                                            Mossberry Manor
                                           by
                                                    Little Dan



The poor child had been abandoned.  His mother and father, such as they were or had ever been, for that matter, had completely disappeared.  The landlord found him in the room, starving, dirty and alone one evening when he came to collect the rent.  


"So where are your mom and dad, then?" he asked the boy.


"Don't know."


"How long have you been by yourself?"


"Don't know.   A long time, I think."


"Well, are they ever coming back?"


"Don't know."  The boy did not miss his mom and dad who were rarely at home anyway, and when they were, would starve him, or strike him, or lock him in the closet for even the most minor infraction.


The landlord, Josiah Pettibone, was a kindly man.  He didn't know what to do with the child.   So he waited.  He let the boy keep the room for another two weeks, and even brought him food to eat and soap to shower with.   Then he had an offer on the room for a good price, which he could not refuse, so he took the boy into his own rooms to stay with him for another two weeks, and fed him and clothed him. 


Josiah Pettibone was not a wealthy man.  He had only the income from this rooming house, which he had inherited from his late father.  He was in his middle thirties and though some of the ladies in the neighborhood thought him quite handsome, he was quite alone.


He did not take to any of the ladies in the neighborhood.   They were loud, ill mannered, unkempt, and morally unfit.  No.  Lonely as he was, it was better to be alone than to have such a woman for a wife.   He had on occasion financially compensated one of these convenient women to satisfy his physical longings for the evening, but when she left, he was glad she was gone.


Therefore, when he took the boy to sleep in his second bedroom for those two weeks, he found that he was glad for the company.  


The boy, whose name was Farley, was a nice young lad, and surprisingly polite and well brought up to have come from the kind of people who had abandoned him.


Every day, they went walking together through the town, or they went shopping in the stores, or they bought food, which the boy helped him to cook in the little kitchen.


The boy was six, he said, but he had never been to school.  And from what Mr. Pettibone could gather, the father had been some sort of petty criminal who would regularly beat his wife, which had caused her to become an alcoholic.  Farley had seen all this.  He had lived through this and survived it.


He was a comely young lad, small in build, with clear skin, limpid brown eyes, and pink cheeks.  Mr. Pettibone would have almost called him beautiful, except that he was a little boy.   Day by day, Mr. Pettibone came to care more and more for young Farley, and was considering trying to keep the boy with him, but there was no way for that.


He had neither the resources nor the knowledge necessary in raising an impressionable young boy to become a self-sufficient man.  There was no other course for him but to finally call in the authorities, who immediately took charge of young Farley, and committed him to the County Orphanage.


As they led him away on that last day, the child was crying.  He clung to Pettibone's legs, screaming `no.no.no.no.no.' but they pried him loose and finally drove off with him, with the child turning and waving goodbye to Pettibone, who also cried as he waved goodbye to the boy. 


It was a three-hour ride into the country to get to Mossberry Manor, the County Orphanage.   When Farley emerged from the vehicle he saw a monstrous, cold, forbidding stone building, with bars on the windows.  Much like a prison. 


How could he live in such a place?   He shuddered just to think of it.  Worse even than the ill treatment he had received from his own mom and dad.   If only he could have stayed with Mr. Pettibone.


Surrounded by several guards, as if he had been a dangerous prisoner, he was led to the office of the Supervisor, Mr. Horace Hatty.   


"What is your name, boy?" asked the large formally dressed man sitting stiffly behind his wooden desk.


"It's Farley, sir.  Farley Perkins."


"And they say that you have been abandoned by your parents, Henry and Martha Perkins late of Pennyhaven Lane, flat number 3."


"Yes, sir."


"Well, young Farley, from this day on you will be a Mossberry boy.  We will feed you and clothe you, and even teach you how to read and write and do addition.  You will remain with us until your eighteenth birthday or until such time as you may be lucky enough to be chosen for adoption.  We often have couples coming here, looking for fine young lads to adopt.  In the meantime we will teach you a trade.   Starting from tomorrow morning, you will begin work in the license plate shop, where we will teach you to make the license plates, which we sell to the County for a handsome profit, which profit doth provide for your upkeep here, the food you shall eat and the uniform you shall wear.   Are there any questions, lad?"


"No, sir," said Farley.  Life was a continuing adventure and he would wait to see what the future would bring.  Of course, he would like to have remained with Mr. Josiah Pettibone.  He had never had such fine treatment.  But probably anything would be an improvement over his earlier days in the care of his natural parents, who had cursed and smacked him with astonishing regularity.  


They took him up several flights of winding stairs to a floor with several large chambers.   There was an empty bed available in one of those chambers, Dormitory A, and there he would sleep on one of the twenty narrow cots.
They gave him a white gown of coarse material, which would be his night wrap.  It was almost evening, and he hadn't eaten all day, but he was afraid to ask them for dinner.  They all seemed so stern.


"Take off your clothes, boy, and put on your gown," said one of the guards, who was in reality Timothy Hatty, a slim handsome cruel young man of twenty-two and the oldest of Horace's Hatty's three slim handsome sons, all of whom worked at the institution.   It was of course, nepotism.  They had made the county orphanage into the family business.


He took off his clothes and reached out for the white gown, which Timothy Hatty was holding out to him, but Timothy Hatty did not let go of the gown.  The boy was puzzled.   Timothy Hatty was appraising his small body from top to bottom.


"Turn around, boy.  Let us see the back of you."


Farley Turned.  He was, in reality, a little embarrassed to be standing naked before these handsome young men, and his little peepee started to stir and stiffen.  Why had that happened?   


"I think this one will work out nicely," said Timothy Hatty laughing.


"I believe you are right, brother.   He has a smooth and sweet little bum that he sits on," laughed Harry Hatty, the twenty-one year old slim, handsome, cruel younger brother of Timothy.   The third guard rubbed a gentle hand on Farley's bum.  The hand lingered there longingly.  That hand belonged to the third guard, Henley Hatty, the twenty-year old youngest son of Horace Hatty, who was the slimmest and handsomest of the three Hatty brothers, and as it happened, was not cruel at all.   Farley noticed that Henley had the most amazingly brilliant blue eyes.  They almost startled him.


A great noise was heard coming up the long staircase.  It was the other orphan boys returning to the dormitory after a long day in the license plate shop, and a meager dinner of meal cooked with fish heads to give them the protein they would need for strength.


Timothy again handed Farley the gown, and this time released it.  Farley did not even have the time to slip his arms through the holes before nineteen other boys noisily entered, laughing and punching each other around.   They stopped immediately when they saw the Hatty brothers, and snapped to a cowed attention.


