IMHO, Nifty is a resource that is every bit as valuable as the free Gutenberg Project or the free Audio Librivox and they still need periodic support. 

Please Don't let Nifty's 25^th anniversary go unnoticed!

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

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 9

Three First Class Tickets

Passing me on the far side of the street was Myles' Father, Mr. Koenig, Manfred Koenig to be exact.

He appeared to be buried in thought. "Mr. Koenig, what a pleasure. How are you?" 

At first I don't think the he recognized me.

He said."You boys grow up so fast."

"How is your wife and have you heard from Myles?  Last I heard he was with this Mother's relatives in England."

We were out front of my house and Mr. Koenig said, "Edmund, could I come in just for a minute so that we could talk privately?"

We went to my room and closed the door.  It seemed so strange to be in a room with Mr. Koenig where I had buggered his son so constantly."

"Myles is back in Germany. He went through Sweden only a week after the war started to accept a position in the Kaiser's Navy.  Edmund I can't tell you more than that because of security and my position in the Embassy."

“Mr. Koenig, I've booked passage on the Cunard line for myself and the boys, two weeks from today.  Would it be rude to impose on your wife's family without Myles? I could cancel but the boys will be very disappointed. Billy is already fluent in pounds, shillings and pence.”

"Edmund you've been a friend of Myles and our family for a long time so there is no question about being their guest but I am going to urge you to cancel anyway. Please do this for me."

His comment was heavy and serious.

"Isn't this war just a skirmish that will settle down once they come to their senses?  I mean, sooner or later, they are bound to run out of bullets."

“Mrs. Koenig and I are going to Havana for a few weeks but I'm afraid that we are closing the apartment and I'm taking a post in Rio de Janeiro.”

Before going out the front door, Mr. Koenig gently took hold of my upper arm and said, "Edmund, please cancel your trip.  Do it for me. I promise you that there will be other times but do me this favor."

The whole thing seemed so puzzling.

Morning Erections

I liked the weekend mornings because Billy would be home and Peter was sometimes off in his various activities usually having to do with the repaired Marmon.  For better or worse he has turned into a gay blade.

But on those times it would be Billy and I, having the peace and time to lull and lay upon each other.  In the 3 years since the unfortunate affair that brought us together, he has grown a foot or more taller and his still almost hairless body is silky and smooth and warm to the touch.  He has become incredibly sweet and affectionate with me and does not seem to worry about the boyish attributes that are so important to Peter.  He clings to me and reassures me that I am important to him.  My careless meeting with him in Madison Square and his perilous, uncertain circumstances and my unwise rescue has been the best thing I have ever done with my life.

We were both naked and erect when Peter walked in to the room. He dropped jacket on the floor, kicked off his shoes and the rest until he too was naked and crawled onto bed.

"You know these fancy ladies don't know anything."

He joined us as an essential part of our trio. 

"The reason I prefer Billy and,.. you too Edmund,  is that when I get a throbbing cock, you know exactly what has to be done.  These girls or ladies or whatever they are, are so wrapped up in themselves and what their parents think or their brother or sister, the neighbor or the minister at the church and if we are going to get engaged or married, all I want is to pull down their panties and examine their pussy and play with the clitoris thingy and, if it is asking too much, have her play with my cock."

Billy lay with his head resting on my chest listening to Peter's idle talk. 

Billy sleepily commented, "I'll do it, just ask me."

Peter went on, "What's the point. When you go see the whores you know that they have been fucked by an army before you got there, I might as well stick my cock in a bog, but I'm not sure if these stupid, religious rich girls even know I have a dick between my legs?  And, the ones that know the score are all too often ugly."

I looked at Peter, "Dick, where did you hear that?"

"Oh. it's nigger talk for penis."

I considered it for a moment. "Well that one is new to me."

Peter stroked Billy's back. "Have you fucked him yet?"

Brushing Billy's hair out of his eyes I said,  "I was about to just as you walked in."

"That's good because I'll do it first so you can get my juzum all over your big cock when it's your turn."

I responded, "Well, now that you've dragged me down into the gutter, get on with it and when you're finished fucking Billy and then I fuck you instead?"

