Date: Sat, 23 Dec 2017 11:21:14 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 3 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 3 The 12 of us had all day - apart from our meal - in front of us to make sure we all passed the test. Tim and I had tested each other, as you know, but neither of us had had any contact with other bell-boys doing the same thing. It was becoming clear that, setting any sex contact aside, it would make life a great deal better (and more fun) for all of us if we got to make friendships with as many of the others as possible. In the early days in Liverpool the Scottish boys and the Welsh boys had naturally stuck together - for language reasons as much as any - but now, after three months, those early bonds were much weaker. Inevitably cabin relationships would form among 16-year-olds, and presumably that was why Sir had arranged three to a cabin. It made one-on-one relationships harder to achieve, and what Sir wanted - the public Sir, that is, the one in charge of the efficiency of his bell-boys - was that each boy co-operated with all the others happily. The private Sir had other ideas, as we know. Alan suggested that we three team up to explore but I said that wasn't a good idea. "We three know each other already, and today is probably the last chance we'll get for complete freedom to go anywhere and do anything with the others. I suggest we team up with at least one of the targets we've got, so that if the chance happens in the showers there's already some kind of common bond." Alan agreed. "I'll try to find one or two of mine then." Tim agreed too. I decided I would go for Charlie: the more I could establish a completely non-sexual friendship with Charlie before I pounced, the better. Anyway, I like a challenge. However none of us had any idea where any of the others were (we tried the cabins, and they were empty). We set off in different directions, knowing that we'd bump into someone sooner or later. In the Grand Lobby - which is where most of us would be based when on duty - I found Dave and Stewart. Dave was 'one of mine' but I didn't want to miss finding Charlie. "Seen Charlie?" I asked. Dave said he thought he'd seen him with Andrew going to the Pool. "Thanks." I got to the Pool, but there was no sign of anyone. Well, that's not true: there was no sign of Andrew or Charlie. What there was was a pair of pool attendants sorting towels and stuff. One caught my eye, and I'm pretty sure that I caught his. I asked him whether two bell-boys had been here. "Yes," he said, giving me a much larger smile that was necessary, "they were looking in the changing rooms about five minutes ago. They said something about going to the Gym." "Thanks. I'm Patrick, by the way." "Nice to meet you, Patrick. I'm Larry, and this" - the not dishy one - "is Luke. Are you exploring for your test? The other two told us about it. I don't envy you. Good luck!" Luke said nothing. I don't think Luke's interested in boys, but I'm pretty sure that Larry is. We'll see. I ran to the Gym, and there were Andrew and Charlie looking into equipment cupboards. They were being very thorough in trying to discover everything. "Can I join you?" I said, "we can pool our knowledge." Charlie quickly agreed, although I got the impression that Andrew wasn't too keen. The three of us set off to the First Class decks - this was where the bulk of our work - our official work, that is - was likely to be. We studied the Dining Room and mastered how the table numbers were arranged. Andrew pushed off at this point saying he needed to find Chris, so at last I was alone with Charlie. I had already worked out how I was going to get him talking. "I can't remember where they said you came from, Charlie," I said, "I know it's in the Scottish Highlands." "I come from a wee village in Sutherland - that's right up in the north. It's called Durness. You're from Liverpool, aren't you?" "Yes. It must be odd living in a village where everybody knows you. In Liverpool the people in your street know you, but the millions of others in the city don't know anything about you - it's great for Tim and me." "How is it great? Isn't it scary with so many strangers around you?" "No, it's not scary. It's great because when you get into mischief no-one's going to tell your parents unless you're daft enough to do wicked things in your own street." Charlie's eyes widened when I implied Tim and I did wicked things. "What kind of wicked things?" I decided to give him a little bit of Mulloy family background. "You mustn't tell anyone, but our oldest brother is a thief. He's done time in prison. He tried to get us to steal stuff when we were younger and we did. Sweets and sometimes food. We never got caught, but when we went to confession - we're Catholics - our priest told us how wicked it was to steal food, even if we were hungry." Charlie's Calvinist soul was untroubled: sin was sin and there were no excuses. "That was wrong." "Yes, I know that now of course, but when you're seven and your big brother gets you all excited about doing something daring it's easy to get carried along." "Seven!" "Yes. The good thing about learning not to steal when you're seven is that what you really learn is how not to get caught." And there I planned to leave it - let him wonder what not getting caught might conceal. "Anyway, it's fun," I concluded, "let's go into the galley. They may give us something to eat." Charlie's Calvinism didn't stretch to declining the opportunity to scrounge something extra to eat, so he agreed to come with me. Next to the First Class Dining Room, through elegant swing doors, was an enormous galley. Today, with no passengers, there weren't many staff in there, but there were a few hundred crew on board who had to be fed, so there were a couple of dozen men in chef's tall hats and smartly-uniformed waiters. "Hello, guys, here's the next band of explorers," said one of the chefs. "Don't poke into things, boys, but ask any questions. You have five minutes." Five minutes later Charlie and I left. We were only the third and fourth bell-boys to have gone into the galley, and we knew enough