Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2008 03:16:44 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Christmas, London 1942

Christmas, London 1942

By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story about gay men and gay sex. If you don't like that DON'T
read it! You have been warned. It is intended for adults to read, not for
minors. It is a fantasy, not a sex manual.  No effort to portray safe sex
practices has been made.  If you have any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com.

I am Augustus Sithren, a middle aged architect of modest ability living in
London. I have been called Gussy since the day I was born. I have worked on
a number of important and distinguished buildings and am known a solid man.
I am one of those men who stayed in the office and got the drafting work
done while the more gifted met with clients and conceived the designs.

At age sixty I had assumed I would be comfortably settling into retirement,
but that wasn't to be.  The world wide financial collapse of the 1930
greatly affected my work.  Fortunately I had married well. My wife wasn't
wealthy but her inheritance kept us comfortable. We inherited her father's
somewhat eccentric house. Our marriage was good, if unexciting. Our
children, John and Elizabeth were unmitigated successes. My wife and I
doted on them and when they married we loved our grand children.

The war through everything into confusion. John had emigrated to Canada,
but Elizabeth's husband joined the army and was killed at Dunkirk. We
decided to send Elizabeth and the children to Canada for safety and I told
my wife to go with them. I would stay in London and muddle along.

I stayed in our house in a not too stylish part of Chelsea and went to work
for the ministry of Defence.  I wasn't good with fortifications and
barracks designs. The head of my unit called me in. I thought I was going
get the sack.

"Gussy, I know this sort of work isn't your strong suit," he began.  I
waited for the ax to fall. "We are setting up a new group to deal with
bombed historic buildings. We need someone who can identify important works
of art and stabilize or save what we can.  I was hoping this might interest
you."

"Oh yes sir!"  I exclaimed.

"I have to tell you it's going to be nasty work. You will be in the first
survey team after the bombing. It could be dangerous."

"It seems to me going to sleep in your own bed can be dangerous in London
today," I replied.

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but I guess your right. Last night was a
bit bumpy, wasn't it?" I nodded.  It had been a big raid.

"You will be with some laborers and an engineer. You are to move valuable
objects to safety if possible. You are to get a report to the County
council if more work is needed," He handed me a slip of paper.  "Are you
willing to do this?"

"Yes I am." I replied. I felt as if a load of bricks was raised from my
shoulders.

The next morning promptly at 8:00 I met the crew. Able bodied men were few
and far between in London. A big man came up to me, "I'm Angus MacAffee, an
engineer. I assume you are Mr. Augustus Sithren?" We shook hands. All the
men were well into their 50 and Angus could easily been nearing 70.

"This is our foreman, Johnnie Gillcrest, his helper Dan O'Brien." Angus
said in introduction. "They're old hands and know construction. "Pavel and
Jan are refugees from Czechoslovakia. Etienne and Louis are stranded
Frenchmen." A truck drove up and took us to our first bombed site.

It was a church in the Greek Revival style by the Inman brothers. As luck
would have it I had recently read an article on them and knew the
building. This immediately established me as an expert in Mr. MacAffee's
eyes. He was a natural leader of men.  I could speak French, since I had
worked on the war graves commission monuments in France, so I could direct
Etienne and Louis. Angus had little trouble being understood by the eastern
European portion of our crew.  Why that was I don't know.  They didn't
speak English well, but they did what he wanted.

I found a large Altar piece in a precarious situation.  I had been done by
Holman Hunt, a noted Pre Raphaelite painter.  It wasn't to my taste, but
our refugee workforce loved it and we got into an undamaged part of the
church. Dan and Johnnie weren't too impressed by the painting, but the non
English speaking part of the crew was impressed.  I'm not sure they had
been aware of the work they were to do. They were cultured men, unused to
manual labor. That they discovered they were saving works of art it made it
more tolerable for them.

I was exhausted after the first days work, but relieved I had some work
that was worthwhile for me. The truck took us back to the distribution
point. It was a cold day in late November. The men disappeared into the
dark night leaving Angus and me alone.  I asked if he would like to come
home with me and we could share some dinner.  He was more than willing.  We
found a bus and got back to Chelsea quickly.

Rationing made food scarce, but my wife and daughter were avid gardeners
and I was well supplied with canned food from their gardens.  When my
daughter left she brought her supplies to my house. My house was more
comfortable than handsome, but it did have two unusual features. It was
built on top of an older building and incorporated the vaulted basement of
this building.  Below my living room was a 20 by 45 foot long vaulted
chamber. The brick arches were 18" thick, so it provided good bomb shelter,
for everything short of a direct hit.

This was nice, but the other feature was still better. The steam plant for
a nearby hospital was located a few blocks away from the hospital itself.
My wife's father had allowed them to run the pipes through the basement,
thus my basement was heated. My wife hated this since she liked a cool
house.  I loved it. The upper floors of the house remained a shrine to my
wife's family.  The vaulted basement was my space. I had rigged up a large
vat of water above the steam pipes and had hot water to bathe in. I had
also installed a holding tank for shower baths, I have some arthritis in my
hands and arms and the warm water was good for me.

Angus was entranced with these features. We could hear the air raid sirens
wailing above, so we stayed in the basement. I made dinner of sliced ham
and cheese. I had closed the vents to the upper floors in case the house
was hit so the room became quite warm. We had been dressed in heavy wool
tweeds and soon had stripped them off.

"This may sound rather odd, Gussy," Angus said. "but I would greatly
appreciate it if I could have a bath. Hot water is such a rarity." Of
course I agreed. I went upstairs to get him some towels.  When I returned
Angus was stark naked and under the shower.

"This is wonderful Gussy!" he exclaimed, totally unconcerned about his
nudity. "This must be the most palatial bath in London these days.  It
can't be any better in Buckingham Palace."

I certainly wasn't use to nudity, but Angus had an air about him. It was as
if it was the most natural thing in the world to stand naked in the middle
of a strange man's house.  A second or two later I realized he had nothing
to be ashamed about. He looked like a school book's illustration of a
Highland Chieftain.  He was tall, brawny and hairy from his bushy beard to
his toes.

Most notable was a huge white snake that hung from his hairy groin. It
didn't look real. I'm afraid I stared at it. He noticed but didn't seem to
mind. He smiled.

"I'm sorry for staring. It was so .  .  . unexpected," I stammered.

"It's a wonder, isn't it," Angus remarked. "I inherited by father's
member. He was the Australian Robinson Caruso."

"He was your father?" I asked. The Australian Robinson Caruso had been a
press sensation thirty years earlier. He had been marooned on a tropical
isle and treated as a god by the aborigines.  He had lived naked with the
tribe for a decade before he returned to civilization.  When I saw Angus
standing naked, I realized he would have made a perfectly good Thor or
Odin.

Angus got into the vat. "Come join me Gussy! There's room for two."  I
don't know what got into me, but I got undressed and joined him. The water
was wonderful. I had been chilled to my bones during the day and the warmth
seeped into me.  I could hear the bombs exploding over the city, but they
seemed distant.  In the warmth of the vat it almost seemed like distant
thunder on a summer day.

When I stood to get out of the vat, I realized I was half erect.  Angus
noticed and he leaned over and sucked me. I was shocked.

In fact I wasn't shocked.  I knew I was supposed to be shocked, but the
pleasure was so intense, I forgot to be shocked.  Looking back I was the
most conventional and proper person in Britain. I knew of cock sucking as a
vulgar epithet, but had no vision of the act.

I had always been uncomfortable at the thought of nudity, not to mention
the reality.  My wife was very modest and thought nude men were
repulsive. For some reason I wasn't at all shocked, or uncomfortable with
the naked Scot sucking my cock.  It seemed as if it was meant to be.

My wife believed sex was required for having children and when we had a boy
and a girl, our sexual life came to an end.  Truthfully speaking that was
good for me too. She was so uncomfortable during sexual relations, I
couldn't find pleasure in her discomfort.

There was no discomfort or uneasiness in Angus.  Soon I was near an orgasm
and I pushed him away.  I was afraid I would shoot my seed in his mouth.

"Let me try that," I said.

Angus stood. His organ was fully erect. It was magnificent. It didn't seem
real. As he stood and I leaned over to suck his huge member.  His knob was
bloated and purple, almost iridescent.  I licked it and discovered it was
covered in a sweet tasting jelly. It was drooling from his piss slit and
much to my surprise, I licked the slit to get more of the drool.  Soon I
had the entire knob in my mouth as I tried coax more of it from his balls.

"You'd better be careful or you'll end up with a mouth full of my home
brew," Angus said.

"Is that bad?"

"I like it myself, especially if it's fresh from the spigot, but for most
it's an acquired taste," Angus replied. "Make your choice quickly. I'm
ripe."

I didn't want to take his seed, but I wanted even less to stop sucking
him. I continued to suck and Angus began to twitch. Then came the
flood. Angus filled my mouth with his balls' seed.  Oddly I was pleased he
let me take it.  I don't think I had ever conceived of sucking sperm from
another man's penis.  It should have disgusted me, but that wasn't what I
felt.

I wanted more.  I told Angus that.

"Well I'm more than willing, but I need more time to refill," he
said. "Let's get back into the water and talk."