He nodded in approval, "Ok."

Billy lay peacefully waiting.  He lifted his head up to say, "Will you two make up your mind."

"Ya know Edmund, when you're off somewhere or already spent or smoking your opium pipe, he comes lookin for me because I know how to do it right."  He started preparing Billy.

With his head still on my chest and on lying on his belly, Billy started adjusting his posture making his rear end sexually receptive.  I thought of fighting Peter for the rights but decided that the view from where I was laying, was superb.   After preliminary spit and fingering, Peter mounted him.  That brought him up almost face to face where he then offered me his tongue while he fucked away.  I was thinking, these girls are really missing out, and it was all to my advantage because instead of getting Peter's jizum all over my cock, I tasted it from where he so skillfully delivered it.

We repeated the same exercise in a different sequence during the wee hours and then slept late.

Cunard Reservations

It was Friday and I thought I had better get over there.  Peter always need a 15 or 20 minutes to make sure that the Auto was greased and ready to go.  I climbed in next to Peter and explained,  "I have to go to Manufacturer Hanover and Trust on 8th avenue and then down to the Chelsea Piers on 23rd Street."

Peter gave me one of his looks. "I'm not a fucking cab driver!"

I didn't mean to but I was quick with him. "Well then, don't ask for a taxi fare."

The engine suddenly stopped and Peter climbed out leaving me alone.

"Fine, then drive yourself, I don't give a shit!"

I thought to myself, oh no...!  I have been through these cycles of reassurance and apologies many times. I cornered him and hugged him and his frown continued.

He struggled but I refused to let him go. "Peter forgive me, you are the best and I am crazy about you!."

His frown wilted just a little. "Are you going to make me beg?"

He said, "Yes."

"He crossed his arms in mock determination, but his frown had lessened only a bit more."  

I fell to my knees and hugged him around his bottom, "Please, please."

He relented and we got on the road cheerful as ever.

No boats were arriving or departing so we could park and go to the Cunard ticketing office.

The office was nicely furnished. "Excuse me but I am booked for 3 on the trans-Atlantic passage for Monday May 1st at 10 am. and I'm afraid that I must cancel.  I hope it's not too late to do so? We intend to re-book later. I think we were supposed to be in cabin 23."

The balding man was seated at a typewriting machine. He picked up a folder and scanned the passenger rosters.

He brought over some forms for me to sign.  He organized them with carbons so that there would be copies. "Be sure to press down hard so it records the copies."

The portly man waited for me to finish and looked around the room as if he had nothing to say.

Then he shuffled the papers back into the folder giving one copy to me. "

"You know, it's really too bad. It's not everyone who has the opportunity to travel first class aboard the Lusitania."

Recollections, 1907, Jonny

I used the same manner of appearing unoccupied and directionless in Greenwich Village as I had used in Coney Island achieving favorable results in both. Besides Simon, I had met a few other boys.  I gravitated to Greenwich Village because it was a hot bed of class mixing and not so bad a slum as the others.  Although the Italian race predominated, it was not so closed off as Jewtown or the Ukrainians and Polack towns on the Eastside.  They each had gangs patrolling their own neighborhood and you did not want to get in their way.

He was a large well built Italian man, handsome, very masculine and most probably hairy under his clothes.  Favoring boys like myself, he was the sort of man I didn't usually take too much notice of but he caught me off balance.  I was sitting in the park and for the most part, minding my own business. 

His voice was harsh. "Whatyadoin here?" 

It was an awkward and inappropriate question but it was bold and forward.

I shrugged my shoulders, "I don't know?"

He offered me a broken cruller from a crumpled paper bag. He was strangely captivating.

I smiled and said, "No thanks"

I looked up and studied his face. He was unshaven, Mediterranean and dark but he was cleanly dressed. The man was extremely intense and I could tell by a furtive glance that it was sexual.  He had strange, uncommon green eyes that seemed to make his person open and transparently revealed.  

He put the bag back into his pocket and said, "You come, you come with me."

