Date: Thu, 11 Apr 2019 07:36:53 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 144 Queen Mary Bell-boys 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 14-year-olds 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 144 Charlie and I were the last to arrive, and when we went in the party was much larger than we had expected. Champagne glasses were pressed into our hands and James drew us into the throng. There, over 20 years since we had last seen them, were some very good friends: Phil, Ryan, Larry and Will. There was much hugging. "I thought it would be nice if we replicated the pre-war days as closely as we could," said James. "Larry tells me that it would be appropriate to meet again late one night in the pool, but I leave that to you and Charlie to fix up, Patrick, just as Larry tells me you did many years ago." Was it the champagne, or the emotion of seeing the others so unexpectedly, or just middle age that brought tears to my eyes? James had made a table plan, and he had arranged it so that each of the four couples had one of the older men between them. Poor old George was odd man out again, but James had done his best to minimize any awkwardness by putting George on his right. Round the table from there was Prince, Phil, Graham, Sam, Will, Tim, Javid, Larry, Nigel, Charlie, Ryan and me. A Steward murmured in James's ear. "Shall we sit down." I was amused to see that the Steward was assisted by Felix and another, rather older, waiter in serving us. Were all tastes being catered for? - were the Steward and his older assistant, both in their late 20s I judged, there for the delight of those of James's guests uninterested in Felix's hidden delights? As well as the meal - delicious as always - and the conversation I was intrigued by watching the body language of the men round the table. I knew that Prince and Graham weren't players: on the other hand people visit art galleries with no intention of buying old masters. And Prince and Graham were keenly enjoying all the art on display. As far as I could see only Ryan kept his eyes on Felix while the three of them were busying themselves. Phil, Larry and Will paid him little attention. During the four courses each of us learned about the man in our near vicinity, but a table for 14 is too big for general conversation - had this been deliberate, I wondered - so when the cheese was cleared away and the port remained James moved us on to the next phase. "You have no idea how much of a delight it is for me to have been able to gather so many of you together. Even King Neptune has done his bit in making Queen Mary's last voyage memorable." (The storm was continuing.) "While the port goes round I want each of us to stand and briefly tell the rest of us what has happened since we were last together, in some cases not since 1940. George, will you start." George stood up and told his story, much edited and omitting any mention of Kevin. The five men - we were all men, but you know the ones I mean - were shocked to hear about Vincent. Prince stood up. "Our story is happier, I'm glad to say. When we were paid off in 1946 Graham and I spent a weekend working out what we wanted to do with our lives. We had no ideas and for several months we did odd jobs around London where we had cheap digs. Real dead-end stuff, but it bought beer and we were together. In the summer of 1947 we realized that it was mad to go on aimlessly, so we had another weekend working things out. During the year I'd read a lot about India looking like breaking away from Britain and becoming independent, and I thought that one day African colonies might do the same - the whole World was different after the War. I decided I wanted to do something for Africa, which sounds unbearably pompous now, but I was only 24. Graham said he liked the idea, 'Why don't both of us learn different skills which will be useful?' he said. So, to cut it short, I went to agricultural college and he - well, he'll tell you himself. When we were qualified enough to work overseas we were posted to what was then the Gold Coast, and we stayed there for six years. I soon found out that the sort of stuff they taught you in agricultural college in the UK wasn't all that relevant in the Gold Coast, but a year or two soon put that right. In 1955 we were asked to go to Nyasaland, where of course the stuff you pick up in the Gold Coast isn't all that relevant, but that time it took only a few months to get it right. My family came from Nigeria, and I think I always wanted to go there, to do for the new independent country what my family had done for generations. We went there, to a small area in the North, in 1960 and moved to a bigger administrative job in Ibadan in 1964. And here we are. Our first holiday in over 20 years, and our first time out of Africa in 18 years. "Being queer is utterly taboo, so Graham and I have to be very careful. It's easier to live together in a city than it was in the country, and a couple of the British Embassy staff are queer as well. You've no idea how lucky you guys are, being able to fuck when you like. The last few nights in Aylesbury and on board have seen fucking unlike anything since we were teenagers," and he sat down with a broad grin on his face, mirrored by that on Graham's. The port had gone round, and set off on its journey again. It was Phil's turn. "My story has its dark side, but good came of it," he said. "After