Date: Sun, 26 Nov 2006 11:43:27 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: STREETS OF NEW YORK - 7

STREETS OF NEW YORK - 7

Copyright 2006 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Streets of New York" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to
the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

This story is indebted for both its inspiration and many of its ideas to
several books, especially Tyler Anbinder's FIVE POINTS, Jacob Riis's HOW
THE OTHER HALF LIVES, and Luc Sante's LOW LIFE.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 7

(Revisiting Chapter 6)

As they returned to the library and surrounding rooms, it was obvious that
everything was under control.  Oh, yes, a few liberties had been taken -
but not nearly as many, or as heavy, as those in the Colonel's office.
Essentially, the boys had enjoyed a "happening" with a small group of
bohemians...good people who were quite atypical of the time in which they
lived.  Further, they had been treated honestly, kindly, and gently by the
very rich - and that, surely, is not how the richest among us are expected
to act!  Fortunately, such people do exist...in every age.

Morstein allowed the carriage with the boys to stop near their homes.
Inasmuch as Tony had decided to spend the night with Sergei, Tom and Dross
found themselves gloriously alone.  "Oh, you've got a night ahead of you,
beast!" Dross exclaimed.  "I'm horny - and you better be ready to roll
until we see light again!"  With that, he turned to his love, unsheathed
his rather long canines, and growled fiercely.

(Continuing Our Story - The Morning After the Night Before)

Finding it too depressing to stay overlong in his flat, Tom Arnold sat on
the roof, nursing a cup of coffee.  It had just about killed him, but he
had done his duty, enthusiastically and fully, by Dross the night before.
At least it lessened some of his feelings of guilt.  (Dross was now off to
classes in his final year of high school.)  Not having easy access to
bathing facilities was killing him, for he smelled like a goat in rut.  To
make matters worse, he had received a messenger-delivered request about an
hour ago.  Colonel Marsden asked him to stop by his midtown office "on a
matter of some urgency".  Clearly, emergency measures were in order.

Tom remembered that Slats had said there were a couple of private, albeit
rough bathhouses in the area.  That probably meant that the gangs
monopolized them, keeping the immigrant families at a distance.  Still...he
had to take a chance.  Three streets over, he found what he was looking
for.  Rather than a saloon, the bottom floor of a tenement was atypically
devoted to a bathhouse with pools, saunas, an exercise room, and related
facilities.  Entering the reception area, Tom found that his surmise was
correct.  The place was filled with young toughs, most wearing their black
bowlers at jaunty angles, most in their early 20s, each trying to look more
intimidating than the next.  "Well," Tom thought, "Once more into the
breach!"  Just as he approached the front desk, however, he felt a slight
pressure on his arm.  Turning slightly, Tom let out a gasp and almost
shouted, "Bernie McDonnell!  What are you doing here?"  With a grin, he
added, "I thought you'd be sleeping in!"  Clad in long workout pants and a
tight T- shirt, the glorious young redhead pulled Tom slightly out of the
line and to the side, Bernie grunted, "Work here - when I'm not dancing at
the club...or being photographed.  Same question to you, Tom."  Grinning,
he added, "Frankly, you look a little out of sorts!"

Wryly returning Bernie's grin, Tom explained that he "felt so cruddy he
would have to jump in the East River if he didn't scrape some of the
cooties off!"  "I really don't recommend that," the beautiful seventeen
year-old giggled.  He then gave Tom a card, told him to give it to Sol at
the desk, sign in, pay his fee, and get a towel.  The registration was
completed without a hitch, although after he had stamped the back of Tom's
hand and handed him a thick towel, Sol did wink and whisper, "Lucky you.
Bernie's the best...normally only works with the really big bosses."

"Don't let Sol get to you," the redhead laughed.  "He uses a lot of soft
soap!  Well now, Tom...  I'm your trainer for today.  Completed only one
year ago, it's the finest bathhouse in the East.  A...friend arranged for
me to see the athletic facilities at Columbia, and I assure you, these beat
them all to hell.  Ready for a short tour?"  Interested as he hadn't
expected to be, Tom allowed Bernie to guide him through the establishment.
The facilities were indeed exceptional.  (As a matter of fact, he had to
admit, to himself, that they were superior to those at his own college.)
There were no real surprises.  Everyone (including trainers) stripped on
entering the locker section of the bathhouse and didn't dress until their
session was completed.  They had their choice of large or small pools, as
well as lounging and massage areas, a small bar and restaurant, and
exercise rooms.  Many of the clients, especially the older men, had
trainers at their side. At every turn, the equipment and the decoration
appeared to be the finest available.

