Date: Sat, 26 Nov 2011 21:41:04 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Promiscuity and Purpose #5

CHAPTER V

GROWING LUSTFULLY

	Though my mother tried to get me to open up to her, I couldn't
convince myself to do so about my sexual orientation. I did admit to deep
doubts about religion, even the existence of God. We delved into that with
me bringing home books from the library which she dutifully read. To her
eternal credit, she never insisted I was wrong, just explained why, even
after the arguments in the books, she remained a believer. I clung to the
`religion is the opiate of the masses' theory.

	During our junior year in high school, Ned was putting less
attention toward his studies and more into teenage boys. He worked enough
with me to earn spending money but no more. Timmy was my helper most of the
time when I needed one. Ned's academic nineties of the previous year
dropped to seventies and eighties. I was taking care of his clothing needs,
even new sneakers when he insisted his old ones were worn out which they
really weren't. I tried to convince him to work more and cover more of his
personal needs but that wasn't in the cards, or his character.

	Admittedly, it was easy for me to criticize Ned, having Timmy to
keep my horns dulled and my skill as a fixer to earn money. Nonetheless,
with the West Side crowd gone, there was a growing desire to get a new,
younger hairless body into bed. The need for love wasn't a part of it. This
was pure lust. I kept it at bay by planning for a summer of debauchery with
the cash to pay for it.

	The critical element in my plans was a vehicle inside of which I
could have my fun. Twenty years later there were plenty of options but in
1947, camper vans were a thing of the future. I had to invent my own in the
form of a covered pickup. With a newly purchased Ford pickup, Mr. Williston
in the next block was looking to unload his old, battered 1937 extended bed
Ford pickup, a workhorse which had been worked almost to death. The
windshield was broken and the passenger side door was unserviceable, held
closed with baling wire. The engine was beyond the need of a tune up. Rings
and bearings were required.

	Even in that condition, Mr. Williston wanted two hundred
twenty-five dollars, a lot back then. I had a hundred ninety-eight dollars
and fifty-four cents in my savings account. My dear father agreed to put up
one hundred dollars plus driving lessons.

"You deserve it," he said handing over five twenties toward the end of
April.

	Ned, Tim, Mr. Williston's fourteen year old son Eddie and I had to
push the truck from Mr. Williston's back-yard up the alley and into
mine. Eddie was a good looking boy. I had to threaten Ned with no work if
he went after him.

	Tim, with Eddie and his father's tools, volunteered to get to work
on the engine while I went looking in junk yards for a new passenger door
and windshield. I figured they couldn't do much damage disconnecting
things.

	Over the next five weeks, Tim replaced the door I bought. A
neighborhood mechanic worked weekends with Tim and Eddie rebuilding the
engine, charging me enough that I had to borrow more from my father. A
glass shop replaced the windshield also located in a junk shop and a lot
more difficult to install than any of us had realized.

	In my spare time, aside from the four times a week driving lessons,
I constructed a wood canopy that fit on the sides of the back and reached
the height of the cab then covered it with a light canvas to which I
applied three coats of dark blue marine paint. The replaced door was black,
just like the rest of the pick up so no painting was required. Actually,
with a few exceptions among luxury vehicles, all cars and trucks from that
period were black.

The double doors on the back had an open width that allowed four foot wide
material such as plywood to be put in easily.

	Ned and I debated the final step, a mattress. He wanted to buy a
used one from the Salvation Army store but it would have been too
cumbersome to be constantly putting in and taking out so I bought two
inflatable rafts from an army surplus store for a dollar each. It was my
pick up.

	Then, nearly broke, I was faced with the insurance
dilemma. Mr. Williston, by then very impressed with what I'd done to his
old vehicle, saved me by convincing his agent to take four quarterly
payments.

	Pissing off Ned, who wanted to go cruising right away, I saw no
sense in wasting gasoline during the week looking for hustlers whom Henry
told us didn't come out much until Friday evenings. Henry? Yes! He'd long
ago heard about the practice but had thought that only middle to older
teens were out there until he learned that Stinky and another boy on the
team had been selling themselves on the boulevard for a couple of
years. Unfortunately, poor Henry had no money to pay or a place to take
anyone if he did.

With those very hustlers in mind, I earned some cash doing a pair of
repairs and a material delivery for the hardware store I used regularly.

	The boulevard Henry mentioned was the same one I traveled by bus to
get to Bier's Park. However, other than a large parking lot well south of
where I lived, the area where I'd practiced parking and other maneuvers,
I'd never driven anywhere outside my neighborhood. Finding that boulevard
required a certain amount of guesswork. Following the bus took too long and
we were impatient, impatience paid for by getting lost twice, spending
quite a bit more time than had we just stayed behind the damn bus. Gas, by
the way, wasn't much of a concern. It was just $.18 a gallon, now a distant
but quite fond memory.

