Date: Sun, 10 Sep 2017 13:47:59 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Lion-King Chapter 21 Lion-King by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with fresh young lads then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 21 I celebrated my 38th birthday by giving myself a three-week break from the business. I needed time away, and I hadn't had a proper holiday for over two years. I've no idea what prompted me to choose the holiday I did, but whatever had put the idea in my head delivered a very unexpected and enjoyable week at the beginning of it. One of the conversion clients must have planted the seed originally, because he was in the fashion trade and was for ever swanning across to New York on some glamorous mission. "You should go, my dear," he'd said. (I didn't like being 'my dear' to anybody, but clients are clients.) That was probably what did it, because a few days ago (it's 31 August 1967 now) I found myself boarding Queen Mary on a transatlantic voyage to New York - an experience utterly unlike anything I'd done before. Ace and I were from a working class background, but my conversion business had allowed me to meet a lot of guys much better educated that I was, and some of it rubbed off. I could still rough it with the best of them, especially at biker orgies, but I could also hold a knife and fork - and a conversation - with confidence. Queen Mary held no fears for me therefore. At dinner I found myself at a table for four people - I'm not sure why, but I guess it was because they were a party of 3 and there weren't many single British men travelling. Anyway, the reason doesn't matter. They were Mr and Mrs Duggan from Swindon and their son John. I introduced myself. By the time we reached the pudding on that first night I knew all I wanted to about the Duggan family. Little of it is of interest. He was going to a trade do in Chicago - they were going on by train the day after we all arrived in New York - and she would accompany him (she seemed to be less than wholly excited by being a wife at a trade do in Chicago). John would join 'the other young people', as his father put it, 'for whom entertainment was being laid on'. God, I thought, what a pompous ass. Boring too. And I had to dine with these people for a week. Still, it wouldn't kill me. The next morning I was wandering about on deck when John saw me and came across. "Hello," he said, "isn't my Dad boring." It wasn't a question, so I didn't feel the need to make a reply. He joined me, happily silent, as I wandered on. After a minute or two he said, "Why are you going to New York?" If he had been five years younger I would probably have made some flip remark about going to see if King Kong had eaten the Empire State Building; if he had been five years older I'd probably have told him the truth - that I was on holiday with no fixed plans. But he was neither: he was 16. So, without really knowing why, I said that I was going in search of a romantic adventure. "That sounds fun," he said, "but how will you know whether you've found it?" I stopped and turned to look at him. "John Duggan," I said, "what do you know about romantic adventure?" He grinned. "Not a lot, at least not yet." This couldn't be happening, I thought. Why me? Why here? Why now? "John Duggan," I said again, "what do you wish to know about romantic adventure?" He looked me directly in the eyes. "Rex Perry," he said, "how the hell do I know? What I do know is that I think you would be able to teach me." Did what we now know as gaydar work in 1967? Were 16-year-olds tuned in? I'd certainly had no inkling that John was anything other than a normal 16-year-old, excited to be on Queen Mary but bored, and embarrassed, by his parents, and I'm pretty experienced in the queer scene, and in picking up vibes. Especially vibes from boys his age. But of this there had been no hint. We walked on together. He said nothing, so it was up to me to see how, if at all, this was going to develop. Suddenly, well away from any other passengers, I stopped. "Look, John," I said, "you're a bright chap. I'm on my own, that's why your family is stuck with me at Dinner. I've told you I'm looking for a romantic adventure. What do you think all that adds up to?" He didn't answer immediately. We were standing still, looking out to sea. Eventually he spoke quietly. "You can throw me overboard if I say the wrong thing, Rex, but I think it adds up to the idea that I want you to ... oh, I don't know. I'm confused. I think you're saying you're queer. I think I am too. But ... oh, hell," and he lapsed into an embarrassed silence. "Hey," I said, "it's OK. I'm not going to throw you overboard, and not just because you're right - I am queer, but I don't make a thing about it. No, the real reason I'm not going to throw you overboard" (go for it, Rex!) "is because if I did I'd never see you naked. And I think that's what you'd like me to do. Right?" He nodded. "And not just see," he said quietly. "We'd better start walking again then," I said, "now that we both