"Evening, lads," said Timothy Hatty.  "We brought you a nice fresh young playmate here.   His name is Farley, and he's a poor orphan boy just like all of you, so you be nice to him, you hear, and you teach him the proper ways of behavior at Mossberry Manor."


Almost in unison the boys uttered `yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, sir, sir, yes, yes.'


The oldest of the Dormitory A residents stepped forward and shook his hand, and said "Very pleased to meet you, Farley.  My name is Finch, and I'm the head counselor in A.  So you got any problems, you come to me.  Okay?"

"Okay," said Farley, shaking Finch's hand.  Immediately he liked Finch.  Finch was blonde, and well muscled.   He looked extremely athletic.   Farley later learned that Finch had been a star rugby player in middle school, when his wealthy widower father had lost his vast fortune playing the futures market, and had thrown himself from the highest clock tower in the city.  There having been no other relatives, Finch had been remanded to Mossberry Manor.


"It's not so bad here, Farley.  We have some fun times.  Don't we lads?"


All the other lads nodded and chuckled.  


"Okay, lads," called Harry Hatty.  "It's getting late now, and there are a lot of license plates that need to be manufactured on the morrow, so you boys best get into your gowns and get some sleep."


The boys drifted, each to his own narrow cot, and reaching under the flat hard pillow, took out his folded gown.  They took off their orange, one-piece, daytime uniforms, which had a reach-in opening in the front, and a button flap in the back for more easily sitting down on the toilet.  Under the careful scrutiny of the three Hatty brothers, they each silently folded the orange garment, and placed it on the floor at the foot of their cot.  There was no kidding around and butt slapping and laughing tonight, with the Hatty brothers standing there.


Each boy got into his own bed and pulled up the thin blanket.  Farley was tired, and gratefully got into his own little cot.  He tried to fluff up the flat pillow, but it would not fluff.


"Walsham," said Timothy Hatty. 


Walsham, a clear-eyed almost pretty ten-year old two beds down from Farley sat up, startled.  His eyes were fearful.   "Yes?" he asked, though he already seemed to know.


"My shoes look scuffed," said Timothy.



"Oh, no!" Cried Walsham.


"Yes. They are quite scuffed. I would like it if you would come downstairs and polish them for me.  Oh, and you can bring your day clothes, because it will be late, and I will not make you come back upstairs, I will let you sleep downstairs in my room." 


With quiet resignation Walsham climbed out of his cot and pickup up his folded orange uniform, and went to stand next to Timothy Hatty.


"Okay, lads.   Lights out," said Harry Hatty turning off the switch and plunging the large room into semi-darkness.   Only the light from the hallway entered the room now, as there was only an opening and not a door from the hallway into the dormitory.   Farley heard the clattering footsteps receding down the hallway, and then descending down the first flight of stairs.  The Hatty brothers and Walsham were gone.  He was alone in his new bed in Mossberry Manor.  His narrow cot.  He pulled up the thin blanket and closed his eyes.   Sleep was not coming easily.


He opened his eyes, and he could see the other boys in their cots, resting quietly.  There was moonlight streaming in through the high window, and between the moonlight and the harsh incandescent light from the hallway, he could see the room clearly.


He closed his eyes again.  He heard movement.  He heard more movement.   He wondered what was happening. He opened his eyes.   It seemed that some of the beds were now empty.  It seemed that there might be two or even three boys squeezing into some of the other narrow cots, and there were odd movements happening under the covers.   It was strange.  He heard unfamiliar wet noises.  He wondered what they were doing.  And why hadn't they included him?   Of course, he was new here.  He realized that.  Hopefully, soon they would accept them as one of their own, and he would have chums.  With that thought, he drifted off to sleep.


Early the next morning, a jarring wake-up bell clanged loudly through the entire building.  And in all the dormitories the boys were getting up and shuffling unhappily off to the giant lavatory.   As many as a hundred boys were in the large shower room at one time, but the boys were very friendly and good natured and many of them helped other boys to soap up.  Farley stood on the long line to brush his teeth with his finger since he had not yet been given a toothbrush.  But when he got to the sink and looked up, he found that he could not see himself in the mirror.  It was so steamed up from the showers.   He donned the new orange uniform that he found folded on the floor at the foot of his bed and went down the many flights of stairs to the enormous dining hall.


Each boy took a dish and a spoon and lined up to fill his bowl from one of the giant vats containing breakfast.  ( A yellowish sludge apparently made from the fallen fruit from County orchards, generously collected and donated by the ladies of the charitable Mossberry Orphans Aid Society.)


Next came the lessons, and since he was the only boy there who didn't know his ABC's, he was given an hour of private tutoring in a small room down the hall, by none other than handsome Harry Hatty.


"Tell me what letter this is," Harry asked him at the end of the first hour, holding up a card.


"B," said Farley.


"It's a D, you stupid twerp," and with that Harry Hatty gave him a smarting swat on his behind.


"Oooww," said Farley.


"You'd better do better tomorrow," threatened Harry, grabbing his arm and leading him outside into the cold air, which went quickly through his thin orange uniform and made him shiver.   They walked down a wooden path to another ominous-looking large building.  This was the license plate shop.


Here he was given a hammer and chisel and a blank thin metal plate, and he was told to chisel out `BC 1734'.   Unfortunately, he had no idea what `BC 1734' looked like and so he dallied, which was a mistake.   Harry Hatty came over and flew at him in a rage.   He threw Farley over his knee, and ripping open his back flap, spanked him furiously on his little behind, which soon turned pink, and then a bright red.  As it got redder and hotter, Harry's hand slowed and began to stroke the cheeks, as if to soothe them.   


Finally, he pushed Farley off his lap and took him over to his brother, Henley, who was the shop steward.


"The stupid little twerp doesn't even know his letters and numbers," Harry explained.


Farley was busy trying to rebutton his back flap, but was having difficulty.  Finally he just gave up and let it hang down, exposing his little pink behind for all to see.  He was embarrassed.


"Leave him to me, brother," said Henley who led him to a workbench, and carefully wrote out `BC 1734' in large script with a paintbrush on a giant piece of cardboard.  He used red paint.  


"Here.  I'll help you get started," said Henley.  He lifted Farley on his lap, and they took the hammer and chisel and carefully worked a large `B' into the metal.  Tomorrow he would remember what `B' looked like.


At first they chiseled together, but then Henley let him hold the hammer and chisel by himself, and only held him tightly on his lap as the boy hammered the `C' onto the license plate all by himself.   Farley felt Henley rubbing his nose through his hair, and it felt really nice, like a good scalp massage.  He was conscious of Henley's coarse pants against his naked bottom.  At first Henley's lap had been soft, but now it felt hard and uncomfortable, as if there were something in there that could have poked him.


