Date: Sat, 03 Dec 2011 07:37:16 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Promiscuity & Purpose Chapter 6

CHAPTER VI

OUT INTO THE WORLD

In June of 1948, Ned and I graduated from high school. Using some of my
savings and a gift from my father, Ned, Timmy and I spent a week in Ocean
City, an Atlantic Ocean resort with a few hotels poor folks like us could
afford. We all were sunburned on the first day, even dark skinned Tim, and
had to spend two recovering, twice daily spreading Noxzema on each
other. Then, with an ample Coppertone coating, we played and swam in the
ocean, drying off under the porch roof of a food stall rather than risking
more pain by sunbathing.

	Ned made friends with a fourteen year old and got him into our
hotel room three times while Tim and I stayed away, worried that the kid's
father was going to find out what was going on and wreak serious damage on
the debaucher of his innocent son.

Ned told us, "That kid sucked me better than anybody but you. I just wish
his hole was bigger."

	Sex between Ned and me at that point in our lives was infrequent,
consisting entirely of anal action less than once a month brought on by
early morning horniness. I think the last time either of us sucked the
other was when we were seventeen and that was the first time in
months. However, on that holiday, we went a little wild mostly in the
mornings, Tim's period of peak horniness. Our small brother screwed us both
each day at least once, sometimes slipping in behind me at night to get off
again. By then, his days of using his mouth to turn me on had
ended. Anyhow, he knew how much I enjoyed that corkscrew of his inside me.

	During that week, we spent a lot of time discussing our futures. I
was already doing what I wanted. Ned still wanted to be a doctor, a career
that required a lot more expensive schooling. Even the supposedly free
state university had its costs. He'd qualified for a partial scholarship at
a first class private university but the other half was way beyond my
family and me. Ned's plan was to work two jobs for a year then enroll in
the state school while working part time and see how long he could make it
like that. One of the jobs was the early morning newspaper delivery. The
other he hoped would be with me, something Tim wasn't happy about since I
could only afford, and only needed, one helper.

	He asked me one day when Ned was upstairs with a fourteen year old
sex buddy, "If Ned work's with you, you gonna have work for me?"

	I put my arm over his shoulder and promised, "Absolutely." Knowing
he was interested in being a mechanic and was taking courses in that
subject, I asked, "But, think about this. You wanna be a mechanic, right?"

	He nodded.

"What if I can get you a job in a car repair shop?"

	He sighed and said, "I wanna work with you."

	Love trumps common sense more often than not.

"Okay, I'll see what I can find for Ned, maybe making more money than I can
pay him."

	Ned beat me to it. Using the want ads from the newspaper he
delivered, he found a job in a hospital lab paying minimum wage but with
eventual increases and overtime potential. What he didn't realize, or pay
attention to as it was written right there in the job description, it
involved shift work, meaning he changed schedules by eight hours every
month. To his credit, he stuck with it and it became his career.

	Tim, by then on his third girl-friend, this one pretty, graduated
three years later and took a job offer to work in a shipping company's
truck shop as a repair mechanic, making on his first day, almost twice as
much as Ned did on his.

	While, for some unknown reason, Ned's work protected him, I was
drafted into the Army a year after graduation. Boylove was on hold!

	I didn't even see a boy for six months. We were only allowed off
base at night after any kids had gone home. I was desperate enough to sit
around a restaurant we frequented waiting to see the owner's ten year old
daughter put in an infrequent appearance. Mail between Ned and me was full
of coded messages, mine sad, his, exciting exploits. It got to a point that
I stopped reading them.

	Then, after basic, I was sent off to Berlin, Germany as a radio
operator of all things. Getting off base there was difficult for the first
several months but at least I could look at boys, especially the pretty
blonds of German officials who lived nearby and had PX privileges. PX's are
military supermarkets with frequently better pricing and far more US goods
than the local establishments. Since this was still post war Berlin
(Jan. 1950) just seven months after the year long Russian blockade had
ended, there was still a lot of theft from the base including the PX so
there actually were American goods, both commercial and military off bases
in the thriving black market which the supposedly high minded better off
Germans didn't patronize.

	On my first foray into the city, right off, I spotted large numbers
of street children though one couldn't be sure if a kid involved in street
sales or even begging was really a war orphan. As I quickly found out, many
of them were just poor, often fatherless, sometimes for reasons having
little or nothing to do with the war. It only took me a couple of weeks to
realize that some were hustling more than just cigarettes or candy. A
number of the cuter boys caught my stares and were apparently aware of why
I was looking. They'd come up and be friendly, some with a few words of
bastardized English. Then, when they saw I wasn't just some do gooder,
they'd do something like grabbing their crotch or sticking their finger in
their mouth. One, after being sure no one could see, pulled out an
impressive pre-pubescent cock reminiscent of Timmy's. With no place to take
them, I'd hand out quarters or fifty cent coins which, from the few direct
offers I received, was the going rate for simple sex.