Tom gasped when he stepped into the shower and Bernie shampooed his hair
and then began to soap him and lightly to manipulate his muscles.  Looking
at others in the shower room, however, he saw that this was the way in
which it was done and relaxed.  God, it did feel so good!  "Someday I'm
going to have a build like yours," Bernie growled as he stood behind Tom
and reached around his body to work on his pecs and abs.  "Football helps,"
Tom admitted, allowing himself to ease back a bit into his trainer's body,
"but, believe me, you have nothing to be ashamed of for a guy your age!  Do
you have a sport?"  "Nope," Bernie admitted, "just the gym, but my day will
come.  Man, oh man, Tom, do you ever have a build.  Really great..."
Slapping the footballer lightly on the rump, the redhead said it was time
for the pool - not the main pool, but a private pool to which he and his
clients had access.

Tom followed the tanned, magnificently tapered back, the flexing buttocks,
and the long, smoothly muscled legs down a hall and into a beautifully
appointed room that held one gem of a pool.  The only other person in the
room was a gorgeous blond youngster, fully nude, who inquired if the
"gentlemen" desired a drink.  "If you want something, Tom, there's no
charge in this room," Bernie murmured.  "Anything?" Tom asked with a grin.
"Anything," came the quiet response.  Assured that they didn't, the young
waiter silently disappeared from the room.  "Last one in . . ." Bernie
chortled as he dove into the water.  For half an hour, the young men played
in the water.  Tom had not felt this good since he left school!
Eventually, Bernie had him climb out of the pool and up onto a gurney with
a waterproof pad cover.  There he received a brief, but an especially
satisfying and relaxing massage.

Exiting back into the hall, the boys hadn't passed three doors until Bernie
asked Tom to look into the room through the glass panel.  "Oh, my God!" Tom
gasped.  "They're playing squash!  I haven't played squash since I was last
up at school.  A chum - an English guy who went to a posh school called
Harrow - loved the game and talked the athletics people into setting up a
court.  It's great!  Any chance of playing, Bernie?"  "Your wish is my
command, Sir Knight," Bernie laughed and opened the next door.  They only
played two out of three, but Tom had a ball.  Bernie won the first, but Tom
battled back to win the second and the third matches.  He left the court on
high, Bernie's arm around his heavy shoulders in congratulations!

"Well, Thomas, before we send you on your way, let's sweat any impurities
out of you," his fiery-headed companion laughed.  With that he steered Tom
into the sauna that was already steamy and became even more so when Bernie
poured cold water on the red- hot rocks.  Soon it was impossible to see
beyond your hand, even when the door opened.  Sitting side by side on a
polished pine bench, the boys slowly inched closer to each other until
Bernie lightly rested his head against the older boy's shoulder.  "I've got
an appointment in a little while, Tom," Bernie mumbled.  "Last night was
too much.  I'm already beat!  Any chance that I could get just a few
minutes of light massage from you before we head in?"  "You've got it," Tom
murmured and began working the redhead's arms, shoulders, and chest.  When
he switched to his legs, Bernie reached up and gently cupped the athlete's
heavy balls in his hand.  "Can't..." Tom murmured breathlessly. The youth
stretched and said sadly, "Oh, wow, Tom.  Dross is so damned lucky!  If
ever...  Well, I think you're the greatest.  It would only take a word from
you, and I'm not talking about a one-night stand either."

"I think you're the greatest, too, Bernie.  I want to hear more about your
plans.  Know that I am going to help wherever I can, Big Red...as your
friend.  Got it?"  "Yeah, Tom.  Thanks," Bernie said sincerely as he
struggled to his feet.

Outside the sauna, he directed Tom to jump into a little pool that stood
between him and the shower and locker rooms.  Needless to say, the icy
water of the pool put a classic end to the sauna!  After Tom had scrambled
out of the pool faster than he had entered it, sputtering and threatening
dire revenge, they left each other laughing hysterically.  Entering the
reception room after showering and dressing, he almost ran into Sol.  "See
what I mean?" Sol asked, regret and envy buried not too deeply in his
voice.  "The very best!"  "Yeah," Tom replied emphatically, "the very
best!"

