The Richard Harris
This little ghost story is all about
a middle-aged man and a teenage boy, so if this is not your thing please find
something else to read. If it is your thing but you're not supposed to read it,
then you do so at your own risk and of your own choice.
The Richard Harris
By Ivor Sukwell.
"Nice,"
Reggie commented, looking at the narrow boat gleaming with fresh paint. The traditional red, blue, green and yellow swirls and painted
flowers eye-catching in their bright newness.
The boat's
name, Richard Harris, a daring red
outlined with yellow, prominent along the side of the prow.
"I'm pleased
with her," the man Reggie was talking with, smiled proudly. "You wouldn't
believe the state she was in when I got her. Had to replace loads of her
timbers and do the inside from scratch.
She'd been left to rot for about fifty years and I picked her up for a song.
Sort of a hobby project, really. Didn't expect to get her more than half-way
decent but she came together really well, so I thought I'd have a go at renting
her out.
You're my first customer," he grinned.
"I suppose a
fair few of the old narrow boats were just left to rot when the canals closed,"
Reggie said, more by way of conversation than asking for information.
"They were,
and then when someone got the bright idea of restoring the canals so people
could float up and down them for holidays, the majority of the old boats were
so far gone they couldn't be restored.
New one are all metal hulls now, of course; work well enough by not quite the
same, is it."
"Guess it's
not," Reggie agreed. "I suppose you were lucky to find one still well enough
preserved to restore."
"No-one else
wanted her," the owner shrugged, "And I reckoned I'd get a few years fun out of
seeing what I could do with her.
Strange thing about her was that the entire centre was scorched and the inside
burnt out as though there'd been a major fire on her.
I found out later from an old guy who'd spent his life on the canal, when it
was a canal that is, that she'd suffered from a freak lightning strike, and
that's why she'd been abandoned."
"That sort
of thing's pretty rare, I would think," Reggie, only vaguely interested,
nodded.
"Certainly
is," the owner agreed. "Plenty of other things like trees around for lightning
to strike. Low lying boat in with almost no chance of being
struck."
"Well,"
Reggie hurried to conclude the conversation as he was eager to get started on
his holiday, "You've certainly done a good job on her.
Just one thing, though," Reggie frowned slightly, "It's a boat so it's a `she',
so why name her Richard Harris?"
"Bit of a
funny story, that," the owner shrugged, "I rented an old boat shed to do her up
in, and after I'd been working on her for a couple of years, this teenage lad
turned up out of the blue and asked if he could help. Well, wasn't a lot he
could do, to be honest, but it was quite handy having a lad to do the fetching
and carrying sort of thing, and then when it came to painting and decorating
her I was going to hire in someone to do it, but the lad asked if he could have
a go, and bloody good he was at it, as well. Everything you see is his work."
"Saved you a
penny or two," Reggie smiled.
"Bloody
did," the owner agreed, "So when we were nearly done I thought it'd be a nice
gesture to let him name her as he'd be painting the name on the side. He asked
if he could name her after himself, so we did, and that's why she's now the Richard Harris.
"That's
rather sweet," Reggie grinned. Curious then because even the
mere mention of a teenage boy stirred Reggie's curiosity, "The lad still
around?"
"Not seen a
hair of him since the boat was finished," the owner shrugged. "Pity really.
Nice lad, always smiling and happy. Don't get a lot of kids his age like that
nowadays."
And that,
Reggie thought, was certainly the truth!
Reggie
stowed his stuff aboard, had an increasingly admiring look around, started the
engine to get the generator running and thought about making himself a coffee.
He decided against it because he just wanted to get the boat out on the water,
not thinking that, later, making a coffee and steering a boat at the same time
could be a problem.
He'd been
chugging up the canal at the breakneck speed of three miles per hour for about
fifteen minutes, mostly just enjoying being on the boat and thinking how
fortunate he had been in going for the Richard
Harris instead of getting a modern, steel hulled version, when he began to
get a feeling that he was not alone.
It was
nonsense, of course, because he'd checked over the boat with the owner before
casting off, and there was certainly no-one else on
board then, and he doubted that anyone could have jumped aboard unseen when he
was casting off.
It was total
nonsense, but the feeling persisted, and not just persisted but grew stronger.
Giving in to
it, Reggie turned from view ahead to look behind him and got a shock of seismic
proportions. Lounging against the deckhouse door just behind him was a teenage
lad, grinning cheerfully from ear to ear.
"What do you
think of me?" the boy asked before Reggie could demand what the hell was he doing on the boat.
"Think of
you?" he said, puzzled.
Puzzled
though he was, his brain had still managed to register
that he was looking at a teenage boy, and a very pleasant example of that
species as well.
Apart from
his infectious smile, the boy had a lot going for him in Reggie's opinion.