	One evening, shortly after dark, one of the more resourceful kids,
a decent looking nearly blond twelve year old whose name was Friederich (I
called him Fred.), got me, with a little English and a few hand signals, to
follow him at a distance to a bombed out building five blocks away where he
apparently slept with others in a makeshift lean-to well inside and out of
sight of the entrance. I say others since the bedded surface was a lot
wider than one twelve or thirteen year old would need. The bedding was made
up of pieces of old clothing, everything from shirts and pants to
jackets. A piece of blanket and a large tattered quilt were tossed to one
side.

	The moment we were inside under the three doors and piece of floor
cabinet which made up the sloped ceiling, he undid the military web belt
that held up his two pairs of too large pants and raised his coat (it was
April but still cold). He was entering puberty. There was even a light
growth of pubic hair over his clean scrotum. Thirteen seemed a more likely
age. The cleanliness only extended thigh to belly button. Above and below
hadn't been washed for who knew how long although there wasn't more than a
moderate smell of poverty filth. Apparently, water was a rare commodity.

	He lay back on the bedding and stared up at me expectantly. I
patted my pocket to indicate money and held my hand out as in a query.

"Ein dollar" was his response.

I wanted to see if anything more than me blowing him was available but
decided to just get started and let things move along as they would. I lay
beside him, as I always did, in a sixty-nine position just in case. Well,
just in case was the case. He was pulling down my fly before I could do
more than take hold of his uncircumcised dick. By the time I had my mouth
on his organ, he was pulling mine out. Our cocks grew together, his to well
over four inches. The blow job he bestowed on me was as good as they got
though, when he could tell I was about to fire, he pulled off me and put a
rag over the end to catch my sperm. His didn't come until several minutes
later with him pumping frantically into my mouth. His cum was the young
stuff but a bit nasty, acidy.

	Once we were covered up and on our way to the front of the
building, with his hands and eyes, he asked when we could reunite. I held
up seven fingers since I knew it might be a week before I could be away
again at that hour.

	He alone was sexual relief for several weeks. When I asked about
rear action, he showed me his brutalized anus. It looked like a serious
case of hemorrhoids but he indicated to me that someone with a very large
cock had raped him several times and it was still painful. He went on to
let me know shitting was very unpleasant for him. I asked by pointing to my
US pin if it was one of us and he just shrugged his shoulders so I guessed
it had been, the son-of-a-bitch.

	 I'd already been buying him food and a pair of shoes to replace
the broken open pair he had tied to his feet. After seeing his backside, I
was inspired to buy him a military sleeping bag off a black market dealer
then bought two since, by then, I then knew there were three boys living in
that lean-to. His roommates were older and physically uninteresting.

	All this time, other boys were also getting to know me though none
seemed willing to take me to their hideout possibly because it wasn't as
invisible to the public eye as Fred's. One did take me into an alley behind
a short flight of stairs but it seemed too open so I declined, putting a
fifty cent coin into his hand for the attempt.

	It was in June when an older boy, probably in his late teens, clean
but in old grey slacks and a black tee shirt, spoke to me in broken but
understandable English.

He came right out with, "You like go boy's club? Know very good boy's
club. Nice boys."

It didn't take much interpretation to realize he wasn't speaking of a
recreation center. We'd been repeatedly warned about scam artists, some of
them violent who'd offer enticing opportunities but were only looking to
rob us so I was immediately reticent and turned him down, walking quickly
away.

	The next time I passed that way, as usual at night, one of the kids
I was dropping quarters on, a ten or eleven year old with shorts torn at
the back, exposing a nicely curved strip of ass, took me by the arm and led
me up the street. With hopes of a new adventure, I went along. Around the
corner was the same young man who'd offered the boy's club.

	His initial smile was quickly replaced by one of sincerity. "Joe,
no scam, no scam." Someone had passed on my sergeant's terminology. "Very
good boy's club. You come, look only. You like, you go. Very good
boys. Johann go you. You like. Beer, very good boys, beautiful."