(Indian Summer)

Taking a cab uptown, Tom quickly found himself in the office of one of the
most powerful men in the City.  The outer office paneled in fine woods set
off by expensive decorating literally screamed wealth!  Framed paintings of
great steam engines and other railroad scenes told him that Colonel Marsden
had been quite frank with him the night before.  Having buzzed her boss, a
beautifully dressed secretary directed him to the proper door with a
gracious smile.

"Tom!" Marsden exclaimed in delight at the sight of the boy.  "Come.  Try
this chair over by the fireplace."  As the suave executive inquired as to
Tom's possibly joining him for coffee, a uniformed waiter suddenly appeared
at his elbow.  Within seconds - or so it seemed - cups of steaming coffee,
cream and sugar, trays with small breakfast pastries, silver, and napkins
were placed on the tables beside them.

"Thank you, sir, this is wonderful," the young man murmured in
appreciation.  "Not at all, Tom...not at all.  Let me explain why I used
the word "urgent" in my message.  Every now and again, my schedule suddenly
clears, allowing me a few days to do as I wish.  If I don't respond
quickly, the openings close by day's end.  At the end of this week, I shall
be free between Friday noon and Monday night.  The thought struck me that
you might like to spend that time with me on my estate in Connecticut.  The
property has been in the family since colonial times, but I rarely seem to
be able to enjoy the hiking, hunting, fishing, and just lazing around that
it allows.  Mrs.  Marsden will be in Boston seeing friends.  Tell me that I
shan't be alone!"

Tom's frustrations sapping his youthful self-control, his voice almost
trembled as he spoke with great emotion.  "Oh, Colonel!  You are one of the
kindest...and most exciting men...I have ever met.  I'm already missing
football.  I haven't been able to get home for ages.  What a fantastic
invitation.  I am absolutely delighted to accept!"  Marsden stood, stepped
over to Tom's side, and lay his hand lightly on the side of the youth's
face.  "You can't begin to know what pleasure your acceptance gives me,
dear boy.  Unfortunately - and I am sorry beyond words - I must run.  My
schedule through Friday morning is absolutely mad!  If satisfactory, let us
meet at Grand Central Station, Track 73, at 12:00 noon on Friday."  Writing
on the reverse side, he gave Tom his card.  "Here, this will get you past
the gate.  Don't worry about packing a great deal.  We'll take care of
anything you need up in Connecticut.  Besides," and he grinned
conspiratorially, "I think I like you best as I saw you last night!"

The middle of the week seemed to drag on forever.  Dross was still busy
with the beginning of the school year and seemed less sensitive to Tom's
confusion and less active involvement in his life.  He accepted his love's
explanation that he had to be away for the weekend "on family business."
On several occasions, the question of what he was doing to Dross - and to
himself - entered his mind, but he pushed it out soon enough.  Marsden had
absolutely grabbed him by the balls and swept him off his feet the other
night.  His body was still trembling from the things he did to it.  The
young man had experienced feelings that he had never previously
experienced...indeed, that he never knew existed!  He actually hungered for
this powerful, charismatic human being to seize him again and use him as he
wished.  In truth, the "small head" was in total control...but, then, Tom
was both inexperienced and "at that age".  (In any case, he didn't pack
much!)

When he arrived at Grand Central on Friday, he was absolutely quivering
with excitement.  He became nervous only when he worked his way over to the
gate for Track 73.  That is, unlike other gates where trains had been
called, no one was around other than one conductor.  As he approached, the
man drew himself up, smiled, and said, "Good morning, Mr.  Arnold.  If you
will come this way, sir."  Descending into the bowels of the earth, they
found themselves standing besides an elegant railroad car that was hitched
to its own steam engine.  Nothing else was on the track!  "Climb on board,
sir; Colonel Marsden is waiting for you!" the conductor exclaimed as he
headed for the engine.

