Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2018 07:46:58 +0000 (UTC)
From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com>
Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys

Queen Mary Bell-boys by badboi666

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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 43

The next few crossings weren't particularly eventful.  We had all settled
into a routine - the passengers were different but the activities were much
the same.  We never had a repeat of the violence Alan had suffered early
on, and while a few of the sexual encounters had been enjoyable, most had
been - certainly from our point of view - pretty ordinary.  Sex with the
passengers, that is.  We occasionally got together with some of the men
we'd partied with in the pool that night on the third crossing - never all
six of us again, but sometimes two or four.  Tim and I had pleasured some
of them in the sling, and Alan and Andrew had fisted Francis on a couple of
occasions.  Phil and Ryan had visited our cabins now and again, and sex
with them was always good.  Sex with our boyfriends was always best, and
each of us found new ways to thrill each other.  Life was good.

Alan had his 17th birthday in July and Cabin 3 held a party.  Alan got to
choose who would be his special present and he chose Larry.  The two of
them spent the night together, and Andrew joined Charlie and me to take his
mind off it.  As it happens Andrew's birthday was a month later, so the
tables were turned when he chose Larry as well.  "You were so full of it
when Larry fucked you all night that I needed to experience it for myself,"
he explained.  "And was it 'all night'?" asked Sam.  "No, not quite, but he
fucked me three times, twice before we went to sleep and again in the
morning.  I suppose he must have had it in me for at least two hours.  I
had a really sore arse, but I wouldn't have missed it for anything."  I
thought Larry might become a regular birthday fixture for these two.  Tim's
and my birthday was in November, so we were next.  Charlie was in February
and Sam in March.  Maybe a joint party for us and a joint party for Charlie
and Sam would be fun.

In mid October we set out from Southampton as usual.  In mid Atlantic a
storm blew up - the worst storm we'd encountered by a long way.  There had
been days of rough weather before, but the summer of 1936 had been kind to
Queen Mary.  The ship's designers had decided that because she was so big -
over 80,000 tons - she would plough through any seas she would encounter,
and consequently when she was fitted out there were no handrails, and none
of the furniture was fixed to the floor.  Well, that assumption was proved
very far from the mark in that storm.  Luckily no-one was killed as they
were falling about the public rooms.  As the ship pitched and rolled
passengers and crew alike were flung across the deck, and with nothing to
hold onto it was a miracle that the worst injuries were a few broken arms
and legs.  None of us boys were hurt, but we were scared stiff while the
storm raged.  Charlie and Andrew were pretty sick and were in bed for two
days when they weren't throwing up.  Sam and Tim seemed OK, and they did
most of the elevator work while Alan and I tried to persuade Charlie and
Andrew that Queen Mary probably wasn't going to sink, and that although
they might desperately want to die, we would miss them and would they
please just try to stay alive a bit longer.  Oddly enough neither of them
was ever sick again, and nor were the other four of us.  Luck, I suppose.

Sir wasn't so lucky.  He broke a leg when he was flung against a pillar as
he was helping an elderly woman passenger.  She was shaken, but uninjured.
Sir was taken to the ship's sick bay where his leg was set - there were
eight passengers and three other crew with broken limbs - and returned to
his cabin.  I volunteered to go with him to get stuff he needed.  Once the
medics got him into his bed he started fretting about his boys.  "Look,
Sir," I said, "your job is to rest and let your leg get better. They said
you'd be in plaster for six weeks, so get used to being out of things.  I
can run errands for you, but the boy business can wait."  Sir smiled.  He
was in a lot of pain and they'd given him something but it hadn't taken
effect yet.  "You're a good boy, Patrick.  Look after the others."  I think
he thought we were going to sink.

When we got to New York the Cunard bosses realised they needed to take the
ship out of service while the considerable damage to the public areas and
cabins was mended.  They decided to fit rails to all the corridors - it
seems unbelievable now that we crossed over a dozen times without them -
and bolt everything down to make the ship much safer.  In a way it was
lucky the storm was in October rather than in the winter as some of the
Atlantic winter storms outdid the October one.  By then the ship was much
better equipped and we rarely slowed down for more than a few hours.

