Date: Sun, 3 Sep 2000 17:06:58 EDT
From: SWarri1349@aol.com
Subject: My Little Stow Away Adult Youth/Gay repost

Hello, Dear Readers: This was my first ever short story. Written down in the
summer of 1998 and stored away on paper and memory. Then in 1999 I typed it
up and posted it first on my home pages. Then I sent it first to Ed, my
editor who is helping with a story of Love and War, then to my friend Chris.
What you are reading before you is what Chris did to the story; he even made
me see my memories in a new light. I cannot thank my friend Chris enough
for what he has done to this short story nor for his friendship on some of
my darkest days. I can and will say this, that boy has a golden talent for
bringing out the true meaning of words on paper or upon a computer screen.
Most of all, tho', he is the best friend one could have. I mean that from
my heart. (o:
This story is based on facts that took place in 1998 in my life and dedicated
to Peter, My Little Stowaway, and to all young boys who think they are alone
in the world, because they are not alone - someone loves you for who you are,
no matter who you may love. To love another person is to see the face of
God  ~Les Miserables~

To Chris: A half a nation separates us, but our hearts beat on in unison
like a fine art. You hold a special place in my heart that has been empty
for a long time until we first met. I see now I made the right choice on
saving that place for you, my friend. Thanks for everything.
Please E mail me your comments: at Swarri1349@aol.com

                             MY LITTLE STOWAWAY

                                     BY

                                   STEPHEN
                                     and
                                    CHRIS

In May of 1998 I traveled to Birmingham, Alabama at the behest of my
employers, the K&SW RailRoad in Mississippi. I had been sent in order to
pick up a caboose that we had recently purchased. The trip there was
relatively uneventful as these things go. When I arrived at the railroad
yard, I loaded my provisions for the trip back - canned food, water, and a
good book - into the caboose, which had been attached to the end of a long
Southern Railway freight that would be passing through to a rail yard in
Mississippi.

When I was done, I realized I still had a while to wait before we would be
departing, the appointed time being approximately eleven o'clock PM.
Motivated by a sincere desire to avoid boredom, I busied myself checking
over the interior of the caboose, making sure there was fuel for the little
cooking stove on the chance of a delay along the line, water for the same
situation, batteries for the lights, and blankets for the bunk. As I
finished, finding everything in order and to my liking, the brakeman
approached me, handing me a small two-way radio in case I had need to call
the other train personnel, or just wanted to listen to what was going on.

As the time of departure approached, I heard the distinct sound of the horn
blowing loudly at the front of the long train, soon followed by a
shuddering sensation as the large metal beast jerked into moving life. The
trip back was begun and we were slowly rolling out of the train yard. I was
sitting up top, in the cupola, watching the scenery pass by as well as
gazing on as the small towns and hamlets of central Alabama first grew up
and then rushed past to grow small and distant once more.

Not long after our initial departure from the Alabama rail yard, the
engineer slowed and then stopped the train so that additional freight cars
could be added. My car, being the caboose, was uncoupled and directed to a
side railing as the rail crew went about their business. I had opened the
doors of the caboose and was sitting in darkness, enjoying the summer night
and lightly dozing.

As I sat there, half asleep, I became aware of the sound of timid footsteps
on the metal steps leading to the rear platform. Presently, a young
looking blond haired boy appeared out of the darkness and tiptoed into my
car. Apparently he had seen the car and assumed that, since it was unlit, it
must also be empty. Quietly, not wanting to alert him to my presence just
yet, I watched as he set a small, worn bag on the big oak desk in the
compartment, and then slipped tiredly into the chair behind it. Shortly after
the boy had settled himself, I heard the brakeman's voice call out,
followed by the slight jolt as the train reattached itself to the caboose.
Almost immediately we began moving forward again, this time taking a
stowaway with us.