"I'm a free man, Tom - and, now that you're here, I'm a happy one!" the
magnate blurted out as the youngster entered his private railway car.
"Hello, Colonel!" the excited youngster exclaimed as he slipped into an
embrace with Marsden who had risen.  Suddenly, the car jerked as the engine
began to move, warning its occupants that they had better sit down or risk
the consequences.  Laughing, they collapsed onto a comfortable seat.  "I'm
so happy to be here..." Tom began.  Marsden said nothing.  Rather, he
simply fingered the top button on Tom's shirt and grinned.  Tom suddenly
got it and just about tore the shirt off, buttons and all.  He wore no
undershirt.  Marsden again said nothing, but slowly unbuckled the lad's
belt and, as Tom raised his butt, pulled his trousers down below his knees.
Breathing hard, his fingers roamed over the tanned, silky-smooth skin of
the boy's thighs.  Marsden's genitals lurched as his hands kneaded the
heavy muscular flesh.  As Tom's breath began coming in spurts, he suddenly
reached out and roughly pulled the youth's underwear shorts down.  Freed
from its prison, Tom's hard cock sprang up and audibly slapped against his
abdomen.  It lay there angrily against his flat stomach, pulsing, spitting
precum, and turning redder by the minute.  Suddenly, the train emerged from
the tunnels, allowing sunlight to flood the opulent car.  "Wha..." quaked
the youth.  "Are we ok?  Can anybody see?"  "There's nothing for you to be
alarmed about, my beautiful companion," Marsden whispered soothingly, using
the distraction to strip Tom's remaining clothing off his legs and feet.
Pushing against the seat until it reclined, he murmured, "Now lie back and
let me take care of what has prevented me from sleeping all week."  The
athlete inhaled and did as he was told.  Moments later, a choking cry said
that each of them had been rewarded.  Raising his torso, Tom's lips
encountered the Colonel's and they locked in a passionate kiss.  Finally
breaking free lest they suffocate, the youth's classically muscled torso
trembled as his heavy arms held the Colonel tightly to his body.  "You are
my god, sir.  I am your servant," he moaned in ecstasy.

Cleaning both of them with a dampened cloth, the man helped his young guest
to put his clothes back on and straighten up.  He then signaled for the
conductor who appeared within minutes.  A short time later, they were
enjoying a delicious luncheon as the private train rolled northeastward on
the tracks of the New Haven Railroad.  "There are slightly faster routes,
but none so scenic," Colonel Marsden commented as he offered a second piece
of apple pie to Tom and poured more coffee for both of them.  "We'll stay
on the New Haven tracks as far as Bridgeport; then, we'll head north on the
Housatonic tracks [since the year before the Berkshire Division of the New
Haven], along the river, and up into the Litchfield Hills of northwestern
Connecticut.  That's where my home and land are located.  Given your
joining me and the magnificent Indian summer we are experiencing, it should
be a most delightful weekend!

Shortly before four o'clock, the private train pulled into Cornwall Bridge,
Connecticut.  The trip north along the Housatonic River had been
spectacular.  Tom had particularly delighted in the superb fall color.  A
rather wild coach ride through the hills and valleys of the Connecticut's
far northwest brought them to a lovely valley.  There, the color of its
marble softened by the late afternoon light, stood one of the most
magnificent mansions the young man had ever seen.  "It's mine," murmured
the Colonel, "but it's not really my home.  Mrs.  Marsden had it built two
years ago (1891)...eight million dollars...60 rooms...great reception
halls...invaluable art and furnishings...a kitchen that puts the finest New
York hotel to shame...a staff of 30.  Unfortunately, she rarely comes up
here with me.  Says that unlike the City, Bar Harbor, or Newport, there
simply aren't enough people who are worth knowing.  Nor can one experience
the finer arts or a proper church.  Thus, she spends the bulk of her time
with lifetime friends in the City or Boston or, in season, Newport...of
course.  To each his...or her...own, but I do become lonesome - and I am so
very happy that you are here beside me.  We'll see the mansion, but, unless
you have strong objections, Tom, we'll stay at my Lodge.  Tom smiled,
supportively put his hand on Marsden's forearm, and said softly, "The Lodge
it is."

With ten minutes, they pulled up in front of an obviously old, but
magnificently maintained log structure nestled in the trees.  For those of
you who know the country, it seemed to Tom more like an Adirondack lodge or
one of the great camps up on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire.  Inside,
the youth could not imagine a setting more luxurious.  He also met
Billingsley, the Colonel's one servant at the Lodge.  "It's inevitable that
he'll see some of our fun and games, Marsden laughed, "but don't worry.
He'll generally stay out of our way.  When our paths necessarily cross,
many years have proved that he's utterly discrete.  Come, let us get ready
for an early supper."  Tenderly, he stripped the clothing from the
youngster and, after quickly removing his own, led his supremely happy
guest into one of the most splendid rooms he had ever seen.  With its wild
colors, tiles, and decorations, it resembled nothing less than a Turkish
bath of the 16th century.  The bathing area proper was the size of a small
pool and featured a warm mineral water that was exceptionally relaxing.
After completing their ablutions, the two men left for dinner in the dress
of the evening...nothing at all!  Despite the delicious meal served by
Billingsley, Tom had a certain problem with the glass table.  Embarrassed
beyond words, the youth found that he could not prevent frequent erections!
Not that his host helped with his suggestive comments and repeated efforts
to physically soothe that which he said had to be irritated skin!