know where we're going." He grinned and fell into step beside me. We talked a great deal in the next 90 minutes as we walked round and round the deck. By lunch time I knew all about John, his adolescent fears and uncertainties, his father's ambitions for him (Sandhurst, a commission, glory on the field of battle, a posthumous VC no doubt - I exaggerate, but only a little), his ambitions for himself (acting, maybe with writing sonnets as a side-line). He knew quite a bit about me, my business, my bike hobby (religion, if you insist), my sexual habits. I mentioned these to him at a remote part of the vessel because I thought he might wish me to go into greater detail. I said I would be delighted to, but only in the privacy of my cabin. His eyes lit up. "Have you got a cabin to yourself? Lucky bugger." He blushed bright red. "Sorry I called you a bugger - that was rude of me." "Why? I am one. Isn't that the whole point of the last 90 minutes? Let's call a halt now before we get too deep in. I'm going for lunch now. Why not make some excuse to your parents after lunch and come to my cabin at half past two? It's 666." He nodded. I had a quick lunch that day, and by two o'clock I was in the shower. It was unusual in that it was a salt water shower, with special soap. Ace and I had had been in some primitive showers in our National Service days, but so far I hadn't encountered a shower at sea. Still, I was clean for my visitor, and that was the main thing. I waited. Would he turn up? I had no idea what cabin he or his parents were in - it might even have been near mine. If so, we could have a problem. Two thirty passed ... two forty ... he wasn't coming. Then, a few minutes before three there was a quiet tap at the door. I opened it and he darted in. "Shut the door," he hissed. This seemed promising. "What's the hurry?" I asked. "Let me get my breath back first," he said, and sat himself on the end of the bed. I sat beside him and waited. "I made the excuse that I wanted a swim," he said, "and that was fine. Mum and Dad aren't interested in swimming. So long as I'm back ready to change for dinner at six no-one'll bother. As I was coming along this corridor I saw one of Dad's pals that he's made friends with, and I didn't want him to see me. I'm pretty sure he didn't." His explanation being over John waited for me. The ball was evidently in my court. I could play this one of two ways. I could pounce on the boy and ravish him. The signs were that he would probably like that. The other way was to let a sexual scene develop gradually, with the point of no return being reached and, with luck, passed without any great ringing of bells - just a realisation that he was going to end up in bed with me. That way we'd probably end up in bed far more often as we slowly crossed the Atlantic. I decided to seek his opinion. "Would you prefer to be seduced or raped, John?" He thought for all of five seconds. He turned on the bed to look me in the eyes, unblinking. "The first time, Rex, I'd like you to seduce me. You can rape me tomorrow if you like." Since Ace died I'd not done much seducing. Our biker sessions had invariably been with willing participants whose seduction had happened long before. My technique may therefore have been a bit rusty, but luckily John hadn't been seduced before - that was his problem which he wanted me to solve, after all - so he wasn't in a position to make a comparison. "Let's agree then about what happens. If I do something you don't like, you tell me and I stop. If there's something you want me to do, you tell me and I'll do it. I don't care how weird it is, I promise you - I've done it before. OK?" He nodded. "One thing," I said, "this nodding has to stop. I need to hear 'yes'. OK?" He grinned and whispered "yes." "Clothes off then." I thought the seduction would be better if he took the big step of appearing naked in front of me at his own doing. He stripped, folding his clothes neatly like a well-brought-up lad. By the time he'd put his clothes on the chair I'd stripped off and was standing facing him. "Fuck," he whispered, "it's enormous." "Yes," I said, "and it's all yours to play with. But not yet." His eyes moved from my cock, still only half hard, to the tattoo. Like so many boys he reached forward and traced the outline with his fingers. "Is that you?" he asked. I told him it was, and gave him its history. "You really did that with that boy?" I nodded. "Say 'yes', Rex." It was my turn to grin. "Will I get to do that?" "If you like, but not just yet. Let's take things gradually. Lie here beside me on the bed." He was reasonably muscular - the puppy fat of childhood was gone and he had a nice six-pack and good chest development. He had no chest hair, but his pits were moderately hairy. His balls were smooth but his pubes were lush. I would discover later that his arse was beginning to be hairy as well. His uncut cock was a good 7 inches when erect, as it would be soon, and a nice thickness as well. I wanted to find out more about how he came to be on my bed: what