A short while later I glanced at the speed dial and found that we were
moving at about 50 miles an hour. Quietly I slipped down the metal rungs of
the ladder leading from the cupola to the bottom floor of the car. On
silent feet I walked up behind the handsome blond boy and tapped him on the
shoulder, causing him to jump nearly five feet straight up into the air.
Turning around, once he had placed his feet on the floor once more, he
looked at me and I could see in his eyes that he was terrified. "What," I
asked, after stepping up in front of him, "are you doing in my caboose,
sitting behind my desk in sandals and raggy cut offs?" The golden haired
youth continued simply to stare at me, shaking with fear at having been
found out. Unable to stand, he sat on the desk behind him.

I'm not exactly a big guy, standing only 5'9 and weighing 145lbs. I must
have been quite a sight to a scared runaway teenager though, even wearing
jeans, a short sleeve button up shirt, and steel-toed boots, with a radio
clipped to my belt, completing the 'uniform.' Standing there in the near
darkness, the only illumination being the moonlight that was streaming
through the windows and the open door, I could tell that my little stowaway
was about 130 pounds, and about 5'7, maybe 5'8, and possessed of a very
well formed physique.

I decided to play the stern railroad man until I could find out what
exactly it was that this boy was doing on my caboose. Wanting to be able to
see him better, I reached over to the desk behind him and turned on the
lamp sitting there, washing the interior of the caboose in a flood of pale
yellow light. In the glow of the lamp, I could see how truly scared he
was, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. I softened my voice and placed
a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Boy," I began, "you know what you're doing is
against the law, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," he responded, "I do."

"Then you're running away," I stated matter of factly.

"How do you know that?" he asked, still scared.

"For one, this train doesn't make any more stops in Alabama. Also, there is
the small hint of the bag. Just what do you have in there anyway?"

"Yes, sir," he spoke quietly, "I'm running away. Happy now? So just tell
them to stop the fucking train and I'll get off. Or better yet, I can jump.
No one gives a fuck about me anyway." By now he had started to cry and was
attempting to stand, grabbing onto his tattered bag as tears leaked down
his cheeks. Turning off my radio and placing it on the desk, I sat down in
the large chair and then took hold of his arm.

"Sit," I told him simply when he turned to face me.

"Where?"

"Here," I answered, pulling him down so he was sitting sideways in my
lap. "We need to have a talk. First of all, the train isn't stopping.
Second, you are not jumping. In fact, you aren't going anywhere." Reaching
over to the lamp, I turned the switch again and the second bulb sprang to
life, throwing even more light upon the handsome face of the blond boy
sitting in my lap. As I looked at him, I saw him for the first time as more
than a stowaway. He was a scared young boy with tearstained cheeks, soft
looking pink lips, and sad green eyes.

"What is your name?" I asked gently, then added, "And please, don't lie to
me."

He answered in a soft voice, still staring at his hands folded in his lap.
"Peter, sir."

"Not sir. My name is Steve. Okay?"

"Okay, Steve," Peter said, smiling faintly and looking at me. "Steve, why
does this train have a caboose anyway? I thought they weren't used any more.
In fact, this is the first train I've seen with a caboose in a long time.
And of course, with my luck it would be an occupied caboose."

I laughed at his last comment. "My railroad bought this caboose for use on
a short line railroad in Mississippi. And since I am a partial owner and
have decided to let you be my guest, you are not trespassing." I smiled.

Relieved, Peter sighed in relief. I even felt him relax for the first time
since I'd surprised him earlier. "And now," I said, gently gesturing for
Peter to get up, "we are merely two friends, sharing a train ride through
Alabama." I stood up myself, motioning toward the ladder I had descended a
few minutes ago. "Let's climb up top to the cupola and enjoy the fresh air,
the ride, and each other's company. And you can tell me what a cute boy
like you has to run away from."

Reaching the top, I found him crouching in the confined space, wondering
what to do. I motioned toward one of the two old leather chairs facing
toward each other, illuminated in the near darkness by the moonlight
slanting in from the window. With the soft clickety-clack of the wheels on
the rails as accompaniment, Peter told his story. "Tonight, at the dinner
table, I had a fight with my stepfather. He... he threatened to kill me."

"Why?" I asked, shocked.