About five feet six inches in height, willow slender without a hint of
skinniness, and with legs that seemed to go all the way up to his armpits,
though they did, in fact, stop being legs at the place where legs cease to
become legs in the normal course of things, they were the sort of boy legs that
a man of Reggie's inclinations had an instinctive desire to uncover and admire
with more than simply his eyes.
All this was
topped with a tidy, neat and fairly short cut head of light brown hair and blue
eyes that twinkled in sympathy with that infectious smile.
Reggie's
immediate thought was to respond to the lad's question with a heartfelt `I
think you're fucking gorgeous,' but instead managed only that `Think of you?'
"Of the
boat, silly," the boy grinned even more widely and Reggie's heart did a jump or
two.
The boy's
voice was a sweet as his appearance, a teenage voice that had broken but not
yet been smashed, a sort of treble tenor, not a hint
of baritone or bass in it.
"I think
it's wonderful," Reggie croaked, meaning really, `I think you're wonderful'.
"Good. I'm
glad you like me," another huge smile.
`God,'
Reggie thought, `I wish you meant you and not the boat!'
"I do," he
said instead, "I think you're a work of art." And that he meant about the boy
as well as the boat.
"Oh, good.
I hoped you would."
Reggie
stared at the boy, at his face, which was not spectacular, just teenage boy; at
his shirt covered chest, which was slender and firm looking; at his faded blue
jeans covered legs that he couldn't help wondering how they would look without
the faded blue jeans covering them; and at the boy's centre point, hoping that
those faded blue jeans would give some hint of the boy's essential delight,
but, try as he did, he saw nothing there, though his boy-addicted mind hoped
that what he could not, and undoubtedly never would, see was as pure, complete
and perfect slender teenage boy as the rest of him.
But,
delightful as the boy was to look at, and despite the fact that Reggie had been
without boy company for far too long, practicality
over-ruled all other thoughts and inclinations and he felt obliged to ask what
the boy was doing on the boat.
"I'm Richard
Harris," the boy smiled, and it seemed that he could do nothing except smile,
"And this," he said, indicating the narrow boat around them, "Is Richard Harris as well, so I suppose you
could say that I belong on it."
"But you
can't just sail up and down the canal for a fortnight, which is what I intend
to do," Reggie pointed out, resorting to practicalities. "Parents, relatives
and such will all be wanting to know where you are."
"They all
know," another smile from the boy, "And I promise you they're all quite happy
about it."
"They are?"
They couldn't be, Reggie knew that for sure. No
parents in this day and age would let a boy in the perfection of his early
adolescence sail up and down a canal on a narrow boat in the sole company of a
man of fifty five.
"Really,
they are," the boy assured him, "They know exactly where I am. Unless you don't
like me, of course, and decide to throw me overboard," and that delivered with
a huge grin.
"Last thing
I'd ever think of doing is to throw a boy like you overboard," Reggie said with
real feeling, and followed that up with a very daring, "Be a total waste of a
boy, wouldn't it?"
"You think
so?"
And this
time Reggie thought he detected a trace of something else in the boy's voice
and question, a trace of the innocent but not so innocent teasing that some
boys in the perfection of their early adolescence like to indulge in.
"I most
certainly do," Reggie smiled in his turn this time and the boy's blue eyes
twinkled.
It was sheer
madness, and Reggie knew that it was sheer madness. There was absolutely no
chance that he'd get to sail up and down the canal for a fortnight with this
boy for company, but until the boy's phone summoned him home to irate parents
or the boy was taken, protesting from the boat by parents or the forces of law
and order, Reggie was going to enjoy every second of the delight of adolescent
boy company.
That it
could progress to enjoying other delights that adolescent boys sometimes
offered crossed Reggie's mind only as an `I wish!' and not as a practical
possibility.
Twenty years
ago and Reggie would have been already planning and scheming for ways to part
the boy from his faded blue jeans, but it wasn't twenty years ago and Reggie
was resigned to being fifty five and his chances of boy jeans removal so
slender as to be hardly worth more than a dream or two.
"Any chance
you could steer the boat while I make coffee?" he asked.
The boy gave
an exaggerated sigh.
"I told
you," he said slowly and clearly, "I am Richard Harris, so don't you think I have some idea of how to steer
myself?"
The boy's
emphasis on `am' gave an ambiguity to the name that followed it, but it was an
ambiguity that Reggie dismissed as being simply adolescent boy playing on the
name, though Reggie did have the thought that the boy could steer himself to
his bed any time he fancied.
The day
passed and other narrow boats went by down the canal as they were going up it.
They waved and were waved to and no-one seemed to find anything strange in a
man of fifty five having a boy in the perfection of his early adolescence as a
companion on a narrow boat.
And it was a
definite help having the boy around when it came to opening and closing locks, but
even so, Reggie was fairly worn out when he decided to tie up for the night
alongside a stretch of the canal designed for such a purpose.