made him think he was queer; what experiences had he had with other boys; why he thought I was an appropriate guide through unexplored territory. The answers came in a long tale. As he told it I gradually started to stroke his body: arms, chest, face, belly. When he started his cock was soft; by the time I was stroking his chest it was hard; by the time I was stroking his belly it was leaking precum. It was the usual boarding school story. Perving other boys in the showers, the excellent public school tradition of swimming naked, the opportunity for nocturnal fumblings in the dormitory - all these had whetted his appetite for boy-on-boy sex. John's problem was that he hadn't the faintest idea how to initiate such an encounter. I suppose his fear of rejection was matched by his fear of being branded a fairy if an approach were to the wrong boy. Adolescence can be hell. John had discovered masturbation for himself when he was about 10 and, like all boys who open this exciting door unassisted, believed both that no-one else had ever done it, and that it was irredeemably wicked. So his hormones were in a terrible state by the time we dined last night. They were about to be given a new lease of life. When he'd finished his tale he paused. I said nothing, but went on stroking. By this time I was circling his navel (a neat innie) with my middle finger-tip. "What do queers do? I mean, where do they do it?" I chuckled. "John, there aren't any rules. Two guys can do what they like - there's no right or wrong. There are things I like and things I don't like, and you and every other queer guy feels the same. But think about it. What do straight guys do? Where do they put it, as you delicately express yourself?" "Up a girl's thing." "We are friends, John. In the privacy of this cabin you may use the word 'cunt'." He grinned. I went on. "You don't have a cunt, John, so where do you think I might put my cock? I'll give you two guesses," and before he could say anything I put one finger on his lips and pointed with the other hand behind his balls. His eyes opened wide. "Really? Up my arse?" "Yes, John, really." (God, this boy had led a sheltered life!) "Isn't it all messy?" "Not if you clean it. Look, do you want to find out from me as a teacher, or from me as a seducer?" He smiled. "I thought we agreed you'd seduce me." It was time for my hand to leave the pleasing territory of his navel for the exotic territory of his cock. It was already rock-hard and leaking precum. I took hold of it and stroked it gently. John began to moan quietly. ***** Two hours later I dried him as he stepped out of the shower - it was far too small for both of us, alas. He was tired after our exertions. When he was dry he went back to the bed and spread out on it. "Can we do that again?" he asked. "Tomorrow you can come back for more, but enough's enough for one day." He put on a fetching little-boy pout. "Will you wape me tomowwow?" I grinned. "You bet, Tiger. Now get up and get dressed. You're on dinner parade in an hour. He was in no hurry to go. "I liked it when you licked my cock," he said, "I couldn't believe how sexy that felt. I'm really sorry I came in your mouth that time." I reminded him that he had already apologized once, and that I had actively sought the outcome he had so enjoyed at the time. "I wasn't saying sorry for cumming in your mouth, I was saying sorry for cumming so quickly." "But you've cum three times while you've been here, and that's nothing to feel sorry about." He smiled. "Four's my lucky number." "OK, you've been good, you can have a reward. How would you like it?" He made a great show of wondering, with contorted facial expressions as he listed the various options, none of which he had even imagined when he tapped on my door. "Well." he said," I liked it when you sucked me that first time. I liked it when you fingered my arse and licked me back there, and I liked it when you finally fucked me, although it hurt at first, as you'd said it would." I reminded him that, although it was invisible to him, his arse would be red and puffy for a few days. "Do you really think I let my mum see my arse, Rex?" I waited for him to go on. "If you wank me again and I cum on my tum it'll smell, won't it?" I nodded. "There are really only two options then. One, I fuck your arse; two, I fuck your mouth. Either way my cum stays in you, not on me. You choose, Rex." He grinned wickedly. "Tomorrow I will rape you, and your arse will get even puffier. You'll like that, I expect. You're not fucking me today because, as you ought to have noticed, preparation for fucking takes a nice long time" (he grinned at the memory: he had indeed enjoyed the hour I spent in that part of the seduction process) "so I think I'd best just suck your fine cock again." This time it took several minutes before I got my tasty reward. "Four!" he said happily. "See you tomorrow, Rex." =============================================================================== badboi666@btinternet.com is where you should send comments and suggestions