The Purser announced that we would all have to leave the ship while repairs
were done, and we would all be found quarters in America.  As it was
expected to be at least a month before Queen Mary was ready to sail again
we wouldn't all be staying in New York.  I went to see Sir to tell him what
the Purser had announced.

"Sit down," he said, "there are things you are going to have to do for me.
In the second drawer of the desk you'll find a box.  Bring it over."  I
found it and took it to him.  Inside was a lot of money - the money he'd
been keeping for us.  "You had better take it and give it to the others,"
he said.  "I don't want to leave it here while there's no-one looking after
it, and you boys may need some of it.  There's a notebook with how much
each of you has.  Please take the book and the money and put the empty box
back."  I did as he asked.  "What will you do?" I asked.  He said he didn't
know, but the doctor had told him that he'd be taken somewhere where he
would be looked after and given crutches and helped to use them.  "After
that I've no idea, but if the ship is out of commission for six weeks I'll
be back on board then.  If she sails before then I'll stay in New York and
join when she's next here."

Later that day the Purser told us that we six would be going with two of
the crew to a summer camp place about 80 miles from the city.  It wasn't in
use in October, but there were facilities for lodging, cooking and so on.
It all sounded exciting and we looked forward to going there the next day.
That night was our last on the ship for some weeks.  As the passengers had
all disembarked, and Sir had been taken to a nursing home where he would
learn to use crutches, there were only crew members on board.  We met in
our cabin and I told them what Sir had said about the money.  I got out the
notebook and gave each of them the dollars that were theirs.  We agreed
that it was safer that I gave them the pounds as well.  At least each of
had the money that was his, even though some of it couldn't be spent in
America.

The six of us made good use of the pool that night.  All the men we'd
played with before were there apart from Will.  The officers were on shore
at a crisis meeting with senior people from Cunard.  We drank a toast to
Will, and another to Sir.  Then we got on with some serious business.

Ryan had brought along a lot of food.  "If the ship's not sailing tomorrow
a lot of food is going to waste," he said, "so we might as well eat it.
It'll only get thrown away."  The first time we'd met in the pool several
months earlier the food had been mostly snacks.  This time it was proper
food - there was cold meat, a whole salmon (Charlie's eyes lit up at that,
but the rest of us had no idea what it was), all kinds of fruit that the
passengers got, but we never saw - and a lot of drink.  I saw Tim looking
carefully at the fruit.  "Ryan," he said, "are any of these mangoes?"  Ryan
picked one out for him.  "How do I eat it?" Tim asked, "I've never seen one
before."  Ryan told him it wasn't easy to get into a mango, and offered to
peel it.  Tim nodded, "yes please, I need to taste it."  Phil was curious.
"Why are you so keen on a mango when there's lots of fancy fruits?"  Tim
said he would explain after he'd eaten it.  I knew what was coming, and so
did Sam, but the rest of them were as in the dark as Phil.  When he'd
slurped the last of it down he kissed Sam, juice and all, and then he
kissed me.  Sam and I each had a good idea of what a mango tasted like.
"Well?" said Tim.  Sam and I shook our heads.  "Nothing like it," said Sam,
"you're not as sweet - no, I don't mean it that way ... " but the rest of
what he said was drowned in Mulloy laughter.  When we'd subsided Tim
explained about Arthur.