	It was after six but still quite light when we finally located our
goal. Ned spotted a pair of potential hustlers almost immediately but they
were easily fifteen, well beyond my age of interest.

	"But, I'll bet they can find you one you like," he insisted.

	"How much money you got?"

	"Two dollars but we can ask."

	I was nervous driving a unique vehicle, a pick up with the back
covered as mine was, being spotted by who knew, maybe a cop, talking to
known hustlers. So, Ned said, "Let me off around the corner and I'll go
talk to `em."

	They followed him back to where I was waiting. The taller of the
two leaned in the passenger side window and said, "Frankie ain't all that
hairy. You'll like `im."

Ned had informed them of the problem.

	I drove around, boiling, while Ned had them both in the back.

On the way home, I said angrily, "You owe me fifty cents for the gas we
used tonight!" So, I cheated.

	"Shit, Steve, you coulda done that kid Frankie. He was only
fourteen."

	You can imagine the argument that ensued.

	Saturday, after working until three then bathing, we went out
again. Tim was spending the night with Henry. As luck would have it, the
first kids we saw standing around were about ten or eleven. I parked half a
block away and walked back to where they were sitting on the curb.

	"Hi," I greeted.

	The one nodded at me. He appeared to be a small twelve. The other,
eleven or so and nice looking, gave me a strange look.

	"Waiting for the bus?"

	"How much you pay, kid?" asked the nodder.

	"How much you charge?"

	"Depends."

	"On what?"

	A shoulder shrug then, "We're hungry."

	I did some quick math involving the cheap hamburger joint down near
the park. "Wanna hamburger?"

	"Where, at your house?"

	My house was full or that would have been perfect. "Nah, down by
the park."

	"Then where?"

	"I dunno. We can park somewhere. I got a truck nobody can see
inside of."

	The older boy glanced at good looking who nodded.

	They weren't too happy about riding in the back. Ned just wasn't
happy. "You don't like `em, I'll take `em both," I told him feeling fully
justified.

	"Okay, okay. But when you're done with them, we gotta go look again
for something bigger, okay?"

	I agreed.

	After buying take out burgers for all of us, we parked behind a van
in a residential-industrial area below the park. Ned ate in the front. I
got in the back with the boys.

	The elder, Bobby, or so he said, had feet smelly enough that I
immediately began planning a roof vent. Aside from their feet, both were
relatively clean.

	"Do us now. We gotta get back," said Bobby as he pushed his pants
down and off. Enough light came in from the two curtained side windows that
I quickly raised Bobby's probable age to thirteen. His dick and balls
created an impressive lump in his briefs.

	We hadn't discussed money. I had four dollars I was willing to
spend and the jar of Vaseline if that was going to be an option. "How much
if you do something?"

	"He don't do nothin' but it's a dollar if I blow you."

	"That all you do?"

	"Ain't nothing else to do."

	Surely these two had been propositioned for more than that. "What
about, you know, back here?" I touched his still covered bun.

	"Unh uh. We don't do that. C'mon, blow me."

	His friend was still clothed.

"You gonna get undressed too?" I asked with a smile.

	He went to work on his shirt as Bobby pushed his briefs past those
putrid feet.

	It took a couple of minutes to get him hard but was worth
it. Though his cock wasn't as long as his balls might have indicated, it
was a thick three and a half inches and great to suck on. Better, he very
much got into the action, making short thrusts in time to my ministrations
and clutching at my back when he got close. His ejaculate was watery and
slightly sweet.

	The blow job he gave while I worked on his buddy's inch shorter
cock was very good, good enough that he reminded me of Brian McGinnis and
had me wondering if the boy was gay. His cock didn't shrivel much until
he'd swallowed my load which he did without hesitation. His partner, based
on muscle tension, probably enjoyed what I did to him but didn't do more
than lay there, hands behind his head. He allowed me to lick him all over
his groin area but kept his legs closed. That and feeling up his fine body
was worth the fifty cents he charged. Bobby had definitely earned his
dollar.

	Forty-five minutes after leaving off Bobby and his buddy, after
watching another man pick up a couple of thirteens, with me ready to call
it a night and Ned agitating for us to keep looking, we spotted a perfect
pair, one about twelve, the other fourteen or so, what was over the years
would be called a `Steve and Ned pair'.

	We followed the same routine. I parked, Ned went and spoke to them
then came back to tell me they wanted to be picked up around the next
corner back toward town. The younger, Harry, was a pro and did all the
talking.