He kept the
engine running so he could use the generator to grill a couple of steaks and
fry some chips which they washed down with a glass or two of red wine, and when
all was done and cleared away the boy announced he was ready for bed, and left
Reggie to smoke a cigarette and savour a glass of brandy.
It did occur
to Reggie to wonder where the boy had bedded down; there was only one bedroom
with a double bed made up. True, there were pull out bunks, so the boy had
probably found one and was sleeping there, Reggie concluded.
Tired and
relaxed, Reggie headed for bed, hoping to have sweet dreams of adolescent boy,
and dreams were as close to adolescent boy as Reggie had got for more than five
years now.
The dim glow
of the night light in the bedroom cabin was enough to startle Reggie from
dreams of such dreams.
Adolescent
boy was in the double bed!
It was a
warm night, and adolescent boy had pulled the covering duvet down far enough to
reveal narrow adolescent shoulders, but not quite far enough to expose
adolescent nipples. Enough though, for Reggie to have no
doubts that the top half of adolescent boy at least, was naked. He
couldn't see, though he tried hard to see, if there was a pile of adolescent
clothing anywhere around, and he wondered just how far he should unclothe
himself.
His shirt, obviously; but his shorts? There was only Reggie under those
shorts and if he took them off he'd be naked.
Could he get
into bed naked with an adolescent boy? Without saying
anything first? Without asking permission?
That was
stupid. How could he possibly say to Richard Harris, `I sleep naked. Don't mind, do you?'
It might
have been okay if he'd made some moves towards seducing the boy earlier, but
he'd made not a single one.
There was
just enough light to see that the boy wasn't even asleep! He was awake, blue
eyes wide open and smiling his ever-present smile.
"I ...
er....need to find something to wear in bed," Reggie stumbled out the words.
"You
certainly don't want to get those nice shorts all creased and crumpled," the
boy grinned in the almost dark. "Richard
Harris won't mind if you go to bed as you usually do."
Once more,
Reggie had that sense of confusion, was the boy referring to himself or to the
boat? Or even both?
"You said
you liked me," the boy said, lifting one side of the duvet in clear indication
that he expected Reggie to join him in the bed, "And we like it that you like
us."
There it was
again, only this time surely no confusion! The boy had
used the plural. He did mean both himself and the boat when he used his name!
"I do like
you," Reggie said, his voice a little thick, his fingers paused on the button
of his tailored shorts. And, playing the boy's game, he added, "Both of you."
"We so hoped
you would," the boy beamed, "We want so much to be just perfect for you."
"You are,"
Reggie gave up pretending and dropped his shorts, getting into bed as fast as
he could because his semi wouldn't stop inflating and he was still worried
that, full grown before he even entered the bed, would give the boy the wrong
impression.
The boy's
intentions became perfectly clear the moment Reggie was in bed, Before he even
had time to settle he had adolescent boy all over him, the warmth of adolescent
boy flesh pressed against him and the hardness of adolescent boy poking against
his stomach.
A long sigh
of bliss from man and boy and, what Reggie could have sworn was a purr of
satisfaction from the boat, but that was only the generator putting a final
charge into the batteries before it shut down on its timer switch.
"You are
beautiful," Reggie whispered in adolescent boy ear after his hands had stroked
and admired the perfection of his body, leaving nothing out between knee and
neck, back and front.
There were
the first feels of hair growth on the back of the boy's slender but shapely
thighs, hints that on the fronts fuzz was starting to turn to hair, and above the perfection of adolescent cock there was
definite growth, but nowhere near enough to spoil the admiration of that
perfect boy cock.
Perhaps five
inches of slender delight, a bud of foreskin still evident even though the
delight was as hard as it could get, and Reggie had the dilemma he hadn't had
for more than five years now – should he suck the boy before he kissed him, or
do things the other way round?
Some boys,
Reggie knew, don't go in for kissing. Almost anything else they are happy with,
but they draw the line at kissing. And Reggie hadn't shaved before going to
bed, a day's stubble was on his face, and even most of the boys who did permit
kissing, didn't like being scratched around the face when they did.
"Haven't
shaved," Reggie mumbled when the boy moved his face into kissing location, "Be all scratchy."
"Let you off
for tonight," the boy giggled and fastened lips to lips.
Of all the
things that a boy can allow a man to do, there are two that show how much the
boy wants to be with that man, and one is to kiss. Proper, deep, tongue
twisting saliva exchanging, tonsil searching kiss. This was how the boy kissed
Reggie, and how Reggie kissed the boy.
Although he
could not remember with any clarity the last time he'd entwined tongues with a
boy, Reggie was sure that it had been nothing like this!
Gentle at first and then developing into uninhibited male on male
kissing. No hint
of wet lettuce here, but boy kissing man because he was a boy in the perfection
of his early adolescence, and man kissing boy for the same reason.
Lips were
puffy when they parted for air, but puffy lips simply mean that there is more
lip to kiss, and kiss more they did, though hands roved and wandered as they
kissed.