"Because, all he sees when he looks at me is a queer little faggot. There's
no place in his world for my kind." Peter's voice choked on the last word,
and tears began once more to leak down his face, cutting fresh trails in
the dirt and road dust.

Gently I leaned forward and wiped the tears from his face, causing him to
look up at me. "I gu-guess you want me off the t-train now, huh?" he
hiccoughed miserably.

"No, Peter, I don't," I responded, heartbroken.

"Why, Steve?" he asked, staring at his lap again.

"Because, Peter. There is more to a person than who he loves. And love is
never a good reason to hate someone. Besides, in your stepfather's eyes,
I'm a queer little faggot too."

He looked up, smiling. "You're gay?"

"Yes, Peter, my boy, I am."

Slowly, Peter raised himself on shaky legs and walked over next to me.
"Please," he said timidly, "will you hold me, Steve?"

Gently I pulled him down into my lap, stroking his hair and kissing his
tear stained cheeks. "My boy, you are handsome and smart. No one should
hate you for what you are."

I sat there in the chair, holding Peter and listening to the click-clack of
the rails as the wheels rushed on. The light of the full moon reflected off
his beautiful green eyes, making them sparkle like deep emeralds. I could
see in his eyes that he felt safe, no longer threatened by what he had run
from. Minutes passed like long, wonderful hours, and yet half an hour
later the time seemed to have just slipped by. Turning in my arms, Peter
kissed me full on the lips, taking me just as fully by surprise - a
testament to Peter, however, I recovered very quickly.

Our tongues danced around, tasting each other, and exploring each other's
mouths. Peter tasted simultaneously of honey, and lingering fear. Our lips
parted, and Peter went limp against my chest, smiling. Carefully I removed
his sweat-stained shirt and let it drop to the floor. Slowly I began to rub
my hands over his smooth chest, using my fingers to circle his pink
nipples, causing them to harden. His smile widened and he let out a soft
moan of pleasure. Slowly he unbuttoned my shirt, rubbing his hands through
the hair on my chest, and playing with my nipples like they were wonderful
little toys.

There was only barely enough room for the two of us to sit in the top of
the old caboose, let alone do anything more strenuous, so I told Peter to
follow me back down the ladder. When we reached the bottom I led him to the
bunk I had intended to sleep alone in. I sat him on the bed, then flicked
off the lights on the desk. When I returned I carefully removed his sandals
and then his socks, letting my hands explore his feet and calves, feeling
the fine, almost silk-like hair on his legs. Slowly I let my hands up
further, to the insides of his thighs, drinking in the feeling of his
velvety soft skin.

Leaning up, I kissed him again, tasting the sweet flavor of his mouth once
more as I pressed myself against his willing lips. Breathing through my
nose so I wouldn't have to break the kiss, I soon caught the sweet scent of
sweat as a light sheen of it slowly began to glisten over his entire body.
Slowly I pulled myself away from his lips and began to work my tongue down
his neck and to his chest. Peter moaned when I placed my mouth over his
right nipple, nipping it gently. He moaned again when I repeated the action
on his left nipple, running my tongue around the delicious pink bud. Slowly
I ran my tongue down his smooth boyish chest to his belly button, teasing
it with my tongue and tasting the sweat that had accumulated there. Slowly
I worked my tongue lower and lower, until finally I had come to the top of
his jeans.

I ran my hand over the bulge in the tight fabric, and he moaned loudly.
Carefully I unbuttoned them and slid them off his legs. For a moment I was
captivated by the sight of him completely naked at last. Teasingly I rubbed
his cockhead and balls, watching as they jerked at the sensations. I licked
up the underside of his young boy meat, and Peter moaned again. Moving my
head down, I sucked his right, hairless testicle into my mouth, causing him
to jerk. I let his right testicle out of my mouth, and quickly replaced it
with the left. He moaned again. With a care not to scrape him with my
teeth, I carefully sucked both testicles into my mouth, and a wave of
tingles raced up his spine, overwhelming his young body and making him
completely mine. He no longer had a will of his own, he belonged entirely
to me, responding only to the ministrations of my hot tongue. I took the
head of his hot young meat into my mouth, and played my tongue along the
shaft until I had his entire throbbing boyhood in my mouth. His blonde
pubic hairs tickled my chin as I sucked deeply and held his balls in my
hand. He was breathing quickly, as moans of pleasure escaped his sweet
lips.