about how it worked, and how many meals were prepared - stuff like that - to be able to answer any question from a curious passenger. We also left equipped with three biscuits each (and two sausages in our stomachs). Charlie grinned as we left. "I liked that. Well done you for having the idea." "I liked it too - the more food I get the happier I am. We won't be able to do this tomorrow though. I'll have to think of something else then." Charlie's grin widened. "Do you think you could? That'd be fun. You're more fun than the other boys." I let that remark hang in the air while we went through a cocktail lounge at the other end of the galley. We went down to the deck below and studied the table arrangement (the same as in First Class, but with far more tables in a much bigger room) I asked him why I was more fun that the other boys. Weren't his cabin mates Chris and Andrew fun? "Oh, Andrew's all right I suppose, but he isn't interested in the things I'm interested in, and I'm not interested in his things. Chris is just a noisy child." I wondered what 'noisy child' meant and made a note to see what Alan would make of him in due course. "So why am I 'fun' then? I'm curious." He thought about it for a moment then said, "I can't put my finger on it. Thieving is wicked, but you say your priest has shown you the error of your ways. But you charmed sausages and biscuits from the galley. I wouldn't have dared to do that, so when you did, and the chef laughed, it was fun." I was amused by the language he used - when he was talking about 'fun' he spoke like any other teenager, but 'the error of your ways' was so obviously copying some pious priest (or whatever they have) that it felt all wrong. I wanted to leave it hanging there: the more Charlie was puzzled by the concept of 'fun' (especially when subliminally associated with scrounging food - all this in the context of thieving food being 'wrong') the more he would want to find out more. And his wanting to find out more would surely lead me closer in my quest to find out more about him. I set myself the target of getting Charlie naked with me by the time we got back to Southampton. It was now nearly midday. The much larger galley catering for other passengers was to the stern of the big Dining Room, so we went in (through less elegant swing doors than the really posh folk got) and repeated the hunt for information. This time five others had got there before us, and one of the junior chefs there had had the bright idea of making up a little box for questing bell-boys. Five minutes of questioning elicited the answers, and we left bearing our presents. "What's in them, do you think?" asked Charlie. "Food, I hope," I said, "and food that'll keep until tonight. I get hungry." We couldn't cart the boxes all over the ship, so we went down to the cabins to leave them. I looked into Cabin 4 as Charlie opened the door. It was the same as ours. "Come in and I'll open mine," he said. Promises, promises, I thought, but said nothing. He opened his box, and inside found an apple, an orange, two chocolates, two biscuits and a little bag or raisins. (I later found that all of us had the same. It was a generous gesture.) I left Charlie stowing his loot in his locker and put mine away in our cabin. On my bed was an envelope with 'Patrick' written on it. I opened it. Inside was a slip of paper with the words 'arse 2000'. Good, I thought, a nice fucking in under eight hours. I tore the paper up into tiny pieces and put them in my pocket. I had about 40 minutes before our meal at 1300. I went back to the big galley and thanked the junior chef who'd given us the box. My guess was that he had decided to give 12 teenagers a present because he liked teenagers, and I wanted to know whether my guess was correct. From the look of him he hadn't stopped being a teenager himself all that long ago. I went up to him and said 'thank you' and gave him a big hug. If he liked teenagers in the way I suspected then his return hug would be tighter and maybe more prolonged than strictly necessary. Nice and tight though the hug was I wasn't convinced when he released me. There was no-one else within five yards so I took my courage in both hands and said quietly, "I loved that, and I love your present. Is there a future?" He stared at me. I smiled. He began to smile too. "Oh yes, I think so," he said quietly, "but how and where I have no idea." "I'm sure we can think of something," I said, "I'm Patrick, by the way." "Ryan." I smiled and left. My diary was starting to fill nicely, and that was before any passengers appeared. Should I tell Sir about any liaisons with other crew members? I thought about it and decided not. Sir's scheme was to make money and if I was going to give free rides to the crew (and I fully intended to) then Sir might not approve. So Sir would remain in blissful ignorance of the fact that he wasn't the only Cunard employee fucking me. The 12 of us ate our meal amid much talk of who had discovered what. As the test wasn't going to be a competition there was a general willingness to share knowledge, the result of which, of course, was to point to the many things we still didn't know. The afternoon would be busy. By 1700 my diary had become even fuller. One of the stewards in the First Class staterooms was decidedly interested in 14-year-old flesh. ("I thought you had to be 16." "I lied about my age - I want to serve my country." "Cheeky bugger!" "Yes, that I am, and I hope you'll be discovering just how cheeky I am when you bugger me.") A nice waiter in the big Dining Room wasn't quite so obvious about it, but there was no doubt about his willingness to get to know me a bit better. As I say, by 1700 my head was bursting with knowledge. I knew the ship inside out and I had Larry, Ryan, Gus (steward) and Phil (waiter) who would, with luck, soon know me inside out. It's a busy life! The test was great fun. Sir didn't want to humiliate any of us: he wanted to test that we were up to the job, but in a way that buoyed us up with confidence. He had selected us - well, most of us - purely on the basis of intelligence and initiative, so he wasn't