The boy's
thighs were almost, for Reggie, the perfection of boy thigh. Long and slender,
but firm and with that curve of muscle that leads upwards to the greatest
delight of all; perfection spoiled only by that beginning of hair growth to
spoil the silky smoothness of boy skin.
His arse was
a joy, round and firm, and though Reggie, as yet, did not venture between the
cheeks, he knew he would and he knew as well that the boy would permit him to
venture there.
The
splendour of his cock and balls was again not quite perfection. Balls had grown
hair and that would spoil the delight of licking and sucking them, but spoil it
only for Reggie and not for the boy and so those balls would be licked and
sucked for the boy's pleasure, because Reggie had always thought more of the
boy's pleasure than of his own, his joy coming from the boy's enjoyment.
He would
have shaved the boy, cock, balls and thighs, if he had him for his own, but for
now he simply enjoyed the flesh that fate had presented him with, knowing from
the sounds of contentment that the boy made that he was happy to have his flesh
enjoyed.
What more
could a man ask? Reggie thought, the taste of boy in his mouth and on his lips
and the source of that taste pressed close against him, and he slid down so he
could enjoy different boy flavour and make the boy
purr as his balls were licked and sucked, his cock engulfed in the warm wetness
of mouth.
Purr the boy
did, and stroked Reggie's hair and scraped his fingers on Reggie's back, urging
Reggie to suck more and telling him that being sucked was pure boy delight as
Reggie used his lips, tongue and mouth with all the skill he had learned from
years of pleasing boy cock, and boy and man knew this sucking would not end
until Reggie's mouth was filled with cream of boy.
Filled it
was and with the essence of boy. It came in spurts, each shot a creamy,
flavour-filled delight to Reggie's taste buds.
The taste
was spunk, but Reggie would swear it was the sweetest spunk he'd ever eaten,
creamy and slightly salty in its sweetness; thick enough but not too thick,
just like the cock that fed it to him.
Reggie did
venture between the boy's arse cheeks as he sucked him, a finger probing at his
entrance, and that entrance didn't shut its gates, but pulsed and slowly opened
as it was probed, welcoming Reggie's finger inside, clenching around it as it
delved into him.
The boy
sighed with pleasure as he spunked and Reggie moaned with happiness as his
mouth was filled. For Reggie, the best moment had always been when a boy
spurted in his mouth, feeding him essence of boy, the elixir of youth.
They slept
then, though in a manner Reggie had never before slept with a boy. This was not
turn over and sleep, this was cling as close as
possible, legs entwined sleep.
They were
still that way when day came once more, the boy morning hard against Reggie's
stomach.
Reggie
longed to kiss the boy, a morning `you are wonderful' kiss, but morning breath
is not something boys find over-pleasant and Reggie resisted that urge.
Instead he
untangled legs and slipped down; the boy's slender, five inch cock wouldn't
object to morning breath and Reggie's mouth adored adolescent cock as much in
the mornings as it did in the nights, and in all the hours between as well.
"Mmmmm," the
boy sighed as he was sucked, "Naughty man wants boy for breakfast."
That boy had
no objections to providing a naughty man's breakfast was obvious, and he sighed
with pleasure as he allowed himself to be sucked to a release of his overnight
build up of adolescent cream, smiling at Reggie with total happiness as he
watched his essence being eaten.
"Take your
time," Reggie whispered adoringly to the boy as he left the bed, "I'll give you
a call when your breakfast is ready."
He thought
about finding his shorts, but decided that the time for modesty was passed and
went, naked as he would have done had the boy not been on the boat, to the
little galley, though he stopped in the head to wash, shave and clean his teeth
first. He also wondered as he went through his morning ritual, if it might be
possible to talk the boy into wearing shorts instead of those leg-concealing
faded blue jeans, but had to dismiss the idea, at least for the moment, as
adolescent boy sized shorts were not items he had thought to bring with him
when he packed for his boat holiday.
"You like me
better like this?" early teenage treble tenor behind him asked, and Reggie
turned.
The boy
wasn't wearing his faded blue jeans; the boy wasn't wearing anything,
and Reggie's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and his breath stopped when
he saw the pure teenage perfection standing for his admiration.
What he saw
was boy in the ultimate perfection of his early adolescent beauty; where there
had been hair earlier now there was just skin. Somehow, while Reggie had been
frying bread and eggs and bacon and sausages, the boy had made himself as
smooth as any boy who'd ever been summoned by Reggie's boy-adoring mind could
possibly be.
"Ooooohhhh," Reggie breathed as he took in the perfection
before him, "You look ......." he couldn't find a word to convey his meaning,
so settled for commonplace and boring, "Wonderful. Absolutely
wonderful."
The boy's
smile was as delightful as his freshly smoothed body.
"I thought
you might like me better like this," the boy grinned, "And I wanted to be
perfect for you."
"You are!
You were before, but now ....." Reggie just stared, forgetting the sausages
sizzling, "Well, now you are simply a dream come true."