the War I stayed in the merchant marine until 1950. I wanted to settle down. There wasn't anyone special in my life - there still isn't - but you mustn't think there wasn't a succession of brief affairs. It was just like being here before the War." Middle-aged men smiled happily in recollection of those carefree days. "I bought a small pub and planned to enjoy being the social centre of the village. If the pub had been in a town the story might have been different. In the first year or so I'd let word get round - not in the village, of course, but through the kind of network we're probably all familiar with - that beer wasn't the only thing to be enjoyed by discerning clients. The pub had three bedrooms upstairs which became available out of hours for gentlemen of a certain persuasion. No, Patrick, before you get interested, gentlemen, not young gentlemen. Nothing under 21. I made a fair bit on the side, as you'll imagine, and had a great deal of fun as well. Until a bleak day in 1953. I was arrested and charged with unnatural acts, and facilitating them on licensed premises. I spent 18 months behind bars in Leeds. "When I got out late in 1955 I resolved to change things. In prison I'd come to believe that we queers would go on being hounded unless we took a stand and did something. So when I got out I got in contact with the kind of people who might be willing to make a difference. You all know the changes that have happened since the War - Wolfenden in 1957 and the new Act a few months ago. If I fucked one of you in this room in front of the rest of you I - both of us - could still go to prison. But if I fucked him in my cabin, just the two of us, it's not against the law any more. And my telling my story to the right person over 10 years ago is a small part of that change. "I don't have a pub any more. I'm not a 'fit and proper person'. But I've become a writer, and although it doesn't pay as well as being a publican it gets me a lot more chances to meet other like-minded men. Just like everyone in this room." It was almost 2200. James suggested that it would be a good idea to have five minutes while we all made room for more coffee. The Steward came in as we all got up and James whispered to him. Ten minutes later when we all returned the table had been cleared; fresh glasses were at each place; the port decanter had been filled; small dishes and fruit knives were laid; a bowl of fruit and another of nuts were on the table; pudding wine was there. James rubbed his hands. "Coffee will be here presently." A minute later Felix came in with 14 coffee cups, each of which was placed carefully (he had to stand very close) in front of one of us. Many of us were pleased to have him standing so close. The Steward brought in two large coffee pots. "Thank you, Frank, that will be all," said James, "I will lock up." Frank bowed and he and Felix, full of promise, went out. Graham poured himself a coffee. "I don't have much to add to Prince. I've no interest in farming, but it seemed possible that teachers would be needed, so that's what I studied. A bit like Prince, I found that what was needed teaching kids in the Gold Coast wasn't exactly what I'd learned in Peckham, but if they throw you in at the deep end you learn pretty fast. I found I got on well with African kids once they worked out that I was there to open their minds rather than play the dominant white man. Having Prince to go home to every night helped hugely: he understood the kids' feelings much better than I did. But once you've got over the initial hurdles kids are much the same in Africa as they were in London. Prince and I have promised each other that we'll stay in Nigeria until 1970 - that'll be 10 years. After that we want to go on helping Third World countries, but we're going to find somewhere where queers aren't likely to be lynched. We haven't found it yet, but we're looking. A nice tolerant Catholic country perhaps." Tim snorted. "No such thing," he muttered. It was Sam's turn. "We stayed where we were when the rest of you were paid off. Well, not literally, because Queen Mary spent several months being refitted. During that time we were working on other Cunard ships, sometimes together, sometimes not. When she was ready to resume transatlantic crossings Cunard asked each of us - they knew we were a couple, but of course no-one acknowledged it - what we wanted to do. Like a shot we both elected to stay here. I completed my various Certificates and by 1953 I was ready for my Master's. They called me in again and said I'd have to leave Queen Mary if I wanted to get any further. By then I'd been living on this ship for damn nearly 17 years, and I was 33. I left with great sadness, but I served as First Officer on another ship while I got my Master's Certificate. I've had my own ship since 1958. We bought a small house in York when I left Queen Mary. As Will knows, entertainment on big liners isn't hard to find, and Tim and I have the kind of understanding you'd expect. No secrets is the secret. I've never gone short, even when the Chief Engineer on my ship isn't my lover." Will 's story was brief. He'd got his Master's in 1952 and had had his own ship - never a Cunarder - since then. His ship was on the South Africa run most of the time, and had, as he put it, "a pleasing number of very keen African apprentices, all very willing to learn a trade and equally willing to learn - and