After he finished the `C', Henley left him on his own to do the numbers, but not before ruffling his hair one more time, and giving him a little bite on the earlobe. Farley decided that Henley was really nice.  He was certainly the nicest of the Hattys.   Farley liked him.  And he had the most brilliant blue eyes.


And so the days passed.  And so the nights passed.  And so the weeks passed.  And so the months passed.  And even the years began to pass.   Farley had learned all his letters and numbers and had become an excellent license plate chiseler.


After learning the basic alphabet, he was given simple books to read, and eventually began to enjoy reading the magazines that were in the toilets, like Hustler and Penthouse.


He never concerned himself with the question of why some of the beds were too full, and some of the beds were too empty every night.  He knew somehow that it was not his business.   Until one night one of the older boys came up to him just before lights out.


It was the blonde, muscular, athletic Finch who was the head counselor of Dormitory A, and was now almost seventeen years old.


"I like you, Farley," said Finch.


"You do?"   Farley was so grateful, because he hero-worshipped Finch.  And now Finch was telling him that he liked him.  This was so wonderful.  It was good being alive.   "I like you too," he admitted to Finch.  


"Great.  I've been watching you for some time now, and I think you're a very lovely boy.   It would be so nice if we had girls here, but you're a lovely little boy."


"Thank you," said Farley again.  He was so flattered.


"So I was thinking," continued Finch.  "After lights out, why don't you tiptoe down to my bed?  It's that one against the wall, there."


"I know," said Farley.  He knew where Finch slept.  He knew where all the boys slept, and especially where Finch slept.  He liked to secretly watch Finch's strong muscles flex as he stripped off his oranges each night and bent over to place them on the floor at the foot of his cot, before donning his white gown.  


"When you come into my bed after lights out, we'll have a little talk, you and I.   We really haven't had much of a talk before, have we?"


"No," said Farley.  Finch was much older and more mature, and naturally would have little interest in conversing with a youngster such as himself.  He had never questioned that fact, or tried to impose himself, as much as he secretly liked Finch.   But tonight they were going to crowd together in the same cot, and talk.  Farley was excited.   He couldn't wait for it to happen.


"Lights Out," called Timothy Hatty from the dormitory room entrance, shutting off the light switch.  Farley heard him go into the other dormitories calling `Lights Out' and after a little while, when he thought everyone was asleep he tiptoed barefoot to the far end of the room.   Finch held up the thin blanket, and Farley crawled under it, and against Finch's strong body.   Farley certainly hoped the other boys were asleep and hadn't seen him, because he didn't want anybody to know of his secret special friendship with the manly Finch.  Finch had picked Farley to chat with after dark, and that made Farley feel very special.


Finally Finch, whose mouth was very close to his ear, so close he could feel the heat of Finch's breath, said to him, "How do you like the magazines in the toilets?"


"Very nice," answered Farley, and began to quote an article he was reading about Bambi Swanson, the girl next door.   And the magazine even showed her without any clothes on.  She looked way different from all the boys in the dormitory.   She had these enormous breasts, and there was a slit between her legs instead of a normal peepee.   But the article was interesting.  It told how she had grown up in a small town and had struggled to become a big star in the movies, whatever movies were.


"I've seen that article," said Finch.  "That Bambi Swanson is a real hot one.  She has beautiful tits and one sweet pussy."


"Yes," agreed Farley, not having the slightest idea what Finch was talking about, but he didn't want to appear stupid, so he figured it was just better to agree with everything Finch said.


"Just thinking about that Bambi makes my peter get hard.  How I would love to have her polish my knob for me."


"Yes," said Farley, not knowing what a peter or a knob was.


"You want to feel my peter, Farley?" asked Finch.


"Okay," said Farley.  At least now he would learn what a peter was.


Finch took Farley's hand and placed it on his stiff peter under the blanket.  Farley could feel the stiff rod even through the coarseness of the white gown.  So that was a peter.   Then he had one too.   But his was much smaller, though it was also a little stiff now.


"Isn't it hard?" asked Finch.


"Yes," said Farley.  It certainly was.


"Let me lift up my gown, so you can feel it better," said Finch.  He edged around under the cover and raised his bottom up, to lift the gown above it.  Then he placed Farley's small hand back on his peter.


"It's so stiff.  It's so stiff and hard," breathed Finch into his ear.  "It wants to shoot a load."


"Okay," said Farley.  He was beginning to like holding the fleshy rod.  


"Why don't you just move your hand up and down on it a little.  Lightly.  Kind of massage it for me.  It feels so nice."


"Okay," said Farley, beginning to move his fingers up and down the instrument.


"Feel my balls," said Finch.


"What's that?" asked Farley.


Finch just gave a little chuckle, and placed Farley's fingers lower down on his tight hairy testicles.  Farley thought they felt very nice also.


He continued to play with Finch's balls, until Finch instructed him to return his attentions to his peter.


"Oh, that feels so nice, Farley.  If I close my eyes, I can imagine that your hand is Bambi Swanson's hand.   It feels so nice.  My dick is so hard.   Yes.  Yes.  I'm going to come.  I'm going to come."


Then Farley felt something hot and wet and sticky all over his hand, and the stiff peter, which he continued to fondle, gradually dwindled to normal size and shape.   Farley didn't know what to do, so he just continued to tickle and stroke, waiting for further instructions.   When he realized that Finch was fast asleep now, he dried his hand on the coarse sheet and tiptoed back to his own cot.  Now he could plainly see that some of the beds were too empty, and some of the beds were too full.  Maybe the other boy's had been reading the Bambi Swanson story also.


Now that Finch had become his friend, life became more bearable at Mossberry Manor.  And he was making another friend.  An unexpected friend.   One of the dreadful Hattys, Henley, who wasn't really dreadful at all, had taken a great liking to him.


He often sat Farley on his lap and helped him chisel the plates in the shop.  And Farley became very conscious of the hard thing that was inside his pants, which he now knew was a peter.


One day when they had an hour's recess, and the other boys were all playing ball in the athletic field, Henley came over to him and proposed that they take a nice walk in the woods together.


Farley couldn't believe that one of the Hattys, who was not an orphan, but an executive of the orphanage, and an adult wanted to be his friend.  He happily agreed to go walking with Henley.


When they got a little way out into the woods, the path got more treacherous, and Farley began tripping over roots.   Henley clasped his hand and held him as they went on their way.


"I like you, Farley," said Henley.