I should have been alarmed or have been fearful but I wasn't. It was now obvious that his English was not very good but he was expressive.  We walked a block or two and the spell began to lift and I started having second thoughts. 

The man unlocked the door at the front of a building and said, "You come.  It be ok."

I started to back away and he came forward and took my hand lowered himself as if in a posture of pleading. "Please, please.. It be ok."

We looked into each other's eyes and I could see that this was sexual desperation.  This man wasn't empty handed, he had something real to offer. The man wasn't asking for mercy, he was telling me surrender to him. I followed him into the building and the door closed behind me.  I followed him up a flight of stairs and into a small apartment.

I was used to having  command of most situations and now I had none.  His eyes took on an animal quality. The image of the trapped rabbit in a wolves den came to mind. He put his arms around and when he pressed his body to me I felt his large cock.  In fantasy I thought, I was going to be fucked and then killed.  He took it out and I took a hold of it. It was warm and hard.

"Ho bisogno di te." (I need you)

I felt his voice vibrate from him into my body.  Once I stroked on his cock and put as much of it into my mouth as I was able, he let loose with voluminous ejaculation that sprayed me and my front with strings of Italian jizum. 

There was only a slight pause and it was more out of astonishment than the normal reorganization.  He started probing my bottom and preparing me to get fucked.  I was a bit apprehensive but I could tell that there was nothing that was going to stop this man.  He was preparing to fuck me with his very large and stiff Italian cock.  To aid his entry he reached for,.. what else?   A bottle of olive oil.  I was in for it.  

Never before or since had I been so thoroughly taken over or so completely possessed by anyone.  This was unexplored territory. He took his time getting me to relinquish any physical resistance and then he let lose, fucking me long and hard. He put his hands and his weight on the small of my back causing my bottom to rise up to meet his cock and then he'd plunge for depth.  I knew that I had been ruined for anything less from that day onward.  But how would I had ever found this had I not taken such a dangerous risk?

When he was finished he became soft and calm.  He cleaned me up and stroked and treasured me.  He gave up his broken English and instead spoke only warm and confident Italian and spoke it to me as if I would understand, and maybe I did.  

" Sono anni che ti stavo cercando."  (I have been searching for you all my life.)

He told me his name was Gianni, anglicize to Jonny.   

Notes on Jonny

We arranged to meet every week on a certain day at a certain time in that small apartment.  Being his own neighborhood he was desperately afraid that someone would figure him out so he and I were cagey and secretive. This intensified the excitement.  If it wasn't for his passion for boy's bottoms he could easily be a lady's man and for all I know, he was that too.  He told me almost nothing about himself.  This affair lasted a long time with separations here and there.  Being Italian I'm sure he took other lovers.  One day he announced that he was going back to Sicily.  He asked me if I wanted the apartment.  I thought about it and decided to pay the $12 a month rent and never tell my mother that it exists. It would become my secret home at 165 West Tenth Street. 

May 8th, 1915

Billy occasionally looked at the newspaper that now arrived at the door every morning.  He liked the cartoons.  This was a contrast to Peter, who never picked up a paper or a book for that matter. He just wasn't interested.

I was having my coffee and a soft boiled egg on a tray in my bed when Billy brought in the paper, unfolded it and laid the front page on top of my breakfast.  It was a picture of a long black ocean liner with the ominous four smoke stacks looking very much like the Titanic.

The Cunard,  RMS Lusitania was attacked by a German Uboat and torpedoed off 11 miles off the coast of Ireland and sunk with a loss of 1198 lives.  The Lusitania was the world's largest passenger ship.

The imperial German government had posted a warning in American newspapers that a state of war exists between Germany and Great Britain.  They advised that anyone traveling on British ships would be doing so at their own risk.

"Oh my God. Billy, that was the ship we booked passage on."

He gave me a silent acknowledgment. He pointed out the re-print of the warning placed in the papers from the German Government.

I commented, "I never saw it."

I was stunned and sent Billy out to purchase the other papers. I thought about Myles and then his father who warned me about traveling. I considered that it may be that he knew of the policy change but not about the Lusitania in particular. I wouldn't like to think something like that.