	Reluctantly, ready to take off running at the first sign of
trouble, I walked with him about twenty meters (Europe, remember) behind
Johann. A few blocks straight ahead in a semi commercial district with
damaged though formerly impressive three and four story row houses, Johann
turned into a building with no sign but a store window. When my guide
knocked, a man peeked out. The hallway was lit behind him. That somehow
gave me confidence so I walked warily through the door he opened halfway
for us. We went straight toward the rear, out the back and through a small
yard into the back of an adjoining house. Once again, our secret knock,
three raps then two then three again, opened the door. A very clean late
teen in flashy clothes waved us inside.

	It was a club all right, dimly lit, complete with bar, bar stools,
table, chairs, and pictures of mountain landscapes and a large horse on the
wall. German folk songs drifted across the room from a real honest to
goodness Wurlitzer jukebox playing 78 rpm records. A quick scan of the
large room found no females, just men and boys of all ages. Two of the men,
from their haircuts, appeared to be American soldiers like me. They were
drinking beer out of German mugs and chatting with a pair of middle teens.

	"You like? See, many boys."

There were actually only three I could spot that were within my age range,
the youngest perhaps twelve."

	An older man came to greet me with far better English. "Welcome to
the boy's club. You want a beer or maybe a boy you like?"

	I was in a boy whorehouse. Thinking this was going to be expensive
but worth any amount, I quickly tried to remember how much cash I carried.

	The man went on. "Look around. Any boy here will go to one of our
rooms with you."

My guide said something in German. The man nodded and invited me to look at
a table across the room where the three smallest boys were sitting, Johann
among them. "You like Johann? He is clean and will do anything you like,
suck, fuck, anything, lick out your anus. He cleans out his ass after every
customer. We have rubbers if you like. Just two dollars."

	"How much?" I asked my dick already stirring.

	"The room is five dollars and the boy also is five. Very
cheap. Beer is one dollar. Like a beer first?" As we spoke, he was leading
me by the arm towards the boys' table.

	"Uh, I don't drink." I was looking over the merchandise. Johann was
nice looking as were the other two. All three looked expectantly at me.

	"The boy on the right doesn't fuck but he does a very good
blowjob. I know. Very good," he chuckled.

	I went for Johann mainly because I sort of knew him and didn't want
to disappoint him.

	The room was much larger than I expected, the bed a single like
mine back home. Light came from a small broken chandelier with one bulb and
two empty sockets, providing just enough illumination to see dirty wall to
dirty wall. The bed had been used but the sheet covering it was
clean. Johann began stripping the moment he'd closed the door. He was still
a little boy between the legs, only moderately endowed front and back, slim
probably from a lack of food, but quite clean as opposed to the other
street kids I knew.

	Sex though, was as great as advertised. He did it all, first
sucking me where I stood the moment I was naked then standing on the bed to
French kiss passionately for several minutes, sucking and giving tongue,
his head turning this way and that, rubbing his groin into my belly. His
cock though, didn't harden until I began blowing him.

	Fucking, with the condom he rolled on me, was aided by a liquid in
a glass along side the bed. He sat on me first, sliding down my shaft as
though it was the thickness of a straw then moving his rear side to side
while, eyes closed and lips pressed together, his hands caressed my face
and chest hairs. After a minute or so, he began bouncing up and down, eyes
open, smiling at me.

"You like?"

	"Oh yes, I like."  The kid was an experienced pro. It was
reassuring to be wearing protection.

	Climax came lying on top of him, his looseness allowing a long lazy
screw.

	I became a regular Saturday or Sunday patron. I'd have gone more
except for the paltry salary we GI's were paid those days. It was even
necessary to take some cash out of my savings and have it sent to me via
the military cash wire system.

	After a couple of times with Johann, I gave a new boy a try. He was
less experienced and had a terrible time getting me off with his
mouth. Over my year in Berlin, I must have gone through fifty or sixty
different boys, not all at the club. Two others had places to go One, a
beauty named Kurt, I fell for and saw at least twice a week. After a few
times in a hideout he and some others had set up in the shell of a bombed
out house, he took me home to meet his mother who pleasantly suggested I
use their bedroom, even spend the night if I wished. Sex with him was
loving but, other than occasional kissing, one sided. I ended up, as mommy
probably hoped, putting her son back into the school he'd had to drop out
of the previous year for lack of resources and buying needed clothing and
school supplies plus a few other goodies including, before I left, a very
nice dress for her. It worked for me too. While the hot sex at the club
took care of my physical needs, the sweet loving from Kurt took care of my
spiritual needs.

	Eventually, speaking to other Americans who came regularly to the
club, I found there were at least two other similar establishments, one a
lot more expensive that I tried once. Sex was no better there than at the
Boy's Club, its name, so with a seemingly never ending series of new faces,
why wander.