"Good," the
boy smiled his wonderful smile. "Would you like me to stay like this all the
time?"
"Naked?"
"You like me
naked, don't you?"
"I adore you
naked," Reggie stumbled, "But on deck ....."
"Oh," the
boy shrugged, "Don't worry about that. I'll make sure no-one else sees."
How the boy
could possibly do that, especially when there were locks to open and close,
Reggie had no idea, but he was saved from voicing his reservations by the
little galley starting to fill with smoke from over-cooked sausages.
Even though
the sausages were a little blackened it was still the best breakfast Reggie had
ever enjoyed, and that was simply because it was the first breakfast he had
ever enjoyed with a naked teenage boy sitting beside him.
Reggie's
attention strayed constantly from the sausages on his plate to the far more
delectable sausage between the boy's legs, a sausage that, at the first
opportunity, Reggie reached for, felt and adored while the boy simply smiled
his appreciation of Reggie's actions.
"You really
like my cock, don't you," the boy treble-tenored at
him sweetly, "And I really like you liking my cock," he smiled and blew Reggie
a kiss to prove it.
Reggie had
enjoyed a number of teenage boys in his time, in the days when he felt he could
reasonably hope to catch one when he hunted it. A few had been rampant sluts,
some had been working on becoming rampant sluts and some had been just ordinary
boys who'd simply experimented with satisfying their hormonal urges by allowing
their cocks to be enjoyed.
Richard
Harris was different. He so obviously enjoyed being caressed and fondled.
Enjoyed being kissed and sucked, and enjoyed being
naked so his adolescent glory could be seen and admired. He'd even, unbidden,
got rid of every single hair on his young body because he thought Reggie would
like him even more if he was smooth. But there was nothing at all sluttish
about him; and neither was there anything of the shy, `just to see if I like
it' about him either.
He knew, as
all adolescent boys know, though for many that knowing remains a hidden secret
even from themselves, that he was sexually desirable, and he delighted in being
so and was making the most of having a man around who so openly desired him in
a sexual way.
Innocently,
he was completely lacking in innocence and Reggie adored him for that.
"I think
your cock is pure perfection," Reggie said, and meant every word of it.
"Exactly the cock I would dream of finding on a boy like you."
"You can
find it any time you want," the boy smiled, "I like it when you find it."
"Don't tempt
me," Reggie grinned, "Or we'll never get anywhere on this canal. I'll spend all
day every day just sucking you dry."
"I'd like
that," the boy agreed, "It's nice the way you suck me.
But if you suck me dry then I won't have anything to feed you with."
His grin as
he said that was pure adolescent boy wickedness, and delivered with a twinkling
in his eyes that made it clear he really liked feeding Reggie.
The next
time the canal went through a decent sized village, Reggie left the boy in
charge of the boat and went in search of a shop where he could buy adolescent
boy sized shorts, and purchased a pair that were,
according to the label, designed for boys of ten to thirteen, younger than the
boy on the boat. They would, Reggie reasoned, fit round the boy's waist and be
short enough in the leg to allow some display of adolescent thigh.
"I really
don't need them," the boy said when Reggie handed them over.
"You will
when we get to the next lock and you have to help with the gates."
The boy
sighed and shrugged, but put them on anyway, and, Reggie thought, looked as
sexy as a boy can look with at least half of his slender, and now smooth,
thighs on show below the sky blue of the shorts Reggie had bought for him.
That, Reggie
conceded, was possibly because he knew exactly what those shorts concealed and
raised in him an urge to reveal what there was to reveal.
No-body
seemed to notice, and no-one commented on a boy in the glory of his early
adolescence clad only in a pair of brief, sky-blue shorts when they opened and
closed lock gates, and when they tied up for the evening beside a canal pub and
went in for a meal, boy wearing a shirt as well as his brief shorts, no-one
commented then either.
Plates
emptied Reggie thought to leave, the need to indulge again in perfect
adolescent cock strong, but departure was delayed by an elderly gentleman
crossing to their table and saying,
"You the
fellow sailing that boat named Richard
Harris?"
"That's me,"
Reggie said, a churning in his stomach as he instantly thought that someone had
reported seeing a naked adolescent boy on board.
"Never
thought I'd see her afloat again," the old fellow said, "She yours?"
"Hired,"
Reggie told him, his stomach settling.
"Someone
done a damn good job of restoring her," the man said, "Mind if I joins you for a bit?"
It would
have been impolite to refuse, even though Reggie wanted to get at the boy's
cock again, and the boy gave him a smile that said quite clearly, `Don't worry, it'll still be there later.'
"You won't
know her history, of course," the man was saying as he sipped at a pint.
"Strangest thing ever happened on the canal."
He rambled
on about how the narrow boat had been a working boat fifty years ago and named back
then The Spirit Of The
Avon, not the Richard Harris, and how it had been owned by a family who worked
it.