"I'm cumming," he moaned. Quickly I pulled back until only his head was
still in my mouth. I tightened my grip on his balls, and he shot his sweet
cum into my waiting mouth. I drank it down like a fine wine, so sweet, so
wonderful. Slowly I let his softening boyhood out of my mouth. Letting him
taste his own seed, I kissed him deeply.

Standing, I unfastened my own jeans, and then removed my boots. Peter's
eyes were fastened on my rigid cock. "Can I suck your rod?" he asked.
Without waiting for an answer, he licked at the head of my cock, teasing it
and enjoying the flavor. I put my hands on the sides of his head and guided
him down on my cock. Soon he had swallowed the whole thing, sucking and
licking it and playing with my balls. I could tell I was going to shoot
soon, I was too hot from sucking him off.

I pulled myself out of his mouth, and he looked up at me, disappointment
plain on his face. Carefully I turned him over and had him kneel down over
the bunk so his cute virgin ass was peeking over the edge, nice, smooth, and
round, like ripe fruit fresh for the picking. I bent down and spread his
smooth cheeks, revealing his fresh bud. Slowly I pressed my middle finger
into him. Hot fire gripped my finger as I pushed past the ring of muscle,
and he moaned loudly. Just as slowly, I pulled my finger back out, and
watched the muscles pucker in and out. Leaning forward, I ran my tongue up
and down his crack, teasing his hole and eliciting another moan.

Soon his pucker was well slicked with my saliva and I stood behind him,
positioning myself. Carefully I pressed forward and we both moaned as I
entered him; my cock felt like it was on fire. I pushed in all the way and
my balls slapped against his ass. His hands were buried in the rubber
mattress of the bunk, and his head was down.

I reached forward between his legs and found that he was hard again. Slowly
I pulled out of him until only my head remained inside, then shoved back
in. I built up speed, and quickly had a fast rhythm going as I fucked his
hot, tight ass. As I pounded into him, I could feel the caboose swaying
from side to side along the tracks, almost as if it were saying, 'yes,
yes.' I soon reached the point of no return and shot my load in his sweet
young ass. My cock was boiling in my own juice and his ass still felt like
it was on fire. It felt like I came more and longer than I had ever before
in my life. Finally I finished.

With a plopping sound, I pulled out, and turned him over. His cock, still
hard, pointed up in the air invitingly, and I gladly sucked it back into my
mouth. Almost immediately I had coaxed a second load from him. As he lay
there in post-orgasmic bliss, I crawled up the bed and kissed him, long,
deeply, and very tenderly.

We both lay down on the bunk and I held him in my arms as he drifted off to
sleep. Carefully I laid him down, got out of bed, and dressed myself. Clothed
and happy, I climbed the ladder up to the cupola and watched out the window
as the sun broke over the far horizon, greeting the world once more. Soon
we had passed the state line into Mississippi, and shortly came to
Meridian, eight miles past the state border. After climbing back down the
ladder, I woke Peter with a kiss, and told him to get dressed. When he
finished dressing, he joined me on the back platform of the caboose,
looking on in curiosity as the train came to a stop.

Peter looked over at me, the sun playing in his green eyes. "I guess this
is goodbye now, huh, Steve?"

"Only if you want it to be," I responded.

"What about the railroad guys?" he asked me, confused.

"If you want to stay, go inside, get in the john, and wait there 'til I
come get you." With a smile, he quickly did so.

The Southern Rail boys swapped my caboose, me, and my little stowaway onto
the Kansas City Southern Railway. I signed the papers. "Steve," the KCS
crew asked, "how many riding with ya?"

"Just two, me and Peter." Stepping out of the caboose and onto the back
platform, Peter waved to the crew and they all said hi. Peter and I left
the caboose and went to breakfast with the crew at a local diner.