Though it had grown cool when the sun had gone down, the Colonel insisted
that one of his great joys on "coming home" was to be able to jog in the
evening.  After a run on a track through a beautifully wooded area,
Billingsley gave each of them a splendid massage.  As they finished up,
Marsden asked his young guest if he enjoyed dancing.  Tom admitted that he
had gone to a few college dances, but that he barely knew how to dance.
His host spent the rest of a delightful evening filling in his education.
For Tom, it was one of the most romantic evenings he had ever spent.  At
the same time, at least in terms of his self-perception, it was one of the
most amazing.  In short, he was in physical, emotional, and intellectual
turmoil!  Here he was an athlete powerfully built...by all accounts
intelligent and forceful, as well as strikingly handsome.  Make that a
"star athlete" and a LEADER of men.  Make that an athlete who would
graduate from one of the finest colleges in the world...with distinction.
God knows there was nothing of the Nellie about him!  And, yet, here he
was, glorying in surrendering his smooth, muscled body to the controlling
and protecting arms of another, older male, melting into him wheresoever he
moved.  Here he was, gasping as his genitals made incidental contact with
his partner that sent sparks of electricity throughout his body.  Here he
was, consciously pushing his swelling genitals into his partner and, like
the most rapacious of predators, breathing hard as he clawed at his firm
buttocks.  When the Colonel led him to his bed, he led a youngster who
could scarcely contain his feelings of extreme excitement and need.  He
finally fell to sleep in the early hours of the morning, his physical needs
sated as they hadn't been since he entered adolescence.

Hearing something "out of place", the Colonel looked out of his bedroom
window not too long after the sun was up.  (The bedrooms were generally on
the second floor along with some storage areas.)  Tom stood in the cleared
area below, vigorously chopping wood for the stove and fireplace.  Marsden
licked his lips at the play of early light on the young man's magnificent
body.  Knowing that he would never get back to sleep, he rose, visited the
facilities, and padded down to the kitchen in order to accept the cup of
steaming coffee offered him by Billingsley.  (Marsden never knew how he did
it...nor did he ever ask!)  Clothes could wait!  As he sensed that his
mentor was up and around, Tom stopped his chopping, gathered an armful of
wood, and came back into the kitchen.  The man intercepted him near the top
of the work area.  Not allowing him to put the load of wood down, the older
man started kissing his neck and upper shoulders, moaning as he licked at
the youthful sweat.  Suddenly, he grasped the heavy athlete around the
waist, lifted him in one fell swoop, and sat him down on the dark green
marble top of a food-preparation table.  A lecherous grin on his face, he
took the pieces of wood and, one by one, dropped them on the kitchen floor.
Then he slowly pushed Tom's back against the marble top and lifted his
muscular legs until they almost touched his chest.  The youth moaned deeply
and writhed on the polished stone surface as his host began breakfasting.

Over the next two days (Saturday and Sunday), Tom was involved in almost
everything close to the heart of an active, athletic young man who deeply
enjoyed the out-of-doors.  (Remember that he was a farm boy as well as a
college student and an athlete.)  The Colonel and he hiked all over the
northwestern corner of the Nutmeg State - and, though they didn't know it,
even briefly crossed into New York State on one occasion.  The Colonel
would have taken him out for pheasant, but Tom indicated that he preferred
to fish, at least on this trip.  (The implication was not lost on his
softly smiling host.)  Thus, they fished in the Housatonic.  To Marsden's
surprise, the youngster was a serious fly fisherman and reeled in three
fine trout.  Within the safety of the Colonel's mammoth estate, they played
nude in the deeper pools of the relatively shallow stream, and made love
under a great chestnut tree that must have been standing at the birth of
the nation.  They talked often and seriously about their dreams and their
fears.  (For instance, Tom shared the story of the Subway Gang.)  Finally,
they returned to the Lodge for the last big event of the long weekend.

