Date: Sat, 6 Dec 2003 16:01:19 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Good Night Mr. Forrester

			 GOOD NIGHT, MR. FORRESTER
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     The snow was falling in big multi-flake clumps, slate-gray against the
black night; it turned the horse-and-carriages that trundled along the
cobblestoned streets of the Bowery and Delancey Street into pale gray
wraiths, muffling their tread and washing out their color. Where the snow
lay on the ground and hadn't been churned into brown sludge by the many
boots that tread these sidewalks, it sparkled sharp and crystalline in the
glow of the street lamps. It was a very beautiful, peaceful scene in places
and I might have admired it...if I hadn't been shivering in a coat too thin
for the weather with no gloves and my few belongings stuffed inside a
carpetbag I'd carried from the railway station. I was relieved when I found
the place, the "Room To Let" sign still hanging from one window near the
door.
     "Three dollars a week." Mrs. Greenwood said as she showed me the
room. It was a small thing, barely eight feet on a side. The bed took up
half of this space, large enough for a man to lie down on. There was
besides a dresser with four drawers, the top showing the unmistakable
discolorations of someone having prepared food on top of it. The walls had
holes, but they were filled and patched more-or-less, the gas light was
there, and the room was warm enough to someone who had come in out of the
cold New York streets.
     I felt my pocket, trying to act as if the place was not beneath my
means while I considered how to handle this. I had two dollars and
eighty-five cents in my pocket, and it was nearly a week until my first
payday. On Saturday evening, my employer would give me eight dollars for
the week, enough to afford this place and enough over to live on
(barely). A life of boiling eggs and making toast over the gaslight, a life
of scanty meals and poor clothing, a life of little joy...but life. By
diligence in my duties at the clothing factory, and a little luck, perhaps
by the beginning of the next century I could think about a better place. I
didn't dare yet think how I'd afford to have a family of my own.
     But this was 1897 and for now, my problem was how to find a place, any
place, to stay warm enough to survive. The room would do for that...but I
didn't have enough money to pay the rent for it, not to mention buying food
or paying rail fare for the next four days. But I hoped to dodge the
conductors for that long, and a man could live without eating for four
days. But I had to have a warm place to spend the night.
     "I'll take the room." I told her and her broad homely face
smiled. "But I don't have all the money for it right now. I could pay the
rest of it next week along with the rent...." That hopeful phrase was as
far as I got.
     She turned from an agreeable lady to a shrieking virago
instantly. "No!" she screamed at me. "No more of your kind in here! You
come in here with your pathetic tales and promises to pay and next thing I
know you're gone and I'm out the rent! No, if you can pay next week, then
you come back next week and if the room is still here, I'll rent it to you!
Until then, get out of here and quit wasting my time!" As I turned to slink
back down the hall, I heard her mutter, "Filthy lazy Irishmen. Going to
quit renting to them...."
     That had been the sign that had left me in my current straits, place
after place where I inquired had in place a sign, "No Irish Need Apply." It
didn't matter that I'd been born in this country and had no accent, my name
was all they needed to turn me away.
     The snow was increasing; now the streets were nearly vacant of people
and the gentle fall of snow was becoming harder, sharper,
sleet-like. Before morning it would be a true storm. I sat on the steps of
the place, wondering if there were a place further down the street that
might rent for two dollars a week (for a man must eat, after all), scooting
aside for a man who came up the walk, rang the bell, a cardboard suitcase
in his hand. "You have a room to rent?" he asked her as she answered the
door.
     "I do." she said to him. And to me, "Clear off, you! You're blocking
my stoop!"
     I stood up and went down the steps, there was a street light at the
foot and I leaned against it. I was hungry; for I hadn't eaten either lunch
or dinner that day. A tavern down the road beckoned to me, warmth, ale,
food. But that was folly, I would spend the money and then have no chance
at all for a room. I would just have to make do somehow for the night and,
with a hot breakfast inside of me at the cost of ten cents, I would ask my
fellow workers if they knew of a place....
     "Out of here, you!" I heard behind me and the man who had just came in
was out again, this time the landlady was chasing him out, his handsome
face crumpled into a cringe as she declared his financial state to the
world. "Now it's an Englishman with no money! Join that Irish scum out
there and maybe between the two of you, one of you can rent a room
somewhere!"
     He came down the steps and I gestured him over to me, he came
willingly enough. "Didn't have the three dollars either?" I asked him.
     He made a face. "No. I have a job, but..."
     "But payday is on Saturday and this is only Monday night."
     "Right."
     "She mentioned getting a room together." I ventured. "Better than
standing out here and freezing."