"I think we should see whether this Arthur's talking sense," said Phil, and
he knelt down in front of Tim's cock.  He gently drew the foreskin back to
reveal Tim's moist cockhead and a drop of precum glistening.  He wasted no
time in getting his lips round his target, licking and sucking hungrily.
Tim held Phil's head, stroking his face and moaning quietly.  Phil's hands
were busy kneading Tim's arse cheeks and pulling him closer, forcing his
cock deeper into Phil's mouth.  He was so far in that Phil must have been
deep-throating him.  It didn't take long for Tim to unload and Phil pulled
back so that he could taste what was shooting out of Tim's cock.  As Tim
continued to spasm Phil rolled the spunk on his tongue, carefully deciding
what it tasted of.  "It's not mango," he said, "not to me anyway.  It just
tastes of Tim, that's all."  Tim sounded disappointed.  "I felt special,
tasting of some exotic fruit.  Now I just taste ordinary."  Sam loyally
came to Tim's defence.  "Well, I don't know about exotic fruits," he said,
"but you certainly aren't ordinary to me."  Good old Sam, I thought.  Tim
wasn't being serious, of course, and although we boys knew that, not all
the men did.

It was Francis who brought us back down to earth.  "That was fun to watch,"
he said, "but I want some action.  Who's for some time in the sling?"  Tim
and I stood up, and to my surprise so did Alan and Andrew.  James followed
us.  None of the other men showed any interest, so Sam and Charlie would
have their hands - and more besides - full entertaining Phil, Larry and
Ryan.  Since both of them were used to the three men everybody would be
happy.

James was first to climb into the sling, and Alan began the magic of the
disappearing fist.  They'd done this before at the Blue Riband party when
James had said it had been 'deeply satisfying'.  I hoped we were to see why
he used those words.  Francis turned to me as we watched.  "Tim was up me
last time - I want you this time.  OK?"  "Sure thing," I said; I was
picking up the American argot.  "If you two have booked the next act," said
Tim, "then Andrew and I are off next door.  See you later."  I knew that
Andrew and Alan had discovered their true feelings for one another through
the unusual medium of pissing games, and I was curious to know what Andrew
and Tim were getting up to.  As Alan would be busy with James's insides for
a good quarter of an hour I decided to go and see for myself.  "You're into
piss, Francis, come on and let's play in there for a while."

When we got into the wet room we found Tim and Andrew lying on a mat each
69ing the other.  They were both glistening wet, so they must have pissed
on each other before getting down to it.  Tim noticed that we'd come in and
broke off his sucking to explain.  "You should try this, Patrick.  The As
have worked it out.  First you both piss on each other - just enough to get
wet - then you 69 and each of you can piss when he likes.  No warning.
It's exciting to get a mouthful when you're not expecting it.  Andrew told
me that one night they kept it up for half an hour.  They were terrified
someone would come in for a piss."  I said that it wouldn't have mattered,
because the other four of us would have wanted to join in.  It was Andrew
who replied.  "Yes, but that was the night we became the two As, as Tim put
it.  The last thing we needed was you buggers."  Explanations having been
given Tim and Andrew resumed their positions, and I could see that almost
immediately both of them were pissing in the other's mouth.  Neck muscles
moved as a stream of piss was swallowed.  Either they'd agreed beforehand,
or maybe it just seemed right at the time, but this session was destined to
last a great deal less than half an hour.  Each cock just went on pissing;
each throat just went on swallowing.  This was too good to resist.  I
stepped over them and aimed my cock at the conjoined bodies, sweeping my
piss over them both.  They moved their mouths off their cocks, but not to
swallow mine.  Instead they got on their backs and starting wanking
themselves hard, while I aimed at their cocks.  Needless to say it sprayed
everywhere.  In less than a minute Andrew arched his back, his fist flying,
and a jet of spunk rose from his cock a foot into the air before falling
back onto his face and chest.  I still had some piss left, so the spunk
didn't stay there long.  My bladder was empty when Tim's cock fired string
after string onto his belly.  Then Francis unexpectedly stepped forward and
emptied a considerable quantity of beer onto Tim.  When the spunk trails
had gone Francis was still pissing, so I got down beside the other two.  I
pointed at my cock, now in my fist and being thrashed hard.  Francis
obliged and the last dribbles of his piss coincided with a fine cum from
me.  It went onto my belly and chest.  This time Tim held back, allowing
Andrew the chance to gather up the protein available.