When we were finished and had returned to the train, the crew invited us to
ride with them in the locomotive, and I accepted. They were old friends of
mine, and soon Peter was perched on my lap, fast asleep, as I sat on the
spare stool. He looked so peaceful, as though he felt safe finally. I
suppose, at that moment, he was the safest he had been in a very long time -
there, asleep in my arms as the train rocked gently from side to side,
moving along at a steady forty miles an hour.

Bill, a man I had known nearly three years, looked over to me and smiled.
"Steve," he asked, "where in the world did that blond kid come from?"

"From a small town in Alabama," I answered quietly. "He was looking for a
free train ride, and managed to stumble across my caboose."

"Well," Bill replied, "at least he found good company."

I smiled. "Yes, he did."

Bill, Jim, and I talked for a while, and I soon dozed off myself as the
train rolled on. A while later we reached Forest, a city 40 miles east of
Jackson. While we were stopped at Forest, Peter and I got back on our
caboose and rode the rest of the way into Jackson behind three GP38
locomotives and one hundred heavily loaded freight cars.

When we finally arrived in Jackson, our caboose was once more swapped over
to a crew of friends, this time to the Illinois Central Railroad. It was a
short hop to the I.C. main yard, past the passenger station and Amtrak's
City of New Orleans. We waved at the people waiting to board the southbound
train. Peter told me later that he had felt as though he were a prince,
standing there on the back of that caboose with me.

Once we had reached our final destination and the caboose was uncoupled
from the train, Peter and I unloaded our belongings - his bag and the
supplies I had brought along for the trip, including the book which I had
never gotten around to opening. We loaded it all into the back of my truck,
which I had left waiting for my return, put the brakes on the caboose, and
turned it over the boys operating the Kosy line.

Robert and Dave looked at me as Robert asked, "So, Steve, how was the trip?"

"Wonderful," I smiled, "just wonderful."

Dave laughed and said, "Any trip by train is wonderful for Steve. He loves
the damned things."

"Yes, Dave, I do. But this one was extra special." Still smiling, Peter and
I got into my little blue Dodge truck and headed north toward Yazoo County
and home. No one was in the house that afternoon when I arrived home with
Peter, so we stripped and took a hot shower, then lay down in my bed for
some much needed, and motionless, sleep. Peter slept in my arms, holding me
tightly as if he feared that I might fade away into the night like the
mists of a dream.

Later that night, after we had awakened from our nap, and Peter was
sprawled out on the floor, watching TV while I worked on the railroad
database, Mom walked in. She sat in the chair next to mine and asked,
"Steve? Who is the blonde boy wearing your clothes and lying in the middle
of the floor, watching TV?"

"Mom, that's Peter. My little stowaway."

"Son," Mom smiled, "I want to hear about this little trip of yours in
private - but later. For the moment, I believe Peter wants you with him."

"Goodnight, Mom. Love you."

Mom smiled at me and kissed my cheek. "I love you too, Steve. Goodnight.
And to you, Peter, goodnight." He got a kiss on the cheek too, which caused
him to blush an adorable shade of crimson.

The next morning I told my mother about my trip, leaving out a few of the
more graphic details. "Oh Steve, whatever am I going to do with you? What
you did for that poor boy was wonderful." I smiled at her, took Peter's hand,
and walked out the door into the sunshine. It was going to be a beautiful
day.


Don't forget to check out NO GREATER LOVE in the Historical section of
Nifty. Also read Flak Bait in Historical and Flip in HS by my friend Willy
B. He is a great writer. (o: and please read Different by my friend Chris
in HS on Nifty also, and E mail us your comments and ideas. We really love to
hear from our readers. P.S. We are looking for artists who may be interested in
helping us do an illustrated series based on some of our stories.
Stephen ( Happy Reading)
Also Check out my home on the Web at HTTP://members.xoom.com/Swarri1349/
Please be paitent with me because my site is under reconstruction to make
it Netscape Friendly
Stephen.