practise - a variety of leisure activities. Unlike Cunard my Line has a practice of senior officers having a personal servant - a relic of bad old colonial times, but with the great advantage that one can pick one's servant and ensure his complete loyalty." Grins greeted this example of an excellent way to run one's life. "How young do they start, Will?" asked Tim. "About what you were when you started." Tim said that Sam had pretty much covered things. He'd got his ticket in 1955 and he and Sam had been on the same ship most of the time. "We love York. It's miles from the sea, but it's a lively place and there's a constant supply of nice-looking tourists. When we're home we try to make sure that some of the more approachable ones see a side of life that not all are lucky to find in York. Unlike Patrick and Charlie we don't have a ready-made excuse to have a succession of beautiful boys living with us, but we manage somehow." The port had reached Javid, and he filled his glass before telling us his story. "I learned a lot during the War, and by the end I found myself the main go-between liaising with the GIs' quartermasters and the ship's catering and accommodation. If they had 9,000 troops to carry to Britain I was part of getting the food and so on all ordered and loaded, and making sure that enough bunks were available. When we were all paid off it seemed crazy not to put that to some use, so I sniffed around to see what kind of jobs there were. Cunard were very helpful and through them I got an on-shore job with another Line doing the same kind of thing. Nige and I were living in a cheap part of London, but by 1949 we both decided we could do a lot better in the USA. I got a job with a shipping company operating freighters on the Great Lakes - iron ore mainly - and worked there for nine years. In 1958 I started my own shipping logistics business, and it's never looked back. I employ a dozen people now. We have a nice apartment on Lake Michigan and Chicago, like any big city, has a thriving queer community - except it's called 'gay' nowadays." This was the first time I'd heard the term. "Most of our friends, gay or otherwise - and we've plenty of both - accept us. What's exotic about us is that we used to be English. My being brown and the fact that we're a pair of queers doesn't amount to much. But Limeys - well, that's another story." Larry's story took much less time than most. He had become a sports coach at a boys' boarding school in the Home Counties and had spent over 20 years never getting caught. When he sat down after occupying perhaps 60 seconds telling us that there was a silence. "Aren't you giving us any details?" said Tim. Larry shook his head. "Come on, Larry, we need to hear the juicy stuff." "Maybe another time, Tim, it's too late tonight. If I told you, you'd never sleep," and further Larry would not go. It really was getting late and the coffee had run out. James suggested that Nigel's story might be better received "and Charlie's, Ryan's and Patrick's - mine too - on another occasion. Shall we say at 1800 tomorrow in my Suite?" Chairs were pulled back and we fell into small groups, none of us willing to be the first to go. James caught my eye across the room, and he beckoned to me. What was he up to now, I wondered. "By my reckoning, Patrick, five of you are interested in the kind of service you and your colleagues used to provide, and Tim and Sam are flexible, and will take their pleasures where they can be found, whether in your former area or Phil's. I'm sure that all tastes can be accommodated. Felix is one of a number of willing followers in your footsteps - six of them in fact, just as there used to be. They're all a little older than you all were, but I'm sure that won't be a problem. I thought, just to break the ice, that you and Charlie might wish to entertain Felix. Would that be agreeable?" "Yes indeed, James, he's a very attractive boy." "Good, because I took the liberty of instructing him to go to your Stateroom - he has a pass key, of course - and he should have arrived there about 10 minutes ago. Why don't you and Charlie beat a retreat and give the boy something to remember?" "You're a crafty old bugger, James, and you never fail to surprise me - thank you." "Come on, Charlie," I said when I dragged him away, "we've work to do." =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 145 as we get to know our unexpected guest. Phil's story is basically that of Peter Wildeblood, a journalist whose writings after he left prison were invaluable to Sir John Wolfenden in preparing his 1957 Report. The photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing in 2017, and the boy I describe as "me" is really cute. I'm sure he had adventures ... I will be reacquainting myself with these pictures in Queen Mary 2 when I make another pair of Atlantic crossings in a couple of days. There will now be a three-week pause in the adventures of our friends. You therefore have ample time to imagine the intensely erotic session Charlie and Patrick are having with Felix. It's a bit like the interval between Act I and Act II of Die Walkure. The audience is in the bar swigging G&Ts while Siegmund and Sieglinde are busy fucking like rabbits - or, as has happened a few times in this tale, like twins. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. =============================================================================