	Fred wasn't forgotten, just visited a lot less often.

	If you're wondering about changes in my letters with Ned, it
occurred to me he might enlist if he knew how great it was so, I feigned
chastity.

	After a delightful year in Berlin, I was transferred back to the
states to finish out my two years. There, it wasn't necessary to send Ned
lies.

	I continued to wire money to Kurt's mom in hopes he'd stay in
school. He sent me the occasional missive in German which required
translation. Rather than risk anyone reading something explicit, I bought a
German-English dictionary and deciphered them myself. By then, I did speak
and read some German but not a whole lot. Kurt's letters were very
correct. I hope they were actually from him.

	Within a week of discharge, after thoroughly cleaning my pickup,
touching up some rust spots and paying Tim to tune it up, I was back on the
boulevard, but had to go through seven boys before finding one who'd allow
rear entry.

	Tim was doing well in school and love. His girl-friend of one year
was very nice, but wanted to save herself for marriage. Surprisingly, he
wasn't horny enough to want my ass, not that I'd have been all that
interested. He was growing chest hair.

	Ned was miserable in his shift job. He loved the work, was earning
a decent salary but hated the hours. It made it nearly impossible for one
month in three to find sexual partners to take back to his
apartment. College was a distant dream. He'd all but given up on his goal
of becoming a doctor.

	Henry was working part time in the city recreation department,
attending the state teacher's college and still with his steady boy who was
entering adolescence complete with a bush around his cock.

"I love him," said Henry, "and my mother doesn't mind him coming around any
time he wants."

	I spent a month `on vacation', not doing anything constructive,
screwing like crazy. But, then, running low on cash, I went to Mr. Rash who
was very happy to have me back, giving me so much work two helpers then a
plumber were required. He even introduced me to a fellow slumlord who had
fewer properties but jacked my income high enough for me to rent a nice
four bedroom row house and buy a new pickup. The latter required a new cap
for the back, this one of insulated aluminum with a roof vent and a
kerosene heater.

	Ned moved in with me and paid half the rent. I ended up paying all
the utilities.

	Since we now lived well outside our old part of town, Ned and I
figured it was safe to cruise the reportedly more crowded scene there. And
crowded it was. There were two locations about seven blocks apart on the
same main street with nine to nineteen year old hustlers available from
after school hours right up to the middle of the night.

	By the summer of nineteen sixty, Tim, then a thirty-one years old
with two children, their mother his high school sweetheart, was living in a
nice neighborhood earning at least as much as me. Ned was working saner
hours but in a relatively low paying profession spending his limited
resources on great numbers of boys. My business was thriving but I was
boring of the rat traps I was working in. My dream had become a carpentry
shop but it would drastically reduce my earnings due to the probable dearth
of business. Cheap but nice looking, if not structurally sound, furniture
was being turned out by factories. Even the well to do bought off showroom
floors.

	Then, Mr. Rash told me he was retiring and planning to sell all his
properties. Was I interested in any? There were two not far from my
house. The area was sufficiently lower middle class to think it might be
profitable to renovate then sell them. The bank provided a pair of
mortgages, Mr. Rash gave me a year to make the down payment, and I used my
own funds to get to fixing up my new properties. Within a week, it occurred
to me I could live in one and stop paying rent, so did.

	The one I chose to live in had a garage out back. Rather than park
in front, I could take boys into the garage and walk them into the
back. That kept them from realizing where I lived and the neighbors from
seeing the parade of my prepubescents or Ned's teens.

	With Mr. Rash no longer a customer and the other three I had at
that point owning fewer properties together than had Rash alone, I was able
to put about twenty hours a week into my project, finishing the empty house
in three months. The sale only took three weeks and netted me more than I'd
originally expected, nearly twice the purchase cost and renovation
materials. Even counting my labor, there still was a nice profit.

	Immediately, I began to seek other houses that, due to their
rundown condition, could be bought cheap. Again, there was success with a
less than four month turnaround on my investment. And, the house where we
were living was also ready for sale.


	With only one of the two recent purchases sold, I still celebrated
New Year's 1961 with a plump bank account and plans to leave real estate
maintenance and concentrate on my new, more lucrative and satisfying
business. Ned wasn't particularly happy about moving into our next dump so
I fixed up his bedroom and bath first. Being a four story structure with a
basement, it took longer and required a greater investment but, when it
came to sell our three apartment house, Ned was distraught. We'd been
living a mere eleven blocks from hot and cold running boys and he loved his
apartment. Nonetheless, after locating another promising derelict building
just a block away, I sold it for twice the investment to a man from the
county looking to get into city rental properties.