Before reaching the Lodge, Marsden noted that the dinner and evening with
some of his friends would be quite different from all that had taken place
thus far.  He begged his young lover to be patient, to remain open to all
that transpired, and resist "judging" what took place until he had
personally taken part in it.  Tom quickly swore that he would surely enjoy
the evening as he had every minute of the weekend.

The Colonel's guests all arrived shortly before eight o'clock.  Five were
men (handsome and very much in charge of their lives) between their late
thirties and early fifties.  Three of the men brought younger men with
them, young men probably in their late teens through their early twenties.
They, too, were handsome and seemed to be manly and pleasant.  (He learned
in passing that this was the first "Lodge Evening" for one of the
youngsters, Vincenzo or Vinnie, as it was for him.)  Immediately on
arriving, they shed their clothing and filtered into the Great Room where
the ever-present Billingsley was busy serving hors d'oeuvres and drinks.
The drinks were absolutely delicious and Tom decided to follow the
Colonel's advice, i.e., to simply let go and have fun.  Conversation was
fast-paced and intelligent, covering much of what was of interest in 1893
New York: the absolute corruption of Tammany, the moral disintegration of
the city, business tips, the coming subway system, music, the theater,
sports, and so on.

One of the guests turned to Tom and said, "I understand from Al (Colonel
Marsden) that you play football.  In fact, he led me to believe that you
were one of the best athletes that he had seen on the field.  True?"
Blushing, an embarrassed Tom Arnold mumbled that the Colonel seemed to have
a tendency to exaggerate.  To the general laughter that ensued, the guest
exclaimed, quite authoritatively, "Come over here, my young friend."
Turning to the younger men, he exclaimed, "Look at this boy, you three.
This is what a sports star looks like.  Check the thick neck, the heavy
pecs, the abdominals, the beautifully muscled back, the waist, the splendid
buttocks and thighs!"  (As he detailed what he saw to be Tom's outstanding
physical attributes, he gently stroked them.)  The boy was beginning to
swell when one of the other guests jumped in and diverted attention from
him.  His voice suggesting that he was fast becoming a bit high, he said,
"Wait a bit, gentlemen!  Jocks are nice, but there are things...important
things...beyond muscles.  Look at the equipment on this Mick" [an Irishman
- and, coming out of the mouth of one who wasn't Irish, either an insult or
a sad attempt to be funny]!  Holding the boy's long scrotum with its heavy
balls up in the air, he added, "Is there anything else that so stirs the
blood?"  "For heaven's sake, Wilson!" a companion snorted.  "If you love
the Irish that much, marry one!"  To the laughter that ensued, the guests
began finding chairs, making themselves comfortable, and continuing their
drinking and conversations.  Tom really wanted to speak to the younger
guys, but they continued to stay strangely close to their mentors.  As the
drinks kept coming, the "play" began to get even more sexual.  For
instance, another guest at whose feet a rather burly young man sat reached
down and openly fondled his equipment.  (Tom was a little shocked when he
looked up at his mentor, smiled sexily, and licked his lips.)  The
footballer didn't notice what happened next, for the Colonel came in from
another room, sat down beside him, and put his arm over his shoulders.

"Al," a guest said, "when I told the boy how you'd praised him, he said
that you had a tendency to exaggerate!  Is that the kind of behavior you
allow?"  "Nah," exclaimed Al, "I PUNISH it!"  With that he began to tickle
a very ticklish young man until he was squirming as much as he was
laughing.  Then, affectionately drawing him to his side, he reached over,
playfully fondled his genitals until he went semi-hard, and kissed him
deeply and possessively.  Grinning goofily at his lover, Tom blushed bright
red as he lay in Marsden's arms, his thick cock pulsing and quivering as it
rose to a full, dripping erection.  As the company howled in laughter, the
Colonel bent his boy's torso over and bit him lightly on the back of the
neck.  Looking up, he smiled (with his mouth, though not with his eyes) and
said, "See what I mean, Bill?"  Evidently Bill got the message, for he
motioned for Tom to crawl over to him.  Unsure of what to do, the youth
looked up, but the Colonel nodded for him to respect his guest's request.
Bill had him kneel over his thighs and, pressing on the back of the boy's
butt, drew his hard cock towards his mouth.  Somewhat nervously, he said,
"Sorry, Tom.  I shouldn't have said anything.  Apologies."  With that he
vigorously fellated Tom until the horny youngster came with a loud grunt.
Hearing Billingsley say that dinner was served, everyone wandered into the
dining area.  Most were hard erect.  The Colonel followed, his arm around
Tom's waist.  When he hugged and smiled at him, Tom, insecure but eager,
returned the affection as they took their places at the table.

