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The author “Chance” is me, “Larkin” This is an effort to re-compose my old roster into a new roster comprised old and new works, re-written and done with more careful editing. (omitting junk) I hope you will understand.

Please send comments to: to larkin@tutanota.com...And I will respond

First published a year and a half ago under the title of “New York 1912” placed in the historical forum but a goodly number of people missed it. This gives me the opportunity to tidy it up and add to it here and there and restructure the ending.

This is a work of fiction. All disclaimers associated with homosexuality will apply without exception. There is reference to some drug use that is in character with the period but it is only incidental and not to proselytize. Persons portrayed in this story are fictitious or at best, coincidental.

Waiting for the Titanic

by Chance

Part 1, The Diaries

The Edmund Howell Journals were written between the years of 1912 and 1924 The diaries consist of candid events recorded on a more or less of a daily basis.  Also included are recollections of events happening during his earlier life in no special sequence. They are however, authentic depictions of homosexual behavior starting from his own childhood and into his later life.

In 1959, Mr. Howell died of a sudden heart attack. It was Mr. Howell's intention that the diaries remain private until after his death.  After that time, if publication is possible, it should be granted only if the social and legal impediments can be overcome.

December 1964:  In the year of this addendum, there are several important cases pending in the Supreme Court that if the results are favorable, it may be possible for publication to go forward.

William Broome, Executor of the Howell Estate.

First Entry: 

New York City, Friday, April 5th, 1912

Waiting for the Titanic:

A small bracketed piece appeared on the front page of the New York World.

The White Star Line's new trans-Atlantic ocean liner, the Titanic will be departing Southampton at 3pm, April 10.  Its arrival in New York will be at 12 noon April the 20th at pier 59 at the West end of 18th St.  On its maiden voyage, there will be  a brief stop-over at Cherbourg, France and another stop-over at Queenstown, Ireland to receive additional  passengers. The magnificent steamship is expected to reach New York in record time. The 880 foot long ship is estimated to be carrying approximately 1,300 passengers, 318 in first class cabins.

The paper had just arrived by motor carriage and bundles of the evening edition were tossed into the street only to be immediately surrounded in a swarm of newsboys. Having purchased my paper,  I went on to the Little Cup Cafe for some supper and eventually home to my flat on West 10th street. 

Sitting alone at my table, I lowered the paper and considered sight of the gigantic ship of almost 1000 ft in length, steaming majestically into New York harbor. We do live in a remarkable age.  I must make a point getting there before the rowdy crowd makes it impossible to get close enough for a good view of the arriving travelers. It should be quite a sight. 

After a pleasant supper and a smoke, I journeyed home and considered the evening.

Peter

By day, Peter delivers telegrams.  He has trimmed brown hair, carefully parted in the middle, presenting the appearance of being neat and tidy as required by his employer, Western Union.  He wears a uniform that consists of a dark jacket buttoned up to the top, narrow long cotton pants and a hat that he absolutely hates. In pure defiance, he usually keeps it tucked under his arm. 

Peter is fourteen and carries with him the scent of full blown puberty.  He is a skinny boy just beginning to gain in height. It can also be said, that he is an enterprising and often an unscrupulous operator. Along with this initial impression is a sly regard that suggests that he is game for any number of propositions so long as they profit him.  He works from 6 am to 6 in the evening at which time I can occasionally expect a visit. Once he enters my apartment, he can discard the polite formalities of his job.

"Hello Mr. Edmond. How the fuck are you this evening?"

He presents me with my one ounce ball of opium wrapped in silver and red foil after which, I gave him 75 cents.

This much opium should be only a half dollar, but I don't really begrudge him the commission.  Let's just say, "It's a given."

Peter's side job is delivering drugs, informal messages and collecting money owed by this one to that one and it keeps him busy.

We first met when he was in the act of delivering to me an actual telegram. I invited him in and he ended up sucking my cock for one dollar. He was a year younger then and what a sight it was to see him in the act of receiving and swallowing my daily dose.  Paying him a dollar or two was sure to keep him visiting now and again.  Since that time, our roles have gradually reversed so that now I am the lowly cocksucker and he is the little tyrant.  I like it just fine.