I got up, slightly weak at the knees, and went back to see that state of
play with the sling.  They were still at it, and James was bathed in sweat
as Alan's hand raked the sensitive nerve-endings hidden so deep up James's
arse.  Alan had over half his forearm inside and was making short fast
fucking movements.  "This is what he likes," said Alan, "that's how he gets
off.  He loves the feeling of not quite coming."  I could understand that,
and I was interested to learn a new technique.  The people I've fisted -
the men, certainly - have tended to love the feeling of being invaded,
especially by a preternaturally good-looking boy like me, but once I'm in
they want to come pretty soon.  Delaying the process by little jabbing fuck
motions would be a new trick worth trying.  Make the buggers beg for it,
Patrick.

Meanwhile the bugger being buggered at the moment was quietly moaning.
"Oh, God, Alan, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me with your red hot fist, fuck the
spunk out of me," and more, much more, in similar vein.  Alan grinned.
"Shall I bring him off?"  Tim, who had joined us with the others by then,
nodded.  "Yeah, go for it.  I'll catch it."  Tim, eager cum-hound that he
was, stood beside James and took hold of the man's cock.  He aimed it at
his mouth and waited.  Alan pulled his fist almost all the way out, rammed
it hard all the way in (to a howl from James), pulled it out until his
knuckles were in the right place, rotated hard over James's tender,
desperately begging, prostate and ...

When Tim had swallowed he said, "I counted eight spurts.  Thanks, James.
We must do this again."  James smiled weakly.  I fisted Francis after that,
but without the dramatics we'd just seen.  All fisting is a bit dramatic if
you get down to it, but Alan on James wasn't something I could match on
Francis.  Still, Francis enjoyed it if the size of his load was anything to
go by.  Mind you, it didn't say available for inspection for long.

After that we all gathered where the food was and nibbled on bits of this
and that (and occasionally on each other).  I licked Charlie's ear and
whispered sweet nothings into it.  He smiled.  "Yes, but none of them's as
good as you are."  I didn't seek details - they weren't important.

We tottered back to our cabins at about 0200 (we'd started at 2100), and as
breakfast wasn't until 0830 we had the luxury of a long lie.  We needed it.
After breakfast we reported to the Purser's office to discover that the two
crew members who would be accompanying us would be Larry and Phil, and we
would be leaving the ship at 1200.  I guessed that this was a deliberate
decision by Phil to keep the whores together.  It had the unexpected
benefit that whoring, albeit without money changing hands, was likely to
continue.  Things were looking up - or were they?  Damn! - I needed to be
quick.

I ran to the pool and found Larry.  I asked him my question.  "No."  I ran
up to Deck 9 to find Phil.  "No."  I ran to the galley. hoping that with
all the confusion there would still be staff there making late breakfasts
for the passengers.  No sign of him.  I asked the senior chef where he was,
and was told where to find him.  "Be quick though, lad."  Luckily I found
him in time, and when I asked him my question - a different one since I
knew his answer to the first - he grinned widely and said "sure, Patrick.
It will be a pleasure."

A few minutes before 1200 therefore the six of us met Phil and Larry.
"Ready?" said Phil.  "No, we have to wait for someone else.  He'll be here
any minute."  Six, no eight, faces lit up when Ryan appeared.  "Are you
coming with us?" asked Phil.  "Yes, didn't Patrick tell you?"  "What's
going on?" asked Phil.  "Simple," I said to him, "can you cook?  Can Larry?
You both told me you couldn't.  We need to eat.  The fact that Ryan likes
us boys as much as you do merely means that we'll only have two of you each
to keep happy, rather than three."  Wide smiles all round greeted this
unanswerable piece of logic.  We went down the gangway onto American soil,
into the waiting bus, and off to six weeks of ... who knows?


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The fun continues in Chapter 44 as we spend time in upstate New York.  The
storm did take place that October, and several people were injured (the New
York Times report is on the Internet).  Queen Mary was indeed designed
without any thought that she might roll violently in a storm, and handrails
were fitted as described.  She remained a pig in a big sea however.  There
was a lot of damage to fittings and she was taken out of service for
repair.  That much is true, but the rest is, as usual, fiction.  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.
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