"My father and I were equally well endowed. The cock is what saved him from
becoming an Aborigines dinner," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You may had read the story. It was quite sensational at the time.  My
father had a private journal that gave the true account. The tribe
worshiped a male fertility figure and his cock matched that of the divine
member. Most of the worship took the form of man sex culminating in the
exchange of sperm. It was done just the way you did it. Sucking it directly
from the spurting organ."

"I thought that was more of an inclination of more refined types like Oscar
Wilde?"

"Not at all. My father discovered it was a form of population control. Food
was scarce and over population a threat. Eating your mate's cum was a
blessing for the tribe and a personal joy. In his journal my father said he
grew to enjoy it as much as the primitives did.  That was fortunate since
the alternative to being a god was to be eaten."

"Your father told you this?"

"Not at all.  I discovered the journal. I knew he was unconcerned with
nudity, We went swimming many times.  I of course noticed his huge member
and was pleased when my own grew. I had no idea I shared his sexual
interest in men and for years I live in dread that he might find out.  When
I read the story, I realized all was well. My taste for men was a family
tradition, not an aberration."

"You have never had a chance to encounter a similar tribe and be made a
god?" I asked as a joke.

"Not as such. However, when you are as endowed as I am, one does acquire a
following.  Many men are interested. I have never been able to find a tribe
that has the interest. Until now, that is."

"Until now?"

"My crew is made up of like spirits," he said.

"Is that why I am assigned to your crew?"  I asked. I was shocked that I
would be suspected of such a thing.

"Not at all," he said with a smile.  "You are evidence of God's will and
the operation of predestination. We are all here for a purpose. It must be
at least a million to one chance you would share my interests. But here you
are."

"I'm not so sure about that," I said.

"You may not be willing to admit it, but I think you will come to
understand I'm right. Let's face it.  Here we are in the greatest city in
the world as it's being bombed to dust. If Hitler wins, we will be better
off being blown up now than living under that maniac. At any moment we can
be blown to smithereens. Why not enjoy ourselves as we await out fates?
I'm not sure given the nightmare we're living in, cock sucking even counts
as a sin."

I laughed. "You are a most convincing man," I said. Angus returned to
sucking my cock. This time I let him suck be to an orgasm. I loved it.  He
was the first person to enjoy my cock. It was a revelation to me. He spent
the night and for the first time in years I slept like a baby. The next
morning I took my breakfast from his cock.

That day we returned to the church for a few hours then went to a row of
Georgian houses. There were no valuables here, but Angus and the men rigged
up some bracing to support a major wall. Sometimes some rather simple
things can forestall total collapse. Of course another bomb might finish
off the place, but if yo don't try there is no chance you can save
anything. Angus was always sure. His faith in predestination applied to
building preservation as well a sexual pleasures. He was a cheerful man to
work with.

That night the entire crew came to my house to eat and clean up. None of
the men complained, but I discovered all were destitute and homeless. That
of course applied to the refugees, but Johnnie and Dan's lodgings had been
bombed. They were all living in tube stations.

I don't think they could have walked into the Hall of Mirror's at
Versailles and been more impressed than they were by my vaulted
basement. They admired the construction, the dryness and most of all the
heat. I had a clothes washer in a part of the room, and Johnnie took charge
of the cleaning detail.

Etienne helped make dinner as the men bathed. I have to admit he was a much
better cook than I. We used the same raw materials, but the result was much
improved. I went into my late father in law's wine cellar and the mood
became downright festive. I looked around the cellar and realized I hardly
noticed by the naked inhabitants. Iwas not at all concerned. You can easily
can get use to new situations.

Johnnie was a hairy bear of a man, his helper Dan was a smaller man, but of
monkey-like hairiness. Pavel and Jan were slim and rather elegant man. Jan
turned out to be a Pole. Angus seemed to think all central Europeans were
Czechs.  Pavel spoke some English, but Jan could understand some
French. That was helpful.

Etienne was a small Frenchman with a mustache. He struck me as a pint sized
lounge lizzard. I have the typical Englishman's suspicion of French men.
He was a hard worker and more than pulled his weight. He also had a hairy
chest and was well endowed.

Louis was a bull. Short, solid and massive. He was bald and bearded and his
body was covered by curly brown hair. He had compact, but impressive
genitals. He was circumcised. I assumed he was Jewish. He was a rather
crude looking, but he was well spoken.  He had been a school teacher and
had commandeered a fishing boat during the Dunkirk evacuation and had saved
a portion of a Highland regiment. He had planed to return to France but he
was injured and one of the officers, a friend of Angus, kept him for
returning.

As we finished dinner the lights went out. I assumed a bomb had hit an
electrical facility. I had candles and a few lamps. Candlelight changed my
basement into a romantic hideaway. I didn't know how Angus had found these
men, nor how he found out about their sexual preferences, but they had
never had a chance to be together as a group. In the flickering light men
paired off and and clustered into groups.