	That's where we lived several months later when Ned decided to go
for twenty-four boys in twenty-four hours. First, a little about the house:
Ned had the second floor rear apartment. We shared the front as a large
living room. I slept above him and had the kitchen we used. Both bedrooms
could be spied into from a fake air register well up on the wall. The
viewing ports were behind paintings that could be swung open by pushing a
spring loaded wood button in the top of the frame. Since the pictures
looked a bit ridiculous so high on the wall, I hung four others below them
to balance the view. No one ever thought anything of it.

	The broad street in front became commercial one block down. The
other houses about us generally were split into three or four apartments
with very few family groupings as tenants. No one ever commented on the
many boys we took inside.

	Ned set his twenty-four hours of debauchery to begin Friday
afternoon at four. He'd keep track of the number of his tricks with empty
Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans. Did I mention that Ned abandoned his booze
abstinence vow while I was in the service? Well, he did, but stuck to beer
and occasionally marijuana, which I got into as well.

	At four on the dot, Ned hopped into his forty-nine Ford and headed
for hustlerville six to ten blocks away. The first pair he brought back was
closer to my likes than his but he was going for numbers not fun. The
moment his door closed, I was up on a small table popping open the
painting. I`d had one of the two boys so knew what to expect, nothing. The
other seemed a bit high. I hadn't smelled any airplane glue, the current
favorite of his ilk, as he'd passed so maybe I was wrong. Rather than go
for at least a blow job from the new kid, Ned gave a pants around the
ankles blow job, paid a dollar each and headed back out for number three
and perhaps four.

	It only took about fifteen minutes for him to return, this time
with a twosome more within his age of preference. I knew both, had since
they were around ten and starting out selling their little bodies. Two more
beer cans were stacked beside the first pair. At the current rate, it
seemed possible he could accomplish his two dozen that night. After all,
I'd found young ones out there after midnight and he had almost seven hours
to go.

	The next was a single fifteen long time hustler, and definitely
high on glue, very high. He nearly passed out and never reached orgasm. Ned
lost over twenty minutes trying but his dick kept going soft.

	At six, he brought two more, a fourteen and a fifteen or sixteen,
both new to me. One wanted to make more money by blowing Ned. He was a very
good looking boy with a nice body. Ned weakened and took down his
pants. While his friend fell asleep beside them, the older boy took Ned to
heaven, swallowing what he had to give. Ned was frowning on the way out.

"At least, I won't wanna do that for a while," he said to me in a near
whisper as he left, the sleepy one needing help from his friend to keep
from falling down the stairs. There were seven beer cans on the table,
eighteen below.

	Number eight was Billy Burnside, a boy who'd been one of my
specials until he turned seventeen and his price increased beyond what I
was willing to pay. He was, though, one great screw. I got the impression
he was disappointed at not getting the anaconda up his ass, and make the
extra cash that entailed.

	Nine and ten were small, both eleven, one, Jamie Pazorsky, with a
glue bag. I began to regret agreeing to be his credible witness. We had a
number of BL friends, all of whom saw me as the more reliable half of
`Sted', that Ned planned to brag to about his coup. Ned did Bobby Burns
first then Jaime while he huffed. Generally when high, Jaime became very
amorous. Ned had to keep pushing him back on the bed to avoid the Frenching
Jaime enjoyed. I'm not so sure Jaime got off. Glue seemed to inhibit that
in most boys.

	Eleven and twelve were teens from farther up the strip in the
commercial center. Neither had ever been of any interest to me. I didn't
bother watching. There was a good show on TV. They left at eight twenty.

	Well before my program was over, I heard Ned go by with at least
two more. During a commercial, I went to spy and see how many more beer
cans there were to pull out from under the table. There were three. One was
trying to convince Ned to drop his drawers and take his cock in back. He
kept playing with Ned's butt while he was sucking the others, even tried to
open his belt. He left frustrated but with empty balls.

	Ten more to go.

	Ned brought in two more twelves at a quarter to ten, greatly
increasing my frustration at being alone on a Friday night. I tried to read
a book on British history but couldn't stop myself from climbing up to
watch. They were both nice, and, worse, new. On his way out, I insisted Ned
arrange a date with the two for me. He promised to try but I knew he
wouldn't. He enjoyed teasing me too much.

	The next boy, number eighteen, was another long time hustler who
would, for the right amount, roll over. I knew Ned liked the kid, well, his
body. Ned had no real boy friends while I had about five I saw regularly,
bought clothes and watches for and took places. Since he was well on the
way toward his goal, I expected he'd take his time, maybe even enjoy a good
screw.