     "Maybe." he said cautiously.
     "How much do you have on you?" I said. He hesitated and I smiled and
said, "I have two dollars and eighty-five cents myself."
     "Two dollars and ninety." he admitted. "Even if I'd gotten the room, I
would have had nothing to eat until Saturday."
     "My problem exactly." I said. "So let's ring her up again and ask for
the room. Together."
     He was doubtful. "Think she'll do it?"
     "She lets people cook in their rooms. She'll do it." I said with some
assurance. I'd been told by a co-worker that day that was a sure sign of a
cheap place to live, look for signs of cooking.
     We rang the doorbell, and she opened it. "Don't waste my time." she
said to us. "I'll have the cops on you."
     "We'll take the room." I said to her.
     She looked doubtful. "The one with the big bed for five dollars?" she
asked. She'd shown me that room before the cheaper one, the room more than
double the size of the three-dollar room, and with nicer furniture "for a
man who likes his comfort, or a nice couple, see the nice, big, comfy bed
it has?" My first ambition after I got a raise on the job was to move into
a room like that.
     "No, no!" I said. "The three dollar one."
     "You two will never fit in that little bed!" she scoffed. "You'll have
to sleep in turns."
     "Well, that'll be our problem, won't it?" I said.
     She looked at me, then at my new friend, and she laughed. "Okay, I'll
do it, for one week and one week only, mind you! After that, one of you
moves out of that room, understand me!"
     "Done." I said with relief, and shivered. "Will you let us inside
now?"
     And she stepped aside and I stepped into the warmth of the indoors
once again.
     The room was inviting for all its shabby blankets and the small hole I
hadn't noticed before. Would have to take my handkerchief from my bag and
stuff that hole.
     He was looking at the bed and it's four feet width; he hadn't been
inside long enough to actually see the room, I decided.
     "How are we going to sleep?" he asked me.
     "Two choices." I said. "We take turns on the floor, or we crowd
together into the bed."
     And I heard the steam turn off. The landlady had cut it off for the
night. I hastily opened my bag and plugged up that draft, then continued,
"but there's only the two blankets and it'll be cold tonight. Better put on
all you own. Shall we flip a coin to see who takes the floor tonight?"
     He looked at me and said, "I have a better idea."
     I sat on the bed. "I'm listening."
     His idea was good, I had to admit. Take the clothes, but instead of
wearing any of them, layer them in between the two blankets. That held them
in place and with the mattress below the two of us in our skivvies, the
blanket and clothes above, and the warm body next to us, we would be warm
enough all night long. We left the gaslight burning after pressing one of
his shirts around the foot of the door so the landlady wouldn't see we had
left it lit, its small light would help keep the room warm.
     I lay on my side with his nearly bare body pressed against mine and I
said, "Tell me, bedmate, what's your name? The lady said you were
English. I'm Irish. Does that bother you?"
     "No." He said. Because my mother's mother was Irish. I'm Robert
Forrester."
     "Ryan O'Hanrahan." I said. "And my mother's father was English."
     He chuckled. "Good night, Mr. O'Hanrahan." he said in mock courtesy.
     "Good night, Mr. Forrester." I replied.
     He tried to lie with his upper hand and arm on his side and his lower
hand and arm...well, he tried not to touch me, but it was hopeless from the
start. When he relaxed and his hand slipped over and touched my own lower
arm's hand, which I was holding upwards across my chest, I grasped his hand
and pulled his arm on over me. "Here." I said. "Don't be afraid to touch me
and I won't be afraid to touch you. Relax and sleep. Cuddle up if you want
to, even, it's a chilly night, not fit out for man nor beast. We'll share
our bedbugs and become good friends, maybe."
     He was silent for a moment, then said, "I could use a friend." He
admitted.
     "So could I." I said and his hand, carefully relaxed and loose,
tightened around my body, his other hand slid in beneath my head and his
body tightened against mine as he cupped my breasts in his palms and held
them, just held them.
     We lay like that a moment or two, then his upper hand slid down my
body, a long, slow, single stroke. I could tell from its pace, from its
determination, that it would not stop until it had enclosed the distended
flesh at the junction of my thighs, my balls anticipated the feel of that
warm hand upon them, my cock relished the expectation of being held and
stroked by that palm, that smooth, caressing, warm palm, and it surged into
life, joyous, raging life and I let loose a long, low sigh and as I
completed my sigh, his hand found my turgidness and erectness waiting for
him there.