"Thank you, Mr. Hatty," said Farley, because he was respectful and wouldn't dare call Henley by his first name.


"Here.  Let us sit down on this tree stump and rest," said Henley.


"Okay," said Farley.


But it wasn't such a big tree stump and there wasn't really room for them both, so Henley just laughed and lifted young Farley onto his lap.  Farley looked up into his brilliant blue eyes.


"You're a very pretty boy, Farley."


"Thank you."


"Very pretty."  Then he began kissing Farley's hair and holding him very close.  Farley's heart was beating in his chest.  He had never had affection like this before.  How wonderful this was.  Better than anything.  Henley began licking his ear, and he didn't really like having a wet ear, but he didn't really mind the special attention either.  If Henley liked licking his ear, he would put up with having his ear licked.   Henley seemed to be getting more and more worked up, and under his behind, he could feel one of Henley's hands.  Henley was drawing a big peter out of his pants opening, and a few minutes later Farley was sure that he could feel the buttons of his own little black flap being silently undone. 


Henley lifted him slightly for a second, and then he felt his own naked cheeks pressing down on Henley's huge peter.   Henley kept kissing his hair.


"What a beautiful little boy.  What a beautiful little boy," he crooned, rocking Farley back and forth on his lap, and soon Farley felt a hot sticky wetness all over his bottom.  He knew what it was.  It was the hot sticky wetness that comes out of a stiff peter.  It had come out of Finch's peter, and now it had come out of Henley's peter.


Stealthily Henley rebuttoned Farley's back flap, and stood up to straighten his pants, setting Farley once again upon the ground.   Henley was pretending that Farley's flap had never been unbuttoned and subsequently rebuttoned.  He was acting as if his peter had not been out of his pants, and as if there had been no hot sticky liquid shooting from it.   It was as if he didn't want to acknowlege what had occurred, so Farley said nothing.


"Time to be getting back, I fear," said Henley, and they began going back down the path to the yard.  Back to the license shop.  Back to the grind.


That Sunday, however, Farley had a wonderful surprise.   It was visitor's day, and though the boys had no families and there were never any visitors, today Farley had a visitor.  It was Josiah Pettibone.   Farley was overjoyed to see him, and ran to him and threw his arms around the man.  The man was touched, and hugged Farley closely.  He pressed his face against Farley's lips and let Farley kiss him on his black whiskers.  Then he kissed Farley on both cheeks and lightly on the lips and looked him in the eyes.


"How are you getting on, son?" he asked.


"Fine," said Farley.


"I really miss you, lad.  I wish I could have kept you with me, but I couldn't"


"I miss you too," said Farley, and he really did.  He realized that he loved this man, and wanted to be with him.  Maybe someday that could come about.  They spent a wonderful day together, and were almost like father and son.  When the horn blew and it was time for the visitors to leave, Farley began to cry a little, and, as before, threw his arms around Pettibone's legs.  "Don't go.  Don't go," he pleaded.


"I have to go, lad," said Pettibone.  "Visiting hours are over."


"Take me with you.  Please take me with you."


"I can't, lad.  The law won't allow it.  You know that.   But I'll come again.  I promise."  He kissed the boy and walked down the long winding path away from the institution.  Tearfully, Farley waved to him as he went.  They waved to each other.  Both were in tears.


But to make up for his disappointment, things began to get more interesting at Mossberry Manor.    A couple of weeks later, Finch whispered to him, just before lights out.  "I think we should have a little talk."


"Okay," said Farley.   He assumed rightly that he was going to be touching Finch's strong hard peter again, and he was not opposed to doing so.  After lights out, he waited a decent interval and tiptoed down to the end bed.  He crawled under the blanket.  Finch was completely nude.  He was not wearing the coarse white gown at all.


"I keep thinking of that hot cunt, Bambi Swanson," said Finch.  "She's driving me fucking crazy.  I wish I could meet her.  She makes me so hot.   Feel me.  Feel me."


Now Farley knew where to feel, and he felt.  And Finch was certainly hot.  His peter was hot and his balls were hot.   Farley tickled them as before, and Finch just lay on his back with his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face.


"That's it, Bambi baby.  That's it.  You know how to make a guy feel good, honey.  I love the way you play with my dick."


If Finch wanted to pretend that he was in bed with Bambi, that was okay.  It didn't really matter.   As long as he was making Finch smile so happily, everything was just fine.


"Oh, Bambi.  Oh, Bambi.  That's so fucking sweet.  You have such tender delicate little hands.  I love how they feel on my peter."


As Finch was saying all these things, Farley was getting more and more excited.  His own little instrument was now like a little pencil.  He wanted to touch it and stroke it, but his hands were too busy touching and stroking Finch.


"Oh, Bambi.  You could make me feel so wonderful, if you only would."


"What?" asked Farley.


"If you would put it in your sweet little mouth, and lick it and suck on it.  I'd be ever so grateful if you would polish my knob for me.   Your mouth would be even smoother than your hands.  It would feel so great.  I know it would feel so great.  If you could just do that for old Finch, Bambi.  Finch would thank you till his dying day.  I mean that."


"In my mouth?" asked Farley, a little aghast.


"Yes.  It's what everybody does.  Every grown person.  Didn't you know that?"


"I guess I did," said Farley, but he really hadn't known that.  He didn't know how to proceed, but Finch anticipated that.


"We don't want any of the other boys to know what good friends we are," whispered Finch into his ear, so I need you to climb down under the cover and get between my legs.  That way no one can see what we're doing."


"Okay," said Farley.


He moved fully under the blanket.  His head was covered.  All was dark.  But with Finch's guidance he was positioned kneeling between Finch's strong thighs, and Finch guided his mouth over the thick knob of his peter.  At first, Farley choked a little and pulled his head off, but than he gathered saliva in his mouth, and let Finch's strong hand push his head back down.  He took it fully in his mouth.   He liked the feel of it and he liked the taste of it.  He ran his tongue over the spherical tip of the peter, which was, he now realized, Finch's knob.  


"Go up and down on it," encouraged Finch, putting his head beneath the cover also, to watch Farley do it.  "That's it.  All the way down.  Further in.  Further in.  Don't choke.  Breathe through your nose.  That's it.  Oh.  That's so nice.  So nice. You like that, Bambi?"


Farley, pretending to be Bambi whispered that he did.


"Suck on my balls, baby.  Suck on my big heavy balls," and he pushed Farley's head down to complete the commission.  "Oh, baby.  Oh, baby.  You're so good.  You're so good.  I love your mouth, baby.  Your make me feel like I'm in heaven, honey.   Go back to my cock."