"Mother,
father and a lad of around fourteen, they were," the man said, "And down the
canal a bit the boat got struck by lightning. Bad it was," the man sipped his
pint again, "Mother and father were found on the deck,
stone dead they were. Electrified the coroner said. Must have been because they
were battening down the doors to the hold and them
things had metal handles on them. Must have been holding them handles when the
lightning struck, I suppose. Anyway, dead as doornails they were, but, strange
thing was, they never found no trace of the boy.
Cabin wasn't there no more, just a blackened hole
where it had been. Some experts or other said that were where the lightning
struck and it must have been an enormous one as they reckoned it hadn't only
destroyed the cabin but had hit the boy
and done him in as well."
"It
disintegrated him and fused him to the boat," the boy said, but it seemed the
man never heard him because he just went on with his tale.
"Not a trace
of him, there weren't, not a single hair anywhere. Boy just weren't there no
more apparently.
Course, no-one would touch the Spirit of
the Avon after that, so she just
rotted away where she was like."
"The man who
restored her did say she'd been struck by lightning," Reggie agreed, "But he
never mentioned anything about people being killed."
"Wouldn't,
would he," the man swigged beer, "Be bad luck, wouldn't it. No-one would want
to hire a cursed boat, would they."
"I don't
think it's cursed at all," Reggie said, defending his floating holiday home, "I
think the Richard Harris is just
perfect."
"Well, folks
round here don't think that," the man emptied his pint glass, "An' I reckons
you be probably the only person to ever hire her. Cursed and haunted that boat be."
"I thought
that old fool was never going to shut up," Reggie moaned as they made their way
back to the boat.
All he'd been wanting to do for the last half-hour or so was to get
his hands on the boy. Half an hour of good boy fondling time wasted, he
thought.
It was,
Reggie decided, dark enough for him to risk putting an arm round the boy's
slender shoulder as they walked back, so he did and the boy sniggered in the
darkness.
"What's so
funny?" Reggie demanded.
"Only that
it's not where you want your hand to be," the boy laughed. "You had to sit and
listen to him, and all the time all you wanted to do was get me back to our
boat and get at my cock again."
"You
guessed," Reggie was forced to grin.
"Not
difficult," the boy sniggered again, "It's all you ever want to do."
"Not true,"
Reggie said, "And even if it was true, then it's your fault."
"Why my fault?"
"For having such a lovely cock," Reggie squeezed the boy's shoulder, "And
for letting me enjoy it so much."
"I want you
to enjoy it," the boy said, "I want you to enjoy all of me."
"I do,"
Reggie affirmed, "Believe me, I do. It's just possible," Reggie gave in to an
impulse to tell the truth, "That I enjoy more than just your beautiful cock,
and that I just like being with you."
This was
dangerous ground and Reggie knew it was dangerous ground. Some boys like soft,
silly talk, want to be treated as though they are more than just cock; others
hate it, terrified that they are being thought of as, in some way, not real
boy, as a substitute for girl and not as the male they are.
"I'd like
being with you even if that wonderful cock was out of bounds to me."
"Well," the
boy said without a hint of a pause, "It's not out of bounds to you. It needs
all the attention you want to give it. And so does the rest of me."
There was
something about the boy's words that made Reggie think. He'd had boys before
who gave their all in the lust of a bed, but never come across a boy who talked
so openly about his cock and his needs.
Any normal
adolescent boy was desperate for sex, and, for some, any sex would do, anything
that was a step up from wanking themselves, but Richard Harris was way beyond
that. He wasn't, as Reggie had already decided, a slut who would throw himself
into any man's bed, quite the opposite. Reggie would swear that until the
moment he had got into the bed with him, the boy was a complete, one hundred
percent, never been touched before virgin.
He hadn't
behaved like one in bed, that was most certainly true, but, thinking about the
boy's behaviour then and after, Reggie was coming to the conclusion that the
boy's eagerness for bedroom type activity was just the release of long pent-up
needs and urges.
All
adolescent boys are a churning mass of hormones – that was one of the things
that Reggie found so delightful about them, but, somehow, this boy seemed to
have more than his fair share of them.
The moment
he stepped back on the boat now, he shed his shirt and shorts without a second
thought. He wanted to be naked. He knew Reggie liked him naked and he
understood that his nakedness was sexually arousing and desirable and being
sexually arousing and desirable was exactly what he wanted to be.
That, in
itself, was not all that unusual for a teenage boy, but Richard Harris had it
in spades.
"We should
have a little talk," Reggie said to the naked boy snuggled against him on the
sofa in the boat's long cabin.
Reggie's
spare hand – one was round naked adolescent shoulder – wandered caressingly up
and down utterly smooth boy thigh, eventually coming to rest with boy balls and
soft boy cock in it.
"Should we?"
the boy asked, all innocence despite his nakedness and his cock and balls being
in Reggie's hand.