"Sir Edmund," He feigns respect by awarding me with various titles. 

"I just can't make it back to Brooklyn tonight, you think you could let

me stay with you?"

Peter's voice was changing.  Whether it would go high or low or break in mid-sentence was unpredictable. It gave me a great deal of pleasure just to hear him speak. 

"Good thing you brought my opium because if you hadn't, I would have had to go to the Chinaman myself and then after all that trouble, I would have to say no. You may stay just as long as you reframe from searching my dresser drawers and private things when I am asleep."

He laughed.  "Edmund, I am not beyond stealing something left unguarded but I value my friendship with you far too much to damage it. You have always been good to me."

He tugged at his crotch.

True or not, I was gratified to hear this declaration coming from such a little rake. The messenger boy took off his shoes and crawled on to the divan with me. 

"So Edmund, you have your opium and I have this."

He displayed a square folded piece of paper.  I was taking a bit of opium and putting it into my pipe.

I said, "And what is that?"

Peter smiled and said, "Coca."

I quickly exclaimed, "Peter, I've done Cocaine a number of times but for me, it can be very unsettling.  I have a tendency to develop manias and fears.  I prefer my Opium if it's alright with you."

Peter was preoccupied and didn't look up. "I got it from the whores on Varrick Street and take it from me, it removes the fear of God and the Devil, freeing you to do absolutely anything and, Edmund, I know what a jaded old cocksucker you are."

Within the unfolded paper was about a teaspoon of white powder. Peter sniffed it through a wheat straw, then making several contorted faces, did it again. 

"Edmund, perhaps you should do a little of both?  The opium can rein in the effects of the cocaine, in fact, let me smoke a bit of your opium and you do just a small bit of my cocaine.  You'll be no fun is you pass out into your usual opium stupor." 

I lit my pipe and drew in the soothing, aromatic smoke then gave it to Peter.  He in turn held the paper containing the coca while I sniffed it through the wheat straw, then settled in for an evening of rich and rare experience.

"Peter, have you brought me any gifts?"

He relit the pipe. "Gifts..., what the hell do you think the coca is?"

"Peter, I was thinking of your dirty bottom."

"That's just what I was talking about. You don't need the coca because you are already a filthy reprobate. You oughta try the Tombs.  I was there once for a week and that was enough for me."

I gave him a knowing smile. "So it was the City Jail where you learned how to be so accommodating?"

He gave a rapid retort. "Shut your fuckin hole Edmund!"

He carefully folded up the paper containing his coca and  stretched out on my divan.  He rolled on to his belly so that I was presented with the seat of his tight fitting cotton pants. They fit so closely that they  revealed his bottom's exact shape and form.  The cloth gathered tightly into the cleft concealing his boy hole.   With my nose up closely, I breathed in evidence of his departed boy turds.  It gave promise of more to come.  He reached behind and pushed his pants down, giving me access to his post-pubescence ass. I held it apart and licked all around his boy hole.   I am hard pressed to think of anything in this world more delicious than Peter's stinky behind. 

I gave him a glass of wine which he drank immediately and then he took off his remaining clothes.  He presenting me with his soiled and flimsy underwear. The front panel was stained with urine and had the scent of his uncut cock.  The seat was streaked here and there and smelled sweet and exquisitely indecent.  I had no need for this ignominious item at the moment but I certainly would treasure it in his absence. 

"Buy me new ones and they're all yours."

Of course I agreed and carefully tucked them away.  

Peter was naked, entirely erect and it was apparent to me that he was getting considerable pleasure in just displaying himself to a jaded libertine like myself.  I considered his somewhat hairless and wiry body as a thing of beauty. 

He explained how visiting with me was different than buying a whore on Varrick street.  "Well first off, I have to pay them and I am limited in how much time I get to spend with them or pay for the whole night which can cost a dollar and if I get sick of them mid-way, I've wasted all that money so I got to do it like a stray dog and get out. 