"Farley, figuring that the cock was the peter went back to it, and after a few minutes, Finch began to force his head down so that the knob of the peter was all the way in the back of his throat and he wanted to choke, and Finch's hips started to spasm wildly, and the hot sticky liquid came gushing out, now into Farley's mouth, who had no other choice but to swallow it.   It was sweet.   He cradled Finch's cock in his mouth as it dwindled, and he heard Finch lightly snoring.  He had so relaxed Finch, that Finch had easily fallen asleep.   Quietly Farley crawled from beneath the blanket and made his way back to his own lonely cot, but his own peter was still stiff, thinking about what had happened and he tried to caress and stroke it the way he had Finch's.  And it was feeling very nice, and he felt like he would have liked to shoot out some hot thick sticky liquid.  But there was none.  Perhaps if he could maneuver his mouth down onto his little peter.  But no.  Maybe when he was taller, but not now.


Josiah visited him now on every visiting day, and brought him crackers and jams and other good things.  He dearly loved Josiah.  If only Josiah had been his own papa.   At the end of each visiting day, both their hearts were wrenched.  Every time.


But still on the other days during recess, he went walking in the woods with Henley Hatty, who had those brilliant blue eyes.   And they always ended up sitting on a tree stump in the middle of the forest with Farley's flap mysteriously hanging open, and Henley's naked peter pressed against his bottom.  And Henley would kiss his hair, and murmer things like "my dear sweet little boy," and "my beautiful little boy."  And once Henley kissed him lightly on the lips, which was very nice.  Just a little peck.  But on their next walk when their lips were pecking, he suddenly found Henley's large tongue probing the insides of his little mouth.  It tasted lemon from the lemon drop that Henley had been sucking.  It was quite pleasant.


But Henley was a perfect gentleman, and they never went beyond the cuddling and the kissing.   Actually Farley would have liked to do for Henley what he was already doing for Finch, but he wouldn't dare suggest such a thing.  That was, of course, a deep dark secret between himself and his good friend, Finch.


Several nights later, Finch again invited him for an after hour's chat under the blanket.  Everything was proceeding as it always had, when Finch pulled him up and whispered softly into his ear.   "I would like to do other things with my sweet Bambi."


"What is that?" asked Farley.


"I would like to fuck her.   My peter is so stiff and so hard and so horny, and it needs a really tight little hole like my Bambi's sweet pussy."   Farley didn't have any idea what the handsome powerful boy was talking about, so he just said,


"Okay."


"Really?"  Finch expressed delight.  Was his Bambi actually going to let him fuck her?   What damn good luck.   His heart was bursting with joy.   He easily flipped Farley over on his belly and climbed on top of him, his large muscular form almost hiding the slender wraith-like figure beneath, and before Farley knew what was happening, he felt Finch's hard blunt knob stabbing at his tender little butt hole.   But Finch's knob was wet and slidy from Farley's saliva and he managed to work the knob in.  Farley groaned into the pillow.


"Shut up, you little twat.  Do you want everyone to hear you?"  hissed Finch.


"No," said Farley.  This was their secret, and their secret alone.  He bit his lower lip as Finch pushed forward and bore the pain of a strange new lengthy hardness penetrating his bum.


When Finch reached bottom, he lay on Farley's back and closed his arms tightly around him.  The pain was disappearing, and Farley began to like the protected feeling with which the embrace was providing him.  And then Finch started to slowly move up and down on top of him, pressing into him on each downstroke, at which times he felt Finch's large balls pressed between his thighs.


Up and down.  Up and down.  It was ever so pleasant.


"Oh, my sweet little, Bambi," crooned Finch into his ear.  "What a delightful tight little pussy you have, my angel.  I could go on fucking it forever.   But I think I'm going to shoot soon.  I'm going to shoot my hot cum into your little virgin pussy. My seed is so powerful tonight that I am going to fill your belly with our own little baby, Bambi.  Would you like to have my baby?"


Again, Farley had no idea what the older boy was talking about.  He just went along.  And everything felt so nice anyway.   He didn't know how he could have a baby.  He didn't know how anybody had a baby.  Finch knew how babies were conceived and would have been well aware that he could not implant a baby in Farley's asshole.   But he was so carried away in his ecstasy, that for a few moments he actually believed that he was fucking the beautiful starlet, Bambi Swanson in her sweet shaved little cunt.  This was his first taste of cunt, and he loved it.


"Oh, god.  I'm coming.  I'm coming.  Here it comes," screamed Finch into his ear as a loud whisper.  "Take my hot load, you little bitch.  I'm filling your hot whore pussy with my hot come.  Take it.  Take it."   And he slammed down and down on top of Farley's little behind, as Farley felt the hot sticky liquid now shooting deep inside him.   Well, at least his hand would not be sticky tonight.


They lay there breathing heavily, and soon Finch was lightly snoring.  And poor Farley was crushed underneath Finch, with both of them underneath the thin cover.  He needed to get back to his own bed, but Finch was so heavy.  Farley was having trouble breathing.  Finally, he succeeded in rolling Finch over on his back, still fast asleep.  He straightened his white gown and tiptoed silently back to his own cot, but now glowing with the feeling of Finch's personal fluids held dearly inside him.


Chiseling license plates was boring, but there was enough happiness in Farley's life to keep him cheerful.   Finch was fucking Bambi very often now, and Henley was taking Farley for many an affectionate walk in the forest, and then there was always visiting day, when his dear Josiah would come laden with delicious treats for him.


But somehow word leaked out about his interludes with Finch.  How could everyone have found out?   It had been supposed to be their secret.   He was crushed when he passed by Finch and Grimley, another muscular athletic boy, and heard Finch whisper to Grimley.  He gives the greatest blowjobs, man.  You've got to try it.  It'll blow your mind.  And his ass is like a tight little pussy.  If I get me a wife one day with a pussy half that nice, I'll be in heaven the rest of my whole life long"


Grimley was appraising him and smiling.


That night Finch did not fall asleep on top of Farley after his ejaculation.  He climbed off of him, and told Farley, "Why don't you go over and see Grimley, two beds down.  I was telling him what a lovely lad you were and he's anxious to become good friends with you."


Farley was always glad to have new friends.  He had always admired Grimley, but was a little afraid of him.  Grimley seemed to have little interest in a youngster such as himself.  He tiptoed over to Grimley's bed and tapped him on the shoulder.


"Get in," whispered, Grimley, holding up the blanket.   Soon they were cuddling and Grimly was fondling his butt under the gown, as he played with Grimley's hard peter.