     He did not falter, he sent his hand into the flap of my boxers, found
my life and my joy and encircled it, grasped it, gripped it tightly and my
manhood let loose a long, warm burst of pleasure at this touch, a glow that
spread through my body.
     Robert pressed his body tighter against mine, and I felt his maleness
pressing against my buttocks. There was no sound but the intentness of his
breath against the back of my neck, the soft rustle of his nose burrowing
into my hair, and a sharp blast of warmth with each exhale on my neck and
shoulder. He caught, held a breath and then expressed it, "Uh-uh-uh,
huhhhhh!"
     My only noises were soft, tiny moans of passion as his hand pleasured
me, making slow, firm strokes back and forth. I could not bear it any
longer, I squirmed and turned in the bed, turning in his arms, turning to
face him, turning to press my face towards his and turning my lips to bear
against his own, a warm series of sounds emanated from our lips in the
silent, still, icy darkness around us broken only by the soft hissing of
the snowfall against the windowpane.
     As our lips met, it was warmth, warmth that exuded from our bodies,
warmth beneath the covers that bled from out of our bodies and into the
soiled mattress, heat that cut the pain and misery that shrouded our lives,
tearing it asunder and ripping it to unimportant dangling threads that once
had smothered us, warmth that thawed our frozen hearts and warmth that beat
within our veins, heat that surged through our skin and tingled as we
touched, wherever we touched, however we touched.
     No words were spoken by us in that dark, cold night, none were needed,
words would only have shattered this fragile, precious sensation, two
strangers finding common need, common passions, the sharing of our bodies
had a delicate beauty denied even the most ardent of lovers, for this
passion lay open to the world, naked in its infancy, all potential within
every touch, every caress the barest start of a promise that could mend the
rest of our lives!
     And so in silence broken only by our sighs, our groans and our gasps,
we kissed and fondled each other in that small bed, and now the bed was
roomy enough for both of us, more would only have been wasted upon us, we
were locked tightly together, our manhoods pressed together and Robert
fumbled his erect dong to lie against mind and he held them together like
that and I moaned and began to gently hunch towards him and the movement of
my body caused my foreskin to slide and grip and release, moving his own,
twin pleasures in one set of hip movements.
     Robert caught me and held me still, and giving me a frantic, hasty
kiss to reassure me of his intentions, he released me and wormed around in
the bed, and when I realized the glory of his purpose I groaned lustily and
shifted downwards on the bed. Our covers were cast aside, the room was
still warm enough when fired by the heat of our passion, and it was a body
hot and ardent that lay itself upon mine and the knees that landed on
either side of my head and the mouth that...oh, God! The mouth that...oh,
Heaven! The mouth that, that...God! God! Yes!
     I was inflamed by the strokes of his mouth upon my prick, I hastily
caught and stuffed his long dong into my own mouth and it slid, thin and
turgid and warm and musky, it slipped down my throat easily, for it fit
there, it belonged there, it was at home there. With his dong firmly
entrenched in my throat, I began to move my neck to stroke it. And his
mouth on my cock, it drew delight from every pore of my body, it seemed to
cover my entire form as it slid upon my prick, as his mouth, his warm
mouth, his wonderful mouth, the way that it moved, the way that it clung,
the way that it was warm and moist and soft and sweet, a ring of
multi-colored delights streamed out of my body as his lips moved up and
down my shaft, I was alive, alive with desire, burning with passion,
shivering now not with cold but with trembling need, if I did not reach my
peak soon I would explode from within from the deprivation!
     Moaning throatily about his dong, I tried to communicate my lust and
my need, but he paid me no heed or perhaps he did not understand, his mouth
remained a deliberate, loving, tender, ecstatic, warm, wet, clinging,
heavenly, wonderfully, delightfully, pleasingly, livid, licentious,
bursting, exploding, destroying, climactic, orgasmic...power!
     As my body crested in climax, as I writhed in orgasm, as I moaned in
passion, I felt my cock bursting as if it were a flower opening, as if some
new exotic blossom had come to life in this warm new habitat, the seed long
laying dormant thrust out its flowers in white, salty, creamy petals of
jism that curled happily about his mouth and laid its stamen upon his
tongue and begged for pollination and fruition in its new life and purpose.
     So lost was I in my own joys, so all-consuming they were, that I
hadn't noticed his own contortions until now, when my every sense was in
ultra-sensitive, hyperactive mode, only now I felt the hot poker that
thrust itself into my mouth and throat, powered by his hips ramming it into
me, I felt the pulses on his shaft as his cock sprayed its load into me, a
warm, thick, milky mead that burned my gullet and warmed my throat and then
my stomach, I was his basin to be filled from his pitcher of male lust, he
poured into me all that he held, all that he wished, and I contained it
all, it splashed within me, surged around and lay still at last, retained,
composed, transferred.