expecting any of us to do badly. We were divided into six teams of two (he split Tim and me up, which was clever: he didn't want the rest of them to see us as a special unit) and we were sent out at three-minute intervals with a list of places to go, questions to answer and so on. If everything went to plan all six teams would end up in the same place, but by different routes. Sir must have spent hours working it out so that teams didn't come across each other until the end. I was paired with Roger, luckily one of my targets. Roger and I got to know each other a great deal better while we dashed about the ship. There were eight places to visit and by the time we got the our sixth - the gentlemen's changing room at the swimming pool - I felt confident enough to offer the observation that a fair few cocks would be on show in here in a day or two. Roger grinned. "That'd be worth seeing," he said. I agreed. "Are the cocks in your cabin worth seeing?" "Funny you should ask," he said, "I thought I had a big one, but Sam's is a lot bigger than mine. Peter's is about the same, except he's circumcised. I'd not seen one like that before." "Go on then, show me," I said, "no-one'll know and we've been pretty quick so far." "OK, but you've got to show me yours." Naturally we both knew the code for such exchanges. He dropped his trousers and his underpants at the same time I did. His was uncut and about 5 inches soft. "How big is it when it's stiff?" I asked, seizing the moment to forward my researches. "Just over 7." "And Sam?" " His is weird. It's smaller than mine usually but when he wanks it's about 8 inches." "Do you all wank in your cabin?" I asked - it seemed a question which flowed naturally at this stage in the conversation. "We do now. Not at first, but after a few nights I couldn't wait any longer, so within two minutes we were all at it. Don't your lot wank?" "Oh yes," I said, "but don't forget I have a twin brother with me, so we were straight into it, just like at home." "Who are you with?" "Alan, and he's just as horny as we are. And your lot, from the sound of it." "Yeah. We'd better get on with it. Nice cock, by the way." Time for the big leap. "Nice enough for you to want to get to know it better?" "Sure. The more cocks I get to play with the happier I am." By 1730 all six teams had arrived in the big Dining Room where two tables of eight had been set out in a corner by the galley. Sir was there with three of the officers - the most senior people we'd seen since coming on board. Sir said we'd all done well (the last pair back - Peter and Stewart - were only two minutes behind the fifth) and that we'd earned a special treat. The treat was the most sumptuous meal I'd ever eaten (although our researches earlier meant that we knew it was an 'ordinary' dinner for second class passengers). Each table had six boys and Sir and the three officers joined us. Glancing about I quickly decided that none of the officers was 'interested', so that meant I could enjoy the meal. Sir wasn't on my table, so I didn't have to restrain myself from making subtle remarks about what was to befall me later. The meal was clearly intended as some kind of bonding exercise - the 12 of us were being welded into a team, with officers to make us feel a vital part of the Cunard Experience - and would be something all 12 of us would never forget. For 12 working-class teenagers to have a meal of that quality (and quantity), in those surroundings, served by waiters, was memorable indeed. I was glad that Phil was one of the waiters - no doubt he had volunteered for the task with an eye to the diners, and when he gave me my steak he leaned a little closer than he had to. I was careful that my knee touched his leg sufficiently gently that he didn't spill anything, although I can't answer for any consequent spillage there might have been later on in the privacy of his cabin. The meal was over by 1820 and I had my shower, as ordered, to wash off the sweat of the day and render myself all lovely for Sir's attentions. Having only limited experience of Sir's requirements - all he'd done was suck me off so far - I had no idea what he might want. I had no doubt he would make it clear at 2000. I hoped that among the three of us in Cabin 1 there would be no secrets, so when I got back from the shower I told the other two what I was up to. "Why you?" complained Tim. "No idea, kid, but maybe he just fancies the better-looking boy." "Oh, fuck off, old man. Just be sure you give us a blow by blow account." "As far as I know it's going to be a fuck, but I'll give you an account of that, if you like." Alan was tickled by this - as he was the only boy in his family, he had experienced none of the teasing that brothers give you. Both he and Tim agreed that whatever we did, and whoever we did it with, we would share. I said that Sir had told me not to cum before our evening's entertainment, but that when I got back, exhausted and ill-used ("oh shut up and get on with it" from Tim) we would, if I still had it in me, seal our blood-brotherhood oath with a bodily fluid more readily, and pleasurably, obtained. "That'll be fun if you've got any left," said Alan, easing himself into the now-I've-nearly-got-a-brother-to-tease role. I decided I would dress for the occasion - or, rather, undress. We didn't call it 'going commando' in those days - commandos themselves still being several years in the future - but I wanted my cock to be the first thing Sir saw when my trousers parted to reveal things. Teeth brushed, hair neatly combed, bell-boy cap at jaunty angle (not as jaunty as Charlie or Peter - they look silly in the picture), arse well-vaselined (just in case Sir likes to give it rough). At 2000 I knocked on Sir's door. "Come." =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 4 - that is, if enough of you boy-lovers tell me you are interested. The story is, of course, fiction, but the photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing a few months ago, and the boy I describe as "me" is really cute. I'm sure he had adventures ... Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================