	"How much you pay?" he asked at my window.

	"Depends on what we do."

	"Whatta you wanna do?"

	"Anything you'll let me as long as it's not too much."

	"Where we gonna go?"

	"Past the park, by the factories down there, in the back." I used
my thumb to indicate the back of the truck.

	"Okay, let's go." He was in a hurry.

	Harry, wiry like Tim but not as small as he'd been at twelve, rode
in front while Ned took Pat, the older boy, into the back.

	As we drove, Harry informed me that, "This is Pat's first
time. What's your friend gonna do?"

	"Don't worry. Whatever Pat says is okay."

	"Whatta you wanna do?"

	"Same. Whatta you do?"

	"We gonna be alone?"

	"We can if you want."

	"I'll do you for a buck, but with just us, okay?"

	"Anything else?"

	"Fuck? That's more. How much you pay for that?"

	"Buck fifty?"

	He thought that over, staring out at the traffic ahead. "Okay. Can
they go for a walk or something?"

	I had a better idea. "We can leave them at that hamburger store by
the park."

	That was acceptable if I bought him a burger afterwards.

	By the time we parked, Ned was done, indicating finger in mouth
that he'd been blown for a dollar. Pat seemed a bit timid but liked the
idea of a burger.

	Back behind the parked van and into the fixed up rear of my pickup,
Harry, considerably cleaner than the previous pair, got right into sex. He
showed no willingness to cuddle or kiss before putting his mouth to my
cock. Having already cum an hour earlier, I was able to enjoy his
experienced lips for a while before turning him over. He folded his arms
under his face and lay still while I prepared myself and his hole with
Vaseline, inserted and pushed slowly and fully inside. He didn't feel as
loose as his apparent lack of discomfort indicated. There was no change as
I fucked him, slowly at first, in case there was any sign he was in pain
which there wasn't, then harder and faster to move myself toward climax. As
I pumped, I wondered if anyone noticed the pick up bouncing around as it
was. I tried fucking more horizontally but it was still moving. Slowing
down just held back my orgasm. Slower but hard deep thrusts holding tightly
to Harry's thin shoulders heated up my innards. Harry didn't seem to mind
whatever I did. I found myself grunting with each penetration. That raised
my passion. With each full insertion, I could feel Harry's sphincter
against my groin. This was as good as it got.

	A few more times ramming myself inside and I fired a load up inside
him. When I stopped, Harry asked calmly, "You done? I gotta get back." That
was starting to sound like a standard line. Did these kids have a script
they followed?


That summer marked two major changes in my life. First, my business, with
Tim as a full time helper and Ned when I needed a third pair of hands,
became viable, bringing in a profit after payroll of over a hundred dollars
weekly. Our landlord, Jerome Rash, who owned homes in various sections of
the city, used me for most of his carpentry, plumbing and, as I learned
how, roof repair. By July Fourth, I'd apologized to my other customers and
was working exclusively for Mr. Rash. He liked the idea that I was going to
the library to take out books on the types of work I was doing for
him. Roofing, which was more profitable generally than anything else I did,
was really easy once I understood the basics which I read in a book on the
subject.

Tim, a hard worker and good with tools, was invaluable, saving me time,
cleaning up even before I was finished, getting us quickly on to the next
job, was more than earning the fifty dollars a week he was paid. Ned, who
helped mostly on roofing, was also working for a neighbor delivering the
morning paper, a job which required him to get up at five thirty in the
morning, something I didn't believe would last but did right to the end of
the summer, seven days a week. Even with him sleeping at my house almost
every night, it was the first time in memory when we were apart that
much. Sleeping was also more detached as the two of us were too big for my
small bed, especially with Tim there too, so he slept across the room on a
mattress and under covers I'd bought for him. The arrangement also allowed
him to get up and out an hour ahead of us without waking us.

	Since we weren't using each other's bodies very often and Ned
rarely sought Tim's ample orifice, the arrangement didn't cause any
problems. Tim, entering puberty rapidly, was hairless up to the
twenty-eighth of August when I detected a row of fuzz sprouting over the
top of his four and a three quarter inch boner. That might have been part
of the motivation for me to go exploring more often and getting into the
raft of availabilities on the West side of the city.

	That was the second change in my lifestyle, more boys, a lot more
boys. Though learning over the next couple of years that there were
apparently five sections of the city where boys could be found offering
themselves, the area where I lived being the most heavily populated with
hustlers, my information at that point only included near my neighborhood
and the West side near where Henry lived. Henry, via tidbits he picked up
from kids he knew, was the source of most of that intelligence. Due mostly,
I think, to his poverty and no place to take them, but also to his loyalty
to Tim, Henry made no attempt to dip into this new source of sexual
adventure. It only excited me.