He paused and gave me a doe-eyed look. "The truth is,...Edmund, I just like your company better."

The fact is that I pay him and not the other way around is a certain incentive but I cannot be sure if his innocent gaze is genuine sincerity or just Peter's manipulative machinations.    

He lay on his back and pulled both legs back granting me open access to his rear end.  I knelt at the edge of the bed facing his boy hole just below a compact set of balls.  Perhaps it was the result of Peter's brief stay at the Tombs that has made him apprehensive about getting fucked up the ass but he enjoys and even craves a the full length of a finger or two or my tongue as far up there as I can manage.  He was jerking off forcefully and I could see that licking round his hole would send him into a squirting orgasm.  The taste and scent of his hole was still sweet but with full on puberty, it was becoming richer and more intense.  I was probing his hole deeply with my tongue and finger when he came over and over on his smooth and lean belly and chest.  I had to share his cum because he relished it as much as I do. He held up gobs of it and let it drop into his smiling mouth.  

Self-adoration is his most attractive quality.  An emotion rises up in me that is much like love, but I am not really sure.. Neither of us were very hungry so we talked and had some wine before we continued. 

Eventually, the miasma of opium, coca and wine reached an insane intensity and was made memorable when, still stiffly erect, Peter urinated on me.  He said I deserved it for being such a filthy wanker. The experience was heightened by his rude and irreverent laughter.

In bed and in a passive, opium stupor, he fucked me until we both fell asleep.  

When morning came, my Western Union messenger had vanished. I left him 2 silver dollars which were gone as well. 

The only regrets I have about the night spent with my Peter was that I let him talk me into that unsettling drug.  I am even considering reining in my opium use before it gets the best of me. 

I took my time bathing and dressing, after which I headed out for my breakfast at the Little Cup Cafe on Bleecker.

The Journals

I had an opportunity to see several obscene publications written in English that had been smuggled over from Paris, The stories, some with sketchy illustrations, had no greater purpose other than to describe lower class street life and document the author’s anonymous sexual encounters. I found them extremely interesting and it excited me to read about exploits and adventures of what was rarely ever spoken or even written into words.

It was that very same day, I went to our neighborhood stationery supply and purchased my first blank volume bound in dark green leather.  I promised myself to record every ignominious and lugubrious event without exception or censor.  I considered writing it in Latin but I gave up almost immediately and settled for the street English of my quarry.

When I got home, I sat at my writing desk and opened the book. All that follows is exactly what is written down.  I can only tell some future reader that I have a loyal regard for the truth..

Monday, April 8th,1912

It was a pleasant spring day in Manhattan and my usual time to idle away the afternoon in Madison Square Park.  This park is one of the most beautiful meeting places in the city. At the South West corner of the park is the newly constructed Flatiron Building towering 22 stories, can you imagine? These tall modern buildings are called skyscrapers and they are sprouting up everywhere and being perfectly honest, the idea of an elevator scares me. If it's all right with you, I'd rather not.

But... this is not what I have come out to the park to see. I was looking for something a bit more interesting. From my bench, looking towards the curb, was a rough lad watering a horse that was hitched to a rag picker's wagon. He wore a cotton shirt and had suspenders that were holding up his crudely made and well worn suede pants.  When he bent over tending to the horse's shoe, I looked carefully at his rear end and imagined him naked. The boy was perhaps 15 and was well into his growth spurt. He brushed his unruly hair out of his face and hung the bucket on the side of the wagon. Hoisting himself back up, he lit his clay pipe and taking the reins, prompted the horse to move.  I decided that he was pleasant to look at but far too busy and responsible in carrying out his duties to stop and carry out some duties for me. I watched him trot off towards the Westside.  I had seen him once before.  It was on the other side of the park where I saw him, pants partly lowered, urinating into the gutter. Bold and bad boys in the city often pissed openly into gutters and alleys. I've always found the sight most enjoyable.

