rude. It got interesting when he began to shake his sizable cock in his pants in a flagrant and obscene manner. The pace was just right to evoke an erotic response from me and I became completely absorbed in this low class rape and seduction. I especially enjoyed how the young lady feigned shock and embarrassment. She did not resist when he lifted her dress in an effort to pull her undergarments aside and expose her behind. When it was revealed the the young lady had an erect cock of modest proportions and scrotum between her legs many people laughed out loud. This did not discourage the sailor's intent because after all he was a sailor and is no stranger to buggery.

Peter whispered into my ear. “Edmund, doesn't that person look familiar to you?”

I looked at the sailor. But didn't recognize him as anyone I was might know.

Peter said, “Not the sailor, the lady getting her asshole fingered.”

I studied her and didn't recognize her either..

He shook me away from the fantasy that was being played out. “Edmund, that's Daniel Drake, the waiter from the Little Cup Cafe, remember?”

Suddenly I saw it. I was astounded. Just then, no longer shy and demure, the lady/Daniel turned towards the audience and spread his ass so that all could see his dilated fuck hole. Some laughed and a few applauded.

Peter whispered in my ear again. “Now that ought to look familiar.

It was time to retreat.


325 West 76th Street.

The next morning was Sunday and I had to make an obligatory visit to my Mother at her house on 76th street. She hasn't been well and the doctor pays her visit at least once a week. In spite of this, I decided to bring Peter along.

Peter, what would you like to be. I mean when I introduce you to my Mother, what should I say your purpose is?”

The was the sort of game Peter liked.. “What's wrong with the Duke of Bushwick?”

“You mean, Brunswick. We've done that one already. Think of something else.

It wasn't above Peter to parade around as something he isn't but he is a little short on imagination. “I don't know?”

“Suppose we tell her that you are one of the survivors from the Titanic and that your entire family, including your industrialist father drowned that dark night. The only reason you survived was that you were helping women and children get into the lifeboats. We could say that you are due to get a metal for bravery.”

Peter responded. “Yeah, I like that idea..”

I wasn't about to walk 65 blocks up town so we took a noisy auto-carriage.


Peter was struck silent at the sight of the 5 story townhouse. We climbed the front steps to the entry way and we were met by the maid. She was wearing a face mask, the kind used to avoid contagion and a serous gray pall seemed to hang over the house. Before I went in, I was provided with a mask like the maid was wearing.

The maid said, “Maybe you should let her sleep, she was up coughing all night.“

I felt it was better not to bring Peter in with me.

After a string of alcoholic lovers and very bad decisions on her part, our family attorney, Thomas Williamson and I stepped in to manage her financial affairs. Not long after that she entered a steep physical decline. She became bed ridden but continued to drink. I suggested that she try opium but she wouldn't hear of it.

She slept the whole time I was there and I sat reading a letter the doctor left for me when I came by. In the letter, the doctor suggested that it might be consumption and any chance of recovery was unlikely.

Talking to the maid I asked if she thought that my mother needed a full time nurse. She suggested a friend but I felt that maybe the doctor would know better.


Afterwards I decided to take Peter on a tour of the house starting with the large parlors and dining rooms on the 2nd floor.

She got the house when my parents separated and yes, of course, this place was way too big for us but it suited the pretentious vision she had of herself.

I stopped and looked at Peter for a moment and said, “When I was eleven, my mother stopped on her way out to some social engagement and said, “Edmund, we've gotten bad news from California, your father has died. Some sort of accident I think.” Then without a further word, she continued out the door.”

Peter could see that this was a serious event in my life. “What was your father like?”

Staring down at the oriental runner on the floor I said, “I don't know.. I don't even remember what he looked like.”

We pressed on to the 3rd floor this time avoiding my mother's sick room. My bed room had two beds and all my toyish and boyish belongings from a long time ago.

Peter looked around. “This room is bigger than your entire flat on 10th St.”

I told him the story of Mr. Robbie, my Latin tutor and showed him the little room where he slept.

Up on the 5th floor, we surveyed the the empty rooms and discarded furniture that lay here and there. The isolation and unlikely chance of intrusion caused me to focus my attention on Peter's behind. He moved quickly ahead of me opening this door and that, in an act of ecstatic exploration. His new pants provided a spectacular fit for his bottom and his animated energy was causing my cock to rise in the desolation of the abandon rooms. I know from experience that Peter has a daily dose of jizum that builds in urgency and must be released everyday. If I don't do it, I fear that it is entirely possible that he will look else where and find somebody else who will do it.

I righted an old cot in preparation and then captured Peter in my arms. I pressed my cock into the tight fitting seat of his pants. His resistance was feeble and inconsistent.

“You aren't going to do what you did to me yesterday?” but then he fell into the cot in a position inviting exactly that.

“It's too soon to do it without mineral oil. If I do you will be in ruins by the time I'm done and I don't want you to develop an aversion to getting fucked by me so it will wait till I get home.”

Stroking his positioned bottom and going down between his legs I felt the front of his pants being filled with his erecting cock. Peter was a startling and beautiful piece of work. I opened his pants and pulled them down off his bottom. Unfortunately his new undergarments were not fully seasoned yet but he was working on them. There was some evidence in the part that rubs up against his boy hole.

Pants down, On his hands and knees, forequarters down and bottom up high and upright for me to inspect and probe. Peter was jerking off in anticipation. For the moment, my tongue would have to do. I spread his ass wide and probed deep with a spit covered forefinger paving the way for my tongue. I think a favor licking boy's asshole above all else. I know men of like mind who wouldn't dream of this indignity. My favorite day dream is to have a serpent-like tapering tongue as long a a penis that I would use to penetrate filthy boy's bottoms.

Perhaps there was telepathy between us because just as I was savoring my fantasy while probing Peter's behind hole. He ejaculated streams of juzum. The act caused his rectum to squeeze hard on my tongue in a brief and exquisite rhythm.

It was a memorable experience.

Continued upon request:

jet2larkin  at  Jeemale dot kom---- (reinterpret)