"Finch tells me that you are very good at polishing a knob.  Is that right?" asked Grimley.


"I think so," said Farley.


"Wonderful," said Grimley,  "I'd be so happy if you would do it for me.  Would you polish my knob for me, Farley?"


"Okay," said Farley.  "He wondered what Grimley's knob would taste like. If it would be as nice as Finch's.  He climbed down under the blanket and took Grimley's slender flesh stick in his mouth.  He ran his tongue over the shiny knob to appraise it, and then his mouth moved down on the slender stick.  It was not as nice as Finch's peter, but he still liked it.  He wanted to taste Grimley's hot sticky liquid, to see if it was as nice as Finch's, but Grimley had other ideas.  Without even asking, Grimly just flipped him over and mounted him and the rigid stick was soon deep inside him, and after a few pleasant pressings, he felt Grimley's hot sticky liquid shooting inside him and warming his bowels.  "What a nice tight little cunt you have, Bambi," he said.  So Finch had told him that he pretended Farley was Bambi, but Farley didn't really mind.  He just knew he liked polishing knobs and being topped as it were, whatever name they wanted to call him.



After that there was no stopping it.  All the boys wanted to become Farley's friend, and he had never been so happy in his life.  He had never felt so liked and so wanted.   Mossberry Manor had become a wonderful home to him.


Sometimes he would be friends with four or five boys a night, and he grew addicted to the feeling of holding quantities of liquid within him.   And it didn't stop there.  He became so popular, that after being mouth and ass-fucked by the boys in Dormitory A, he was rented out for cigarettes and cookies to the boys in the other dormitories, B and C and D and E etc. etc.


All day long he chiseled license plates, but he lived for the delights waiting for him after Lights Out.   Of course, he was not getting a lot of sleep, and sometimes drifted off in the middle of `RT 2754', or WW 1156' or whatever.  Nevertheless, he had never been so happy.


But there came a sudden development.   One day, he was called out of the license shop in the middle of chiseling `DT 1864'.   Timothy Hatty took him by his arm and virtually dragged him across the yard and into the main building, where he was escorted into the private office of Horace Hatty, himself.


"This is a nice young lad of the age you were seeking," said Horace Hatty to a dour middle-aged couple sitting in chairs across from his large desk.  "His name is Farley.  Farley, say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Gettle."


"Hello," said Farley.   The Gettles merely frowned at him.


"He don't look very strong," commented Mr. Gettle.


"Oh, he is stronger than he looks.  And he will develop with hard labor.  Won't you, Farley?"


"Yes, sir," said Farley.


"I hope he don't eat too much.  Meat isn't cheap these days."


"You don't have to feed him meat," laughed Mr. Hatty.  Young Farley does quite nicely on our nightly diet of meal and fish heads here at Mossberry Manor.  When he arrived here, he was half the size he is now."


"Well, we need someone to help Mr. Gettle with the heavy work when he's laying bricks, so I guess this one will do as well as any," Mrs. Gettle said.  She seemed a very unpleasant woman.


"You can have him pack his things," said Mr. Gettle.  "We'll take him with us right now."


"He has no things," explained Mr. Hatty.  "His clothes are what he is wearing.  His County uniform.  But I shall let him wear it home with you.  Mind you.  I want it returned at the earliest possible convenience."


And so it was decided that the Gettles would adopt Farley.  He would be Farley Gettle, adopted son of the County Bricklayer.   They arrived at the Gettle home after nightfall, and since it was too late for Mrs. Gettle to cook dinner, they sent Farley to bed hungry.  He was to sleep on a mat in the attic.  In the corner.  Just where the eaves met the floorboards.


They had no blanket for him, but gave him an old and slightly torn sheet to keep out the cold wind, which was whistling through the eaves.  Also he had no night clothes, so he would have to sleep naked.  Farley lay there shivering, a tear running down his cheek.  For the first time he fully realized how wonderful it had been to be an orphan.  He missed Finch and Grimley and all his other friends in Dormitory A and Dormitory B and Dormitory C etc. etc.


After a breakfast of boiled cornmeal, during which the Gettles devoured their bacon, eggs and pancakes, Farley left with Mr. Gettle for the building site.  "See that pile of bricks over there," said Mr. Gettle.  "Load them in the wheelbarrow and bring them here."  And that's what he did all day.  Pick up heavy bricks and load them in a wheelbarrow, and wheel them over to where Mr. Gettle was erecting a brick wall.  He would then have to lift each brick out of the wheelbarrow and put it in handy reach of Mr. Gettle.  Every so often, he had to take a big stick and mix the thick cement in the giant vat.  It was tiring work.  He wasn't used to such heavy labor, and he didn't like it.  He had always been an artisan.  He had crafted license plates.


The Gettles rarely spoke to him, and never kindly.  They never called him Farley.  They called him `boy' when ordering him to do this or that.  And they were ugly.  Mr. Gettle's body was flabby and flaccid, and his belly hung down over his belt.  Nightly Farley would dream of all the beautiful peters back at the orphanage, but he wouldn't even allow himself to contemplate what Mr. Gettle's peter might look like.  The thought was too horrible.   


Every day he grew more and more miserable.  He became so nervous that he began to drop things.  Like the brick he dropped on Mr. Gettle's foot one morning.  He was given a good whipping for that.  He didn't want to be adopted.  He didn't want to have foster parents.  He wanted to be back at Mossberry Manor with all the other orphans.   He longed for all those wonderful times after Lights Out.  How he missed all the other boys, and their peters, and the way he would polish their knobs for them, and then they would lie on top of him and cuddle him, and he would feel so loved and so secure.


One day, he snapped.  He could take it no more and he snapped.  It was at the dinner table.  Mrs. Gettle had broiled some delicious looking mutton chops, which smelled so wonderful.   She served Mr. Gettle a plate with a chop and some mashed potatoes with brown gravy.  Then she put her own similar plate on the table.   After that she set down the usual bowl of meal and fish heads in front of Farley.   He had had enough.   


"No," he screamed.  "Give me a chop.  I want a chop," and with that he took the bowl of meal and fish heads and threw it against the wall, leaving an ugly stain, that would never fade.


"That's it.  I knew it was a mistake from the start.  Cancel the adoption. Take him back," screamed Mrs. Gettle.  "I want him out of my house this instant."


And so it was that Farley was returned to Mossberry Manor.  Mr. Gettle drove out to the orphanage and brought the boy into Horace Hatty's office.  "This won't do," he told Hatty.   "The boy is uncooperative, impolite, a thorough rotter.  He needs to be taught to respect his elders.  And also he's a slacker.   He needs to be taught a decent work ethic."