Not wanting to be spotted on my side of town by anyone who knew me, I
jumped into Boulevard sex, as Ned and I termed it, then, on hearing stories
from some of our new friends, found more in the South part of the city
along a broad street traversing that area. Harry and Pat were just the
first of a long line of bodies we explored. By the end of the summer, I'd
lost track of how many different kids we'd bedded in the back of my
pickup. Even just going out Friday and Saturday evenings and Sundays, often
taking small groups to one of two swimming holes they showed us, we sucked
at least a half dozen different cocks each and every weekend, few
individuals more than three or four times over that three month period. New
faces were always more attractive than those known, even if they were
homely. While most were just blow jobs we gave, a good number would return
the favor or turn over for another fifty cents or a dollar. Two even rimmed
me, one of them for the same fifty cents paid to suck his small,
uncircumcised dick.

	Tim usually went with us, sometimes accompanied by Henry, to the
two swimming holes, in both of which most of the kids, for want of a
bathing suit and not wanting to wet their underwear if they had any, swam
naked. Henry loved it but remained sexually loyal to Tim. Saturday
mornings, Henry had his football games, with Tim as team manager, leaving
me with Ned or no helper, after which they'd go off and spend some of Tim's
earnings on food and entertainment. Quite often, Tim would spend Friday and
sometimes Saturday nights at Henry's house, something I'd doubted possible
but, maybe due to the money Tim was doling out, Henry's mother allowed. I
assumed they had fun together. Tim wouldn't tell but made it up to me
Sunday nights.

	Still, as Labor Day closed in, after spending a fortune on boys,
buying clothes and shoes for the three of us plus school books and
supplies, and paying off what I owed Dad for truck parts and repair and the
insurance, I had over six hundred dollars in the bank. Tim, too, had opened
a savings account and was looking forward to buying a car when he graduated
from high school. Ned did buy some of his own clothes and a pair of shoes
but spent the rest of what he made on boy sex.

	Worse, he made an attempt to get Eddie Williston in bed and was
turned down flat as I expected. That closed the door on my friendship with
Eddie as well, cutting off the availability of all those great mechanic's
tools. When I jumped on him for it, Ned apologized.

"The kid was just so beautiful. I figured one of us had to give him a try."

	"Shit, Ned, how many kids we havin' every week? Isn't that enough?"

	"But, look at him. He's so damn beautiful. You see that big lump in
the front of his pants? I'll bet he's as big as me, and I'll bet he ain't
got hair either. His face is so smooth."

	Watching him pathetically plead his indefensible case alerted me to
the possibility that we were having so much sex it could be hard to stop
once school got underway and cold weather set in. The truck had no heat in
the back. That led to a new internal debate about control over my own
desires. We'd had not a hint of trouble picking up boys all summer nor had
heard stories about others having difficulties. Cops didn't seem to pay us
any attention and kids as young as eight were out there until all hours
with no stories of beatings for coming home late.

	The day after Labor Day, the last free day before we began our last
year of high school and Timmy his first, Tim and I sat Ned down to talk to
him.

	I opened with, "If you wanna be a doctor, you gotta go to college
and you don't have enough money to pay for it so you gotta get a
scholarship. That means you gotta get like A pluses all year long. That
means you gotta think a lot less about boys and a lot more about studying."

	Ned stared at the floor.

	I went on. "I'm not going to college but I wanna get A's too so I'm
gonna do a lot less looking for sex and spend more time on my studies."

	"And work," tossed in Ned.

	"I already told Mr. Rash I can only work about fifteen, twenty
hours a week and he's okay with that `cause he knows that starting in June,
I'm gonna be around all the time, and, if I study, I'll know more. Anyway,
we keep doin' what we're doin' as much as we are and someday we're gonna
have trouble. We've been gettin' kinda crazy."

	Ned seemed to concur. "I know we gotta go out less now. Don't
worry, I'm gonna study. I already thought about it. So, don't worry."

	Tim frowned. He'd already chastised me for all the boys I was
`planking', as he called it, a West side term for any kind of male sex.

	To his credit, Ned did knuckle down and did pull in the A's though
not that many A pluses. We limited ourselves to either Friday or Saturday
nights and, while it was warm enough, a few more Sundays at one of the
swimming holes.

	Tim was going out more and more often with Gertrude Stiller. Henry,
though remaining close with Tim, began seeing a new boy, a nine year old
I'd taken to one of our swimming spots.