"We should,"
Reggie affirmed, "A truth talk."
"Can't you
just cuddle me and kiss me and play with my cock instead?"
An answer
like that was exactly the reason why Reggie needed to talk, to find out the
truth.
"I love
having you with me, I adore your body and I think your cock is the most magical
cock I've ever felt and sucked," Reggie said, fondling the boy's softness. "I
love playing with it when it's soft, and when it's hard I love sucking it and
having it feed me. We both know that."
"And I love
you doing those things," the boy whispered into Reggie's shoulder, "I want you
to do them all the time."
"But you
shouldn't, should you. Not all the time. There's nothing wrong in you liking them and I'm so happy that you do, but ......"
Reggie paused, not sure how to say what he was thinking, "But a fourteen year
old boy shouldn't just think of his cock all the time. There are other things
in life beside cock."
"Like my bum?" the boy semi-sniggered into Reggie's shoulder.
"Let's leave
your bum out of it for the moment, shall we?" Reggie wasn't going to be
sidetracked, not this time.
"You don't
have to, you know. You can have my bum as well as my cock. More cock than bum,
though, I think," the boy said, sounding serious until he sniggered.
"Not your cock, and not your bum. It's you I want to talk about."
"Oh," the
boy sighed, "I sort of hoped my cock and bum would be enough for you."
"More than I
ever dreamed I would ever have," Reggie said, and meant it, "But cock comes
with boy attached, and this wonderful cock comes with a very unusual boy. A
very wonderful boy, a boy I know I could be very happy to have around for ever,
and not just for his cock either."
"Would you?"
the boy moved his head from Reggie's shoulder to look into his eyes. "Would you
really want to have me for ever and ever?"
"If your
cock could stand that much attention," Reggie grinned.
"It could."
"But, as I
am trying to say," Reggie attempted again, "Beautiful as your cock is, it has a
boy attached to it, and if I was going to have that boy's cock for ever and ever I would need to have the boy as well. All
of him," Reggie stroked the boy's thigh again and then tapped him on the head
with one finger, "All of this and what's in there as well."
"All of this
is yours already," the boy said, meaning his naked body, "What's in here," he
tapped his own head, "May not be what you want."
"It is,"
Reggie said, "Because only if I know what's in there can I really enjoy the
rest of you."
"Your hand
feels nice," the boy changed the direction of the talk, or tried to. His cock
was still soft, unusually, and Reggie's hand was back where it belonged,
fondling it.
"So does
what it's holding," Reggie smiled.
"And isn't
that enough?"
"No."
"My bum, then?"
"The truth."
"You know,
don't you," the boy said, hiding his head in Reggie's shoulder once more.
"I think I
may have guessed a thing or two," Reggie confirmed, "But I really do want you
to tell me all of it. And then," he added, "We can both enjoy this as much as
we both want to enjoy it."
He toyed
with the boy's cock, bending it between his fingers, twiddling at the foreskin
and still it stayed soft.
"And when
I've told you, will you still want me?"
"Probably more
than I do now. And I want you like crazy now, as you well know."
"Hold me
close," the boy snuggled himself as close in to Reggie as he could, "And keep
playing with me,"
Neither
request was at all difficult for Reggie to comply with; having naked boy snuggled
close was a pleasure Reggie had been without for far too long, and playing with
adolescent cock, soft or hard, was his favourite game of all.
"Long ago,"
the boy began telling a story, "There was a narrow boat that worked up and down
the canals. It was a working boat, carried things like dried peas for canning
factories and barley for breweries.
A man and a woman lived on the boat and, eventually, they became a mother and a
father. Their boy lived on the boat with them, grew up on the boat. When he was
about eleven he showed some skill at painting canal designs, and his parents
developed a sideline with him, buying pots from the factories in the midlands
and selling the painted ones he did in towns the canal went through.
This was the boy's life, helping to run the boat and painting pots.
When he was twelve, getting on for thirteen, he discovered that he had a cock
and began to play with it, wank it, whenever he could. There were no safe,
secret places on the boat where he could wank, so he wanked whenever the chance
came.
No other boys to wank with, no girls to distract him from his cock or make him
think of using it on a girl, probably he didn't even know what a girl was apart
from being a boy who didn't have a cock.
By the time he neared fourteen he started to think how good it would be to have
someone else play with his cock. In magazines and newspapers he looked at
pictures of footballers, their short shorts showed so much of their legs and
looking at those pictures made him want to wank more, wonder what it would be
like to have one of those men play with him.
Then, one summer day when he was the age I am now, there was a huge storm. The
rain fell in sheets and the boy dashed to the deck to rescue the pots he'd just
painted, while his mother and father were out making sure all the cargo hatches
were tight shut.
His mother called to him to get out of the wet, to get his soaked clothes off
and dry himself so he didn't catch a cold, so he went
below and peeled his soaking clothes off, grabbed a towel and dried himself
off.