I can always see something good in the boys that roamed the city. Several times a day I would give a nickel or even a dime to a grateful boy. I did not however, like thieving, brutish or cruel boys. Boys that preyed on the less fortunate or the defenseless. I have learned to keep my coin purse on an inside pocket. These boys would grow up to be men that we all fear and are much better being sent off to war.

To my left, one bench down, sat a waifish boy looking unoccupied and useless. This was a trait I favor in boys or perhaps he was like me, relaxing and taking in the sights as I am doing... Not likely.  Most boys are too full of energy. He was swinging his legs back and forth under his bench as if the running impulse was in a low idle but only for the moment.

Slight and skinny, he wore tight black cotton pants and black jacket and shoes that laced up high on the calf.  The boy had a spindly pair of legs and hands tucked into his pockets that were most likely guarding a nickel or a few pennies.  His untidy black hair was shorter than the wagon driver and less prominent because he wore a cap.  Maybe it was only because he was young but his face was a bit like a girl's but rakish in a way only a boy could be.

I motioned to him and he cautiously approached me.

I smiled and said, "Would you like to run a small errand for me?.."

He must already be wise to the world because he looked skeptical.

Asked his name, he answered "William Broome."

"William, would you go across the street to the newsstand and fetch me a box of Fatima cigarettes?"

I gave him a quarter dollar which was more than enough to buy 5 boxes. "William, If you hurry back, you may keep the change."

When he lit up, I realized that I had made a friend. He returned and joined me on my bench as if we were already old friends. I opened my cigarette box and offered him one. He quickly took it and waited for me to produce a match. I lit his and then mine, sat back and exhaled. William was amateurish in the way he puffed and handled his cigarette but it was clearly not his first. I gave him a proper introduction of myself saying that he could call me Edmund.

"William, how old are you?"

He told me that in another month, he'll be eleven. I was encouraged. His voice was high and more or less musical and it pleased me to hear him talk.

"William is awfully formal. What do you prefer being called, Is it William or Willy or Bill or Billy?"

He chirped, "My friends call me Billy."

"Its settled then, I shall call you Billy. Are you not in school today?"

He looked up at me with wide and innocent eyes. "Sometimes I just don't want to go.  The nuns beat me because I misbehave."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Billy, your secret is perfectly safe with me."

There is nothing I like more than a boy who smokes a cigarette and who's truant from school in a effort to sample the world.

"Billy, I have must go downtown to 10th street, would you like to keep me company this afternoon? I'm sure that I can pay you."

It pleased me to see how easily he had been drawn into my orbit. It was settled without discussion.

At the corner of the park, we climbed into a horse drawn, hansom cab and headed to West 10th street. I sat the middle of the seat pushing Billy closer to the window that was currently occupying his gaze.

"I've never been in a hansom before. I usually travel by the EL (elevated train) or trolley. I run alongside and hop on and hop off before they can catch me."  He could see that I approved. 

I felt it necessary to test the worthiness of my quarry so I placed my hand on the boy's narrow thigh. I wanted to gauge his reaction. He could easily have recoiled by sliding even closer to the window or opened the door in an all out escape, but he did neither.  Billy appeared to be even more relaxed and spread his legs a little wider making himself even more available to me.  I gently felt around between for where his small penis might be and stroked it softly through his tight cotton pants.  I was more than pleased and encouraged.  He gave me what could only be called, a sly side glance followed with a boyish smile.

After being delivered on 10th Street we made our way to Fitz's tavern with the intention of paying my barkeep friend, Johnny, a quick visit and to have myself a brandy. I offered Billy one but suggested to the barkeep that he water it down a little. 

In what could only be called amateurish bravado, Billy drunk it right down. 

The barkeep looked at the small figure standing with both feet on the brass rail at the foot of the bar.  "Learn that from your father did you?!"

It was followed with gales of raspy laughter coming from Johnny's congested lungs.

Just a little more for him, I'm not in the habit of getting children drunk.

Johnny laughed loudly again, "Well I am!"

Out on the street, I asked Billy if he'd like to come up to my flat. Being on the street, he had every opportunity to decline but he didn't.  He hopped up the stairs along with me.

My flat was 3 floors up, providing a bird's eye view of the street below. Billy looked around and marveled at my small but tastefully decorated residence. Oriental rugs covered the floor and paintings and mirrors were hung from the walls. There was the ubiquitous gas light in the form of  a multi-colored lantern that hung from the ceiling. I tried my best to give my abode a cultured and more importantly, an exotic appeal. There was a large divan covered with a many colored quilt that was pushed up along side of the windows. From that position you would have an excellent view of the street below.

On the sill next to the divan was a collection of treasured books along with my cherished opium pipe which I would forgo at the moment. I wanted a particularly stiff erection in order to carry out the plan that was unfolding before both of us. In my usual manor, I lay out on my divan making myself at ease and comfortable.  I invited Billy to join me and he did without hesitation. When he did and I felt him physically next to me, my cock began to erect in my pants immediately creating a obvious lump.  With Billy at my side, the sight of my concealed cock became central. It was trapped down my pant leg and trying to stick up. I had to re-adjust its position by pulling it up making it even more conspicuous than it had been before. Billy drew himself even closer in sort of unconscious but intimate embrace.  With uncommon familiarity he placed his hand on my stomach.  It went lower until he was rubbing and stroking me through my pants.  

I smiled and said, "Billy, your secrets are perfectly safe with me."

To show my approval I carefully slipped off his cap revealing the most beautiful black hair.  He raised himself up a little and began to open my pants. It was readily apparent to me that Billy needed no instruction.

There was a struggle to free my cock and bring it into full view but as soon as he did, it stiffened up so completely that it caused my foreskin to retract on its own.  Billy treated it as a fascinating object of wonder.  He stroked my cock up and down causing my foreskin to conceal the source of my pleasure and then vanish down its shaft leaving me rudely exposed. It was at this point, without encouragement from me that he put as much of it as he was able, into his mouth.

The incident was now in play and it was destined towards certain resolution. He lay back in the well between my legs and began unlacing his shoe.  I assisted him by doing the other.  Off came his pants and then his jacket leaving him naked except for a thin undershirt. His penis was stiff as a twig and scrotum the size of a brown walnut.  Billy quickly returned to the task at hand.  He was bringing me to orgasm a little too quickly so I made an effort to reorient our passion.

"Billy, show me your bottom."

He climbed up on me with his rear up close, so close that I could spread him just a little and taste his hole. He had done it in a way that allowed him to continue sucking on my cock.  My tongue slipped easily up into his rectum and it was then I knew that he had been had before,...many times before. The intensity of the image in my mind caused me to ejaculate without being able to delay it even for a moment.

On my part, there was a momentary pause. When I got up to re-organize myself I saw that Billy needed a tea towel.  He didn't seem to mind but I had unintentionally decorated his face.  I sat with him and cherished him while he jerked off.  He lay across me and when his body stiffen up and then relaxed, it was over. We dressed and became the man and boy we were when we first met in the park that afternoon...

Notes on Billy's visit

I brought him some wine and pistachio honey pastries. He quickly drunk the wine,  I refilled his glass.

He told me he lived with his father, East of the Bowery on 3rd Street.  His mother died in child birth several years before and now it was just he and his father.

"May I have another pastry."  I wrapped two more in newsprint for him to take home.

Upon entering my flat, Billy was in a state of awe and wonder. "Do you live here all by yourself? Don't you have a wife and children?"

"No Billy I am not married and aside from you, I have no children at all and if I did, how would I be able to entertain you?"

He giggled at the thought of being one of my children.

It was late and he had to return home. To show my gratitude, I gave him a two and a half dollar gold piece.  I thought he was going to expire right there on my oriental rug. He thanked me over and over. 

I suggested that If he would like to visit me again, to mail me a letter one day in advance so that I would be expecting him. This instilled in him a certain deliberation about visiting me and I'd like to think that he might dream about what might happen the night before adding urgency and anticipation to our meeting.