Apparently all the stories came from the same wireless reports because  they were all the same information slanted this way and that. There was bound to be more information in the evening editions.

Peter arrived and was in good spirits. "We could take the Hudson Tunnel over to Jersey and have our summer excursion down there.  I'd like to visit, Asbury Park."  

I showed Peter the black banner headline with the picture of the Lusitania. "That's the boat we were going to England on."

He grabbed the paper and began reading it. "They can't sink an American ship with innocent people on it!"

"Peter, it was a British ship."

"Well, what difference does that make?"

"We aren't at war with Germany and Great Britain is."

Peter started pacing back and forth."Yeah well, President what's-his-name or whoever it is, better declare war right away."

"Peter, your adopted Uncle Myles is in the German Navy."

"Yeah, well he's a traitor. and If I saw him I'd spit on him!"

"Calm down. if there's any declarations to be made it won't be made by you or I."

I've never seen Peter boil over about something that had nothing to do with him.

"Why couldn't Myles join the American Navy like he promised?"

I was trying to defuse his irrational wrath. "That's what Myles wanted to do."

I'm not sure what happened but Peter menaced me and then said, "Fuck you!  You don't care about the people. Fuck you, fuck you!"

And then he was gone. Billy had witnessed the whole thing.  He came over to me and slipped himself under my arm and comforted me.

Madison Square Park

Billy and I spent the day with each other in the park and on the very bench where I had met him three years earlier.  between that time and now, he has entered his growth-spurt. I was trying to imagine how he would look in a few more years.  He was slim and pale but in good health.

"Do you ever think about your old life on Rivington street?"

Billy was so much more calm and relax that Peter. "Once in awhile, but not much.  Sometimes in a dream I'll be there. "

"It's possible that you might look more like you mother because you don't look like your father."

The few times I had seen his father he was already a crazed and a broken man about to be hanged.  I had never seen his mother but I thought that to put distance and allow doubt that he might not have been his father after all, might help.  Billy had developed a high level of sensitivity and compassion that he must have gotten from somewhere and it had begun to edge out some of his boyishness.

On the question of his father, "Was he?"

"I don't know, but I don't worry about it too much.  I am sorry for what happened but I am glad to be away from him."

There was a pause.  "Edmund, I'd like to go to Columbia College when I am finished with St Paul's.  Father Meade wants me to go to the Seminary."

I laughed, "Is he still there? I think Columbia is fine."

He seemed relieved as if I would not have given him my approval. I asked him if he knew what was wrong with Peter.

"I'm not sure but he complains about you and he complains about me and this one and that one and acts confident but he is unsure about everything."

Billy's answer demonstrated startling maturity.

He pulled out a box of Fatima cigarettes from a vest pocket and offered me one and then lit one for himself.  Billy could be talkative but a good deal of the time he chose his words carefully. He did something else.  He opened his hand and in the palm lay a 2 and one half dollar gold piece. "Edmund, you gave that to me and I've never spent it."

The Trio

When we got back, I looked to see that the Marmon was gone.  The thought of it lay at the back of my mind like a burden. Billy was passive and so easy to be with. He did and would do anything Peter or I wanted except the act of penetration. Romantic or otherwise, it wasn't in his nature.  Peter took this as license to use him as a familiar object and often was selfish and thoughtless in his actions and when it was over, it was like it never happened. Billy was untroubled by Peter's treatment.  In contrast, I wanted to give Billy as much pleasure as possible and I would do anything to bring him to his resolution. Peter had been gone all day and I was worried because of the abrupt circumstances of his departure.

The room was dark and we had both been asleep for a long time.  I was so relieved when I heard him come in. I pretended to still be asleep. I think perhaps Billy was awake too but didn't let on. I heard Peter's shoes thump on the floor first one and then the other.

Then he did something Peter and only Peter could do.  He crawled on the bed and roughly squeezed himself between the two of us so there could be no doubt that we were awake.  Both Billy and I embraced him and I whispered in his ear, "Peter we love you." 

He said, "Yeah, tell me that after you fuck me!"

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