Then, because his parents were still outside and he was naked, he wanked.
The next thing he knew was that he didn't have a cock to wank, he didn't have a
body.
Slowly he came to realize that, somehow, he had become part of the boat. He
wasn't him anymore, there was nothing of him left.
Except that, somehow there was, because he was part of the boat and he still
had a mind."
The boy
paused, didn't look at Reggie to see how his story was being taken, but he did
place a hand on top of Reggie's hand where it was still fondling his cock,
pushing it down to make it clear he liked Reggie feeling him and didn't want
him to stop.
"Can you
imagine," he continued his story, "What it's like to be fourteen, have all
those thoughts about cock that you have when you're fourteen, and not have a
cock to wank? Try to imagine how that must be.
The boy thought of cock, his cock, other cocks, although he'd never seen
another cock when he had a body and was a boy, he still imagined them. Imagined holding one, wanking one, even sucking one because he had
heard, before he became a boat, that cocks did get sucked.
What would it be like to have his sucked? Would it be better than when he had had
one to wank?
And he'd heard about bumming as well, though he had no idea what that really
was, just that he'd heard that some men liked boys' bums for some reason or
other.
That was life, if it was life, until Mr Jenkins bought the wreck of the boat
and started to bring it back to life as a boat. And when he did that, he brought
the boy back to life as well.
Slowly, very slowly the boy became a boy again, still part of the boat, they
can never be really separated now, but he had a body again and, most important
of all, he had a cock.
For more than fifty years he had been without a cock to wank and all he'd
thought about for those fifty years was wanking. Can you imagine how ecstatic
he was to have a cock again? He was still fourteen and he wanked and wanked and
wanked.
Then he began to realise that no-one could see him; he was real and not real at
the same time. He could make himself seen, he found that out when he appeared
to Mr Jenkins and offered to help him.
Mr Jenkins had brought him out of the boat, made him a boy again; was there a
chance that Mr Jenkins might be a man who liked boys?
But Mr Jenkins never even noticed that he was a boy, not really. Oh, he knew a
boy was helping him but he never actually noticed that the boy was the same
three years after he first helped him as he was when he painted the name on the
boat.
The boy couldn't leave the boat, so he had to stay and hope, one day, a man
would show up who liked boys as the boy wanted to be liked. To want to wank him
and suck him, because all the boy could think about
was cock.
Then you came to hire the boat and the boy knew you were a man like that,
someone who liked boys that way.
He knew it because, when Mr Jenkins mentioned the boy who'd helped him, you
wanted to know more about that boy, wanted to know if he was still around.
Then, when you first set eyes on the boy, you tried so hard to see through his
clothes, to wonder what he would look like naked, but you made the boy
understand that you were a man who didn't just want a boy's cock, you actually
really liked boys."
"I do,"
Reggie confirmed, "But I like their cocks as well."
"And you
like mine a lot," the boy looked up for the first time since he'd started his
story and smiled his wonderful smile.
"The most
wonderful cock I have ever had the privilege of being allowed to play with,"
Reggie fondled the boy, relishing the feel of soft adolescent cock and full
adolescent balls in his hand.
"Do things
to me a lot," the boy pleaded, "I don't care what you do, everything you ever
wanted to do with a boy you can do with me.
I was a long time not being a boy."
"But you're
a boy now, a real boy," Reggie's hand stroked smooth boy thigh, real boy thigh.
"The boy I have spent my life dreaming of."
"Only when I'm
here or very near to here," the boy whispered sadly, "I cannot leave Richard Harris because I am Richard
Harris."
"And here
you will always be the wonderful, beautiful boy you are now," Reggie said
softly and gently, "The boy of my dreams."
"I can never
change," the boy had the beginnings of tears in his eyes, "Never be a real boy without Richard
Harris."
"But I can
change," Reggie dared to suggest, "I can sell my house
and live on a narrow boat."
"You would
do that? To be with me? For ever and ever?"
"To be with
the boy of my dreams," Reggie knew he could do nothing else. He had found the
boy he'd spent his life dreaming off, he couldn't lose him now he'd found him.
"I'll never
grow up, always be fourteen," the boy said, hope now in his beautiful eyes.
"And that is
how I want you," Reggie's hand wandered over warm, smooth boy skin, finding
that when he came back to soft, adolescent cock, it began once more to grow and
harden at his touch. "Always a boy and always wanting to be
nothing other than a boy."
"And have a
man to do the things a boy needs to have done to him," the boy whispered while
a ripple gently rocked Richard Harris.
"All those
things," Reggie kissed the boy gently on the forehead.
The boat
moved in its moorings, bumping into the tow path, the bump only a little one
but enough to send man and boy into each other's arms and the next kiss was not
on the boy's forehead but on his lips and Reggie wasn't surprised at all when
the generator started up even though it wasn't set on `Automatic'.
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My thanks for reading this one,
isukwell@hotmail.co.uk