>From Tom's standpoint, the evening disintegrated from there.  Far greater
interest was shown in the unending alcohol than in the delicious food that
Billingsley had prepared.  There were cards - but that really wasn't the
evening's entertainment.  One of the lads did a really torrid erotic dance
(straight out of one of the clubs on the Bowery).  As his mentor led the
enthusiastic applause that met his efforts, the Colonel bent down and
suggested that Tom perform some of his exercises that would fully display
his athleticism and his beauty.  After doing a few floor exercises from the
gym, Tom asked Billingsley if he would help him drag in the pommel horse
from the exercise room.  His short routine absolutely brought the house
down - though one may guess that the Colonel rather hoped it would end the
competition.  Jan, however, Vinnie's mentor, wasn't content to leave it at
that.  Directing the well-built eighteen year-old to kneel in front of him,
he rather theatrically commented that the boy was a virgin, prepared him
(minimally), and viciously fucked him!  Looking up, he stared directly at
the Colonel and said rather churlishly, "By your leave, sir," before
telling the youth to go clean himself up.

Everyone was aroused; everyone had had far too much to drink; Jan had
diminished the Colonel's control over the evening.  The evening rapidly
broke down into manic sex, sex with the object nearest you, sex that
appeared to lack any vestige of affection.  When Tom rose to check on
Vinnie, Jan staggered over to him and grabbed his arm.  Debating whether to
simply slug the bastard or more gently break away, Tom felt the Colonel's
arm embrace him.  Leaning down, Marsden whispered in his ear, "He is my
guest, Tom, and a person whom I can't afford to make an enemy.  Don't
disgrace me.  Do as he says.  You'll never regret it, I promise you."  In
utter confusion, Tom slumped down onto the rug whereupon Jan roughly spun
the heavy athlete on his stomach and took what Marsden had offered.

When Tom recovered, the "action" was still in full swing.  Quietly, he
crawled out a door that led to an outside terrace.  There he found a
weeping Vinnie.  Embracing the boy, he was soon joined by Sean, the lad who
had performed the erotic dance.  "After checking out the eighteen year-old,
Sean asked, "Have you seen enough, Tom?  On evenings when there are dugs,
it's far worse, believe me.  There's something else you should know.  I
have never found anyone who could turn me on like the Colonel, but it's the
HUNT that turns HIM on.  Once he has had all he wants, it's goodbye.  Oh,
he keeps it friendly; after all, he's a 'gentleman'.  He'll farm you out to
one of his fuckin' 'friends' when he's finished with you!  If you want
that, stick around.  You'll be rollin' in money and clothes until he's had
his fill - and there'll even be plenty of crumbs around the table after
that.  He's generous.  You have to give him that.  If that's not for you,
get the hell out before he's rolled you up in his web and begun sucking the
blood out of you!  I should know; I'm sucked dry.  I'm going to go and get
Vinnie's clothes now.  You ok, Vinnie?" he asked.  "Yeah," the boy growled,
"as 'ok' as I'm goin' to get tonight.  I live close."  "Ok, guys," Sean
said.  "Be right back..."

"That's not necessary, gentlemen," Billingsley said quietly and with his
usual dignity.  "Here are the young man's clothes.  Put them on, Vincenzo,
and go out to the stable.  I'll take you home in the trap" [a light usually
one-horse carriage with springs].

Colonel Marsden found Tom about two hours later, sitting on a stone terrace
at the rear of the stable.  He sat looking down over the river that
sparkled under a harvest moon.  "It's beautiful, isn't it, my boy?" he
asked.  When he received no answer, he said sadly, "I know.  It's over -
and I am so very sorry.  Would that man were as strong as the gods."  "Yes,
sir, it's over," Tom replied, "but I'm sorry, too.  Truth is that I'm
crying inside."  Marsden went to lay his hand on the boy's shoulder, but
Tom shrugged it off.  "Know that I shall honor every promise I made to you,
Thomas.  My word is my bond," he added.  "Thank you, sir," the youngster
replied.  "If it's all the same to you, I'll bunk down out here in the
stable.  I'll be ready early in the morning."

At first light, Tom found some food in the kitchen, for Billingsley was
nowhere to be found.  No too long after that, the Colonel appeared and they
soon left for Cornwall Bridge, the private train, and home.


To Be Continued