     In the post-coital glow, suckling the last dregs of the champagne of
his lust from its flask, I suddenly felt cold once again. I shuddered, he
felt it as well as crawled back up around and I wrapped my arms and the
blankets around us.
     "Good night, Mr. Forrester." I said to him once again.
     "Good night, Mr. O'Hanrahan." he whispered back once more.
     I turned my back upon him and his arms went around me, strangers no
longer, and I fell asleep.
     I awoke much later that same night, the air felt colder now, the snow
had stopped, and I knew it must be nearing morning. I wasn't sure what had
awakened me until I felt it again, my bare buttocks, my boxers having been
skinned from my frame somehow, and he was pressing his wet, sticky dong
against and between my buttocks.
     Once I had sorted out these sensations, once I knew what he intended,
I lifted my legs and pressed my nether regions back into his crotch, his
prick found the wet tucker of my anus and the head caught it, a white-hot
burst of pain mixed with pleasure, for I had never done this before. I
trembled and he thrust into me once again, and this time the head slipped
inside my sphincter, again I shuddered from the feeling. Pain it held for
me, pain and yet the promise of something more was there as well, a ring of
tingling pleasure around the pain, surrounding and complementing it.
     With slow, deliberate, kind thrusts, he continued this insertion into
my body, I groaned, I gasped back yells of pain at time, but always that
ring of pleasure tempted me to continue this, promising me that, once this
pain was over, it would remain for me, remain and grow.
     Some unknown time later, I had his cock firmly within me, not the
entire length, but enough that he stopped pressing harder into me and
letting me hold still until my body adjusted around it, the pain receding
into a soft whisper of itself, and then he began to gently move his body
back and forth.
     And now the promise of pleasure became reality. Now my body lit up in
a way I had never felt before, now my bowels proclaimed themselves in
sexual ways, deep within me was a source of pleasure, brought to being and
life by Robert's prick, by its movement, so that each thrust and withdrawal
was a renewal of the sensation.
     I groaned, I caught my leg and lifted it up high, removing the last
impediment to his movements, and he shifted slightly in bed and began to
hunch at me in earnest. My body thrilled to his thrusts, I relished his
rams, I was pleased with his pumping into me, I was delighted with his
dong's movements, my groans ceased to hold any pain and now were urgent
messages of joy, more, more, more!
     I'm not sure he credited my joy in this, for when I gasped, groaned
and when I ejaculated, spraying my seed into the air, he let loose a gasp
of wonder at this geyser and as I subsided into my exhaustion, he rolled me
onto my stomach and began to fuck me even harder, confident now in his
welcome into my body, he was ramming his prick into me with rapid, hard
thrusts, and I groaned again in pleasure and he gasped, his face flushed,
and he burst into loud groans of joy as his dong pelted my interior with
its hot juices, and he fell onto me, heaving and sweating, and I felt his
chest like a frantic bellows between us, pulling in air, pushing out again,
pulling it in.
     He half-crawled, half-fell off of me, and I looked at the light in the
sky, realized that it was dawn and we would soon be knocked up by
Mrs. Greenwood as we had asked the night before, to get up, get washed and
dressed, and eat a quick breakfast (breakfast! What a luxury now, that I
had thought it lost to me until Sunday!) before we went to our respective
jobs.
     I raised up on my elbows, looked over at him, his face still soft with
pleasure and vulnerable with passion, and I smiled and said, "Good morning,
Mr. Forrester."
     "Good morning, Mr. O'Hanrahan." he said back to me.
     "We should wash up before we dress and get our breakfasts." I
suggested.
     "I'll fetch the water for us both." He said as he got up. "You rest a
little longer."
     Dressed, we ate at the tavern I had noticed the night before (in the
daytime, it was a nice, respectable eatery) and traveled to the station
together to catch our separate trains.
     The rest of that week was almost luxurious. With a dollar and
thirty-five cents in my pocket and nothing but food and train fare to spend
it on, I made it to my payday with ease.
     That Saturday night, Mrs. Greenwood was perched in the front hallway
waiting on us boarders to return. When she saw us, she said, "Well, it's
the end of the week. One of you has to move out of that room. Which one is
it?"
     I smiled and said, "Actually, we talked it over and decided.
     "Yes?" she said, arching her eyebrows.
     "We'll stick together and take that five-dollar room." I told
her. "The one with the nice, big, comfy bed."

				  THE END
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		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM