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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: 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

Part 7

by Chance

July 1914

Billy was enrolled in St Paul's School and having a fine time. Before school started I went to see the Headmaster for a private meeting and I explained to him that I wanted Billy to be treated with care.  Without being specific, I told him that Billy had come from a traumatic situation that was not of his doing and that if there was any disciplining that needed doing to please refer it back to me.  Billy liked the fathers and the seminarians far better than the nuns at the Catholic school.  He had begun to take his studies seriously and was excelling in most of his subjects except, Latin. I spent a great deal of time with him and he was growing up to be a fine boy. He preferred my bed to his own and I grew to love his inquisitive chatter and cuddling warmth all around me. Billy was revealing himself to be a rare and beautiful gem.

At 16 and a foot taller, Peter has turned into quite the ladies man. I allowed him to take my last name to give him class entre and stature.  He would see this lady and that lady until it came time to commit to an engagement and then, rake that he is, he'd move on to someone new, causing any number of broken hearts along Central Park West.

He confided in me.”You know I have taken our adopted Uncle Myles' advice and avoid the proper hole in favor of the others. It gives them quite a shock.”

Not wanting to lose him, I supported this modus operandi. 

But in spite of all of his public show, in the wee hours, the desire and the urge would strike him and he would crawl naked into my bed. He'd whispers softly in my ear. "Fuck me, please fuck me."

The Italian Fruit Vendor's Boy

I received a letter from Myles. He was in England on an extended stay with relatives.  He invited me to visit him during the summer next and suggested that I should bring the boys with me.  A month later, the war started between Germany, France and Britain. 

~

I kept the West 10th street apartment without mentioning it to the boys. It was my private place to go, a place to class mix and meet randy gutter boys.  On this day it was going to be a choice between meeting some boy that needed tending and if that fails, a session with my opium pipe for an extended revere and rest.

He had beautiful, ringletted hair, dark expressive Mediterranean eyes and a warm olive complexion.  He was small and at this time of year, in bare feet.  He was the son of the Italian fruit vendor on 7th avenue.  I watched while his father chastised him and picked at every little thing that he did wrong.  He was none the worse for wear because when his father was pushing him and scolding, he saw me looking at him.  He gave me a mischievous smile even in the middle of his father's bullying. 

Sometimes when it got too much, there would be boisterous exchange in the middle of the street spoken in loud Italian and then the boy would run off. His father would calm down and be grateful for his return.  I would show up on their corner every couple of days and watch without the father noticing that his boy was being seduced right out from under him.  Sometimes I would inspect the fruit and pick out a ripe peach. The boy would hold out his hand for two pennies and I would drop in an extra quarter dollar. Like Peter, he was a bit on the cagey side but then, I like that sort of thing. He smiled at me and took it without causing a stir.  

One day there was a loud commotion between the boy and his father and the boy ran across 7th avenue towards 10th street.  His father could not leave his fruit stand unattended, but I had no such impediment. I found him just round the corner and with just a casual nod and toss of the head in my general direction he followed me up to my flat.  It really was like the old days when I was carefree.

He called himself Joey and not Joseph and although he knew Italian his English was good.  He lay out on my bed and allowed himself to be undressed and then without pause, began stroking himself.  He was free of worry or any sort of apprehension.  I plied him with wine and sugary treats.  Once he was naked and aroused, I introduce my own erected cock.  My guess is that he had an older brother, perhaps more than one, or an uncle because he was familiar and at ease with this sort of play.  His bottom had a rich scent and was sweet to taste and once I got down into it, I spontaneously ejaculated.  Wrapping his arms around my neck, he hung his length on me and looking up, he promised to come back.  A half dollar later and he was gone.

He kept that promise because when I'd walk by, he would run off, careful not to expose the connection between the two of us and we would meet round the corner.  If he couldn't, he shrug his shoulders and shake his head, no, as if to say, "Maybe tomorrow."

Is it possible that the boys living in my home were domesticating me in the manner that a woman might?  Can I really believe that?  I love them both but they were all clean, starched and had become wonderfully respectable.  Was I like all men who secretly defy the serenity of the home and the image of a family man by searching the dark streets at night for some ignominious encounter when I already had two lovelies in my own bed?  Or was I protecting them from my darker side? 

Well with charming Billy away at school all day and Peter going off on holiday with the Curtis family and their daughter, what was I to do?  Sit at home and look at the maid?

January 1915

The Baker Electric was gone and as promised, after Christmas, it was time to research the purchase of a new automobile and since I had no mechanical sense whatsoever, the job fell to Peter.  At first he approached me with the Metz Auto.  It was manufactured in Brockton Massachusetts.  

"Peter, this auto only has 2 seats how can you be so selfish?"

Surprised that I would notice such an insignificant detail, he said, "They have others."

By the time he got a catalog from the company he had already changed his mind.

Sometime later Peter excitedly approached me with a picture of an automobile.

"It is the 1914 Marmon and it has 6 cylinders and 70 horsepower!"  

I didn't know what one cylinder was let alone six.

"Edmund, this one only has 2 seats but there is another model with a large comfortable upholstered seat in the back where you can sit."

I blinked. He was already doing seating assignments.

"Well, you and Billy can sit back there and I will sit up front with " (whoever his current girlfriend might be.)

"So who said you are going to be the driver?"

Peter looked slightly hurt. "You did Edmund, don't you remember?"

The model Peter ordered was going to cost $2500. and would take more than a month to deliver.

The Kangaroo Court

Often in the morning, while still in bed and when Peter is at his randiest, he would subject me to all manner of erotic and sexual misuse.  Billy did not escape similar treatment. One time Billy was tied up naked at the bedpost and Peter declared that a large pot was being prepared in the kitchen full of boiling water and that he was to be stuffed with cranberries, cooked and eaten for supper. Peter savored the power and Billy giggled uncontrollably. He loved Peter and enjoyed every minute. Together they would revert to a pair of naked and uncivilized monkeys, marking the bed sheets with urine. When it was not Billy's turn at being the victim, he would be employed by Peter in implementing his humiliating edicts on me. Peter's courtroom where he presided as judge and jury was a rubber stamp, kangaroo court where all the accused were found guilty. These games were nothing short of delicious. Peter was still growing and was slender and extremely trim. He lorded over Billy and I fancied himself the man, the supreme ruler, carrying out punitive punishments while naked and stiffly erect. It was this that inspired him and it was I who encouraged him.

In March, I booked passage on the Cunard Line for our trip to England.  It was high time the boys and I would see the world.  I booked very early to insure a good cabin.  The War was still on and cable traffic from the continent had been curtailed and I was worried since I hadn't heard from Myles.  I was hoping for an end or a pause in hostilities.  There were the fears about the North Atlantic and the memory of the Titanic that still haunts my memory but there have been considerable advancements and regulation since then. A more modern hazard was that there are U-boat wolf packs attacks merchant ships but they never attack passenger ships whose profile is easily recognizable.

Recollections, 1906, Coney Island

When I was 15,  I graduated St Paul's School and everyone assumed that I would be off to university but I decided not to go.

My Mother didn't seem to notice but Father Meade, my English teacher pulled me aside.

He seemed rather angry at me."Edmund, I'm disappointed in you. You have no reason not to go.  You have the wherewith all, the social class and the intellectual capacity. Why would you not go?"

I gave him a sheepish smile, shrugged my shoulders and said, "I don't know?"

This response irritated the shit out of him to the point where he huffed and puffed and got red in the face.

"Edmund, please reconsider!  Don't throw your life away."

I had no intention of throwing my life away. Outside of maybe being a writer after I've sampled life a bit, I had no profession in mind.  Looking back, I probably should have gone to university but the lure of boys and men from the gutter had a hold on me that I was not able to resist.

Father Meade suggested the Seminary down on 20th street. "Edmund, you'll be close to home."

He spoke as if that was a positive incentive. The last place I wanted to go was to the Seminary.  I had enough of churches and I had absolutely no belief.  I later learned that sexually, the seminary was pit of vice and depravity that belied the religious facade tacked above the front door,  but Coney Island was calling me and I had to go.  I was an explorer, an adventurer not a pious hypocrite tied to a regiment of prayer.

City Life

I have relatives and friends, whose parents would never dream of getting onto public transport but I am enraptured with it.

Each person sitting in a seat or standing holding onto the rail, behaves with a strange insularity, looking as if they were completely alone and not on a crowded train, speeding 40 feet beneath the Earth.  Silent and detached, as if they were only noticing a burnt out bulb in the train's center lantern or a spot on the window, but cautiously, they would be viewing each other with furtive side glances.  They were all well aware of each other and maybe even longing for the physical contact of possessing or being possessed.  

A pretty woman dressed for counter work is glancing around to see if anyone has the eye for her. Other than looking and then quickly looking away is as far as she will go.  A man might approach her, it could be any man,  but it must be a man bold enough to break the rules that hold her so tenuously.  Polite men are of no interest to her. There were men that sat, legs spread even on a crowded train. This one had a long large cock, that stood straight up between his legs or stiffly angled to the side and is only vaguely concealed in his soiled worker's pants. This is a common enough sight. Maybe he can't get enough or maybe his wife is encumbered in pregnancy or maybe he's unmarried.  A man like this could go off with boys just as easily as a woman. He would because in the small, crowded tenement with a half dozen in one bed, he'd been doing it for as long as he can remember.  Why shouldn't he consider a soft boy like myself over a prostitute that may carry a plague. The immigrant man scans the riders looking for someone that might want to ease his nagging erection. 

A large immigrant women is repeatedly smacking her children to get them to behave.  A filthy boy in bare feet wearing only jumper shorts, face smudged with city grime is none the less, bright and beautiful. He wanders within sight of his burdened mother and looks at people's faces and even into their eyes, momentarily disarming them. 

This underground world is alive. 

Coney Island

I took the subway part-way into Brooklyn and from there I got onto the Coney Island trolly that was to be replaced by the much faster subway.  Beyond the city, the land flattens out as we approach the sea shore.   On the horizon is an exotic panorama of castle like towers and spires.  These are the amusement parks. Hippodrome at Dreamland, Steeplechase Park and Luna Park, all spread out along the boardwalk creating a wondrous and magical skyline.  Together they provide a great chute for millions of pennies and nickels belonging to the poor and common folk beguiling them with thrills and visions of an electric future. 

There were plenty of girls but for the most part, they were escorted by parents, boyfriends or husbands.  They might be shepherding children of their own.  If there were none of these associations, you could assume that they were whores or at the very least, available. The police that walked the boardwalk were there to catch pick-pockets but also to enforce decorum and morality and no defiance was to be tolerated.

What I am left with are the truants, the hooky boys who have already spent all their money.  I don't wear my better clothes on these forays and anyway it's too hot and I'd rather just fit in.  I wear only knee length knickers and shirt sleeves. Being young and attractive it is easy enough to stand out with an observant look or a loitering pose. It was here and using just these methods where I met a boy very much like myself.

Sizing me up was easy. Just a smile, an expression of commonality was all that was needed to make an acquaintance. "What you up to?"

I returned the smile knowing that we had found a match in each other.  Looking at the 3 quarter dollars that I had in my pocket he looked into my face and said "We're rich!"

He had asked me if I had been here before.  I said no and we were off.

It was at the tail end of the parks where paying to get in to the bath house gave you a tag to changing locker for the beach and then there was a pedestrian tunnel out onto the hot sand and the ocean. 

"Next time, bring a bathing suit."

He scanned the horizon for possibilities, but he already had a modus operandi.

Let's go to the natatorium instead.  It's not crowded because everyone is on the beach. We get to swim naked there."

When he walked ahead I looked at his cocky frame and his rear end.  He was younger than me but not by much.  Like me he was in shirt sleeves but was wearing a trim vest and rakish hat.  The only identity we would have of each other would be our first names. 

"You could call me Simon." He tugged at his cock through his pants.  He smiled when he saw me look. He did it again only slowly tracing its outline and then moved on as if it was nothing.  

The men's natatorium was for colder months.  On this day, most everyone was out in the sun but we had other purposes already known to each other. 

In the half light of the small changing locker Simon was already stiffly erect. He stepped out of his pants and I quickly took it into my mouth.  Holding my head with both hands, he put one foot up on the bench, allowing me to lick is balls and then getting under him, even his ass. 

He whispered, "I like you, you know what you are doin"  and then effortlessly we switched positions.

Getting behind me he began pushing his cock up my ass.  Holding me by my shoulders, he used me as leverage to get far enough up into to me to begin a fuck.  There is something about being set upon from behind by someone you do not know.  It is thrilling because it emulated the fantasy of surrendering and then being murdered.  Holding me tight, his urgent efforts were causing a continuous bumping sound from within the small changing locker and I was sure that it could probably be heard throughout.  

Then the booming voice from one of the attendants. "There'll be no buggering in here and if it continues we'll have a policeman come to investigate." 

We stood perfectly still and silent.  When all was quiet again, we went back to sucking each other's cocks. First one and then the other, we masturbated into each other's mouths.

For the moment, we were done and we went together to the large pool in the men's section.  Our long adolescent spent cocks swinging from side to side while we walked.  I'm sure a man resting on the bleacher saw us enter and seeing us dive into the water, could imagine the whole story.

It was in the pool that Simon and I actually became casual friends. I considered bringing him home but then thought better of it.  My mother would know in an instant that Simon was working class.

We met numerous times during that summer until it just sort of wore off and then we never saw each other again. 

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