Farley was mortified, but still glad to be back at Mossberry Manor where he belonged.  Mr. Hatty clucked his tongue and said, "What will become of you now, boy?  You had a great opportunity with a lovely family and you blew it.   We will have to teach you to be more obedient and respectful if you want to get along in this world."  After that he called in his son, Timothy, and explained the situation.


Timothy grinned at him, almost jubilant that he had failed.  Timothy would teach the little bugger how to behave on the morrow, but for now he led Farley up the many flights of stairs, and fortunately there was a cot available in his old home, Dormitory A, only five beds down from Finch's.   They gave him a coarse white gown, and he was glad to have something to put on at night.


Word had gotten out, and now everyone knew of his shame and his failure.   He lay alone in his cot, the tears rolling down his cheek, but suddenly Finch appeared by his bedside.  Finch climbed in next to him under the blanket and they cuddled.  Finch soothed the sobbing boy.   "Never you mind.  Never you mind.  Me.  I'm glad to have my sweet little Bambi back to polish my knob for me.   I haven't had a decent knob polish since you left."


Farley felt the randy peter pressing against his thighs, as Finch cuddled him.


"My peter is so hot and horny.  He needs his Bambi so much.  He wants Bambi to make him happy.   Would you make my peter happy, Bambi?  Would you polish my knob for me right now?"   And Bambi did.   And Farley knew then that he had come home.  Whatever could go wrong in the world, a stiff peter in his mouth or his behind would always make things better.   A stiff peter had become a symbol of comfort and stability for him.


But things never stay the same.   The pleasant existence he had grown used to at the County Orphanage was going to alter.  After a long but satisfying day in the license shop and a special celebratory dinner of Mock Hogs Bladder Stew in honor of Harry Hatty's birthday, the boys retired to the dormitories.   No sooner had Farley folded his orange uniform and placed it on the floor at the foot of his cot, when he had the uncomfortable feeling of an evil eye appraising his small behind.  He turned and saw Timothy Hatty standing in the doorway studying him.



"Farley," said Timothy.  "My patent leather shoes are scuffed and not at all shiny as they should be.  I need you to polish them for me.  Come with me to my room please."


"May I put on my gown, sir?" asked Farley, already a little afraid.  He had heard stories, and he knew that being asked to polish Timothy's shoes was not a cause for celebration.


"No.  You may not.   Come with me forthwith.  I so dislike having scuffed shoes, that we have not a moment to waste.   He nakedly and dejectedly followed Timothy down the many long steep flights of stone stairs and down the dark corridor in the lower cellar where Timothy had his rooms.


The walls were red, but all the furnishings were black.   The sheets on the large bed, the decorative whips hanging from the walls, and the large leather pocket-like device that hung from the ceiling on silver chains (which he later heard referred to as a sling).  All were black.  There were many chains.  There were many ropes.  Ropes and chains.  Ropes and Chains.  And black leather devices for punishment and flagellation.


Timothy placed a pair of scuffed patent leather shoes on the floor in the middle of the room.  Next to them he placed a tin of black shoe wax, and a soft cloth.


"I want to see my face in them.  Shiny, like a mirror, Farley, or you will know the consequences."


Trembling, Farley fell to his knees on the hard stone floor and began to polish the shoes.  He rubbed and he shined and he rubbed and he shined, and they did look shiny but when he held them up, because of the dark lighting in the room, he was unable to see his face in them.  When he could do no more, he held them out for Timothy's inspection.


"Why can't I see my face, Farley?"  Timothy asked.


"Is it because the room is so dark?"  asked Farley nervously.


"Don't get smart with me, you little twerp," said Timothy coldly as he lashed out  with a small black whip and left a red mark on Farley's tender right buttcheek.


"You may not be good at polishing shoes, but I've been hearing that you're the number one knob polisher at Mossberry Manor.  How is it that I am the last to know?  How is it that in all these years you have never once polished my knob for me, Farley."


"I don't know, sir," said Farley.  "You never asked me."


"Well now you have your chance to make up for the past.   Tonight I will let you polish my knob.  But first you must be punished for the shoddy shine which you applied to my beautiful shoes."  He sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled Farley across his lap and began to spank him with a stinging open palm.  At least he wasn't using the whip.


"Owww.  Owww."


"Louder.  I can't hear you."  And he kept spanking.  Farley's behind was bright red and burning and he was twisting around on Timothy's lap trying to get away, but Timothy was holding him tight.


"Owww.   Owww," he screamed as loud as he possibly could.  His pain was arousing Timothy.  He could feel Timothy's peter inside the heavy black leather pants now.  He hadn't felt it before.


"Beg me to let you polish my knob," Timothy ordered.


"Please, sir.  Please let me polish your knob."


He finally was able to convince Timothy to grant his wish, and Timothy pulled off his tight black leather trousers.  His hard peter was not nearly as nice as Finch's.   It was short and stubby, but it was definitely rigid.


Timothy sat on the tip of the sling, gently swinging back and forth as Farley crawled on his knees and finally stopped between Timothy's sinewy black-haired thighs.   He lowered his head and began to polish Timothy's knob.   There wasn't a lot of length to worry about, so he just gave the knob his utmost concentration.  He ran his tongue over it in every direction to stimulate it, and Timothy began to moan.  Farley was learning how to please different men.  And he believed that he had discovered the perfect technique for Timothy.


In fact Timothy was enjoying the polishing so much that even though he wanted desperately to feed the boy his hot sticky liquid, he kept lifting the boy's head off his stub by pulling up on his hair.  In this way he could slow himself down and regroup his senses, before releasing his precious fluid and maybe being done for the night.   This went on for over an hour, and Farley's knees were hurting from the hard stone floor, and his tongue was hurting from so much exercise, and he was tired.  He wanted to sleep.  He just wanted to sleep.  But that was not to be. 


Screaming like a madman, Timothy released his hot juices into the boy's mouth, all the while painfully pulling Farley's hair, until the last jet had been released, and the last spasm of his lower body had quieted.


"Very nice, boy.  Very nice.   We'll do this again, very soon.  You have certainly given my knob the finest polishing it has ever had."   


Farley felt that Timothy was becoming more tender with him, and he was grateful.  "May I go up to my cot now, sir?"


"No.  No.  Not yet.  You are not quite finished here.  And when you have finished, it will be so late that there will be no point in your going upstairs.  I will let you sleep here, next to me," and then he walked naked across the room and pressed a buzzer.  Soon there was a knock on the chamber door.  Timothy opened it.   There were Harry Hatty, Henley Hatty and even corpulent middle-aged Horace Hatty standing stark naked, all fondling erecting peters.


They gathered around him and lifted his small body into the sling and strapped him in.  His legs and arms strapped high above his head, and his little still-pink behind fully exposed with the tiny hole now slightly gaping.   It gaped easily now, having hosted so many beautiful teen-age peters in the different dormitories.


Before they strapped a mask over his eyes he had a chance to assess the three new peters.   Horace's was normal length and of medium thickness, and his balls hung heavily, as he was no longer young.   Harry Hatty had a penis whose length and width was almost obscene.   It was as if nature had played a cruel joke and given him the extra girth that she had denied his elder brother.   But Henley.  Henley had a beautifully shaped penis of perfect length and width, and large but tight testicles, so tight that they didn't sway when he walked towards Farley.   But at that point the eye-mask was placed over Farley's eyes, and he could only judge intuitively what was happening to him.


He felt a pressing at his sphincter, which fortunately had been well exercised, and was able to spread apart to accommodate the first invader.  Immediately, by the feel of its size, he knew it was Horace Hatty inside him.  He even felt the large swaying balls hitting against his bottom cheeks each time Horace pushed himself in.   Someone was twisting his tender nipples and it hurt, and he thought that that was also Horace.   And when the man was approaching orgasm, he started to moan, he knew it was definitely Horace Hatty, who was obviously bending his upper torso over him as he pinched his nipples, all the while slamming his peter into him.


He was glad to feel the warm sticky liquid when it finally gushed, because now Horace Hatty was finished.   He felt the liquid dribbling out of his open hole and running down his cheeks onto the sling and onto the floor.   Another hard member begged entrance now.  It pushed and it pushed, and the knob got in, but the peter was so short that the knob kept coming out.  But Timothy  (it was so obviously Timothy again.) was not discouraged.  He was determined to fuck the boy and shoot inside him, and each time his knob came out, he forced it back inside in a quick stabbing motion.   Farley found this extremely painful.  The stabbing was bruising his sphincter.   Finally Timothy pressed himself very tightly against the behind so that it would not come out again, and tried to obtain friction by rotation.   Since he had recently ejaculated in Farley's mouth, this took some time.  But finally Farley felt the blessed balm of the hot sticky liquid, which meant that Timothy had finished with him.  And this time hopefully for the rest of the night.


But now the next knob pressed in, and Farley could feel his ass being stretched wider than anyone had ever before stretched it.  This was of course Harry Hatty.  No doubt about that.   And when the knob had widened the hole, the awesome length followed it inside the boy's canal.   If it had only been just a little less long, Farley thought he might even have enjoyed it, but as it was, it kept hitting against a tender wall inside him, which curved in a different direction.  He hoped there would not be permanent damage from Harry.   


It went on and on.  The great length in.  The great length out.  And on and on.  And it was hurting, and he was starting to cry.   But suddenly there were lips upon his own, kissing him.  Such sweet tender kisses.  Then a tongue began to probe his mouth, and he tasted lemon.  It was Henley.  Then Henley wrapped his arms around him and comforted him and kissed him, all the while that Harry Hatty fucked him.


Then, along with hearing terrible roars, he felt Harry's cock expand to an even greater immensity inside him.  The pain was excruciating, but then a hot healing balm shot in, in many spurts, and it was over, but Henley was still kissing him, and with Henley's tongue still deep inside his mouth, he lost consciousness.  He was so tired and it had been so stressful.  He fell asleep.


He woke the next morning to find himself lying naked next to Timothy on the black sheets.  Timothy was still asleep, and his little peter was so small and curled that you could hardly see it in the great brush of black hair that surrounded it.


The ensuing years were not kind to Farley.   Would he have been better off staying with the Gettles?   Maybe he had made a mistake in returning to Mossberry Manor.


As the years passed, the boys got older, and all his beloved mentors were sent out to try their fortunes in the world as adults.  Finch was gone.  Grimley was gone.  Now he was the oldest orphan.   He looked at the younger boys, but he had no desire to polish their little knobs.  The only knobs he now could polish were the Hatty knobs, when they were in the mood, and it was never a pleasant experience.  He submitted because he had no other choice.  He always wondered why Henley, the one he liked, was the one who did nothing more than kiss and caress him.   He wouldn't have minded polishing Henley's knob, or feeling Henley inside him.  He liked Henley so much.  Why didn't Henley like him enough to cruelly violate him the way his father and brothers did?  


But dear Josiah still came on Sundays, bearing gifts and treats.  Dear Josiah.  How he loved Josiah.  How different his life would have been if they had never torn him away from that wonderful man, who was almost like a father to him.   What a life might they have had together.  But now, who would ever know what could have been.


Then one night after a particularly ghastly night in the sling, there was a new development.   Horace Hatty followed his two older sons into Farley's well-worn pussy.  He slammed his peter in mechanically for more than ten minutes.  It was not as easy to ejaculate as it used to be.  He was sweating.   But he had started it and he would finish it.  Finally he felt the delicious tingle in his balls and went into a series of violent short-shoves, at last collapsing on top of  Farley's chest, as he gasped and gasped in an effort to recover his breath.  Farley felt Horace Hatty's perspiration drenching his body.  He would have given anything for a shower at that point.  After a while Horace Hatty rose up, and as he slowly withdrew his softened peter, said to Farley


"See me in my office tomorrow morning, boy.  At nine sharp."


"But the license shop," protested Farley.  He was supposed to begin chiseling license plates at nine sharp.


"No.  You come directly to my office.   There will be no more license shop for you."


Horace and Harry left the chamber, and with his one unstrapped  hand,  Farley succeeded in opening the bindings on his other arm, and his two upraised legs.  He stepped shakily down from the sling and onto the cold stone floor.   Horace Hatty's sweat was turning cold on his chest, and the hot cum in his bottom had also turned uncomfortably cold, and was starting to dribble down his right leg.   He tiredly made his way across the room to the bed, but the black sheets were almost entirely covered by Timothy Hatty, who after ejaculating inside him, had drunk an entire bottle of tequila, taking particular relish to chew the worm at the bottom, and had then passed out in a drunken stupor face-down spread-eagled across the bed.


A wicked thought flashed into Farley's mind.   Timothy was totally out of it.  He was lying there out cold, his lean sinewy handsome buns jutting up between his narrow waist and strong black-haired thighs.  


Farley had become so used to being used as a human cum receptacle, as if that were his singular function in life, that he had long ago stopped even thinking about having an ejaculation of his own.  


But there was Timothy's lovely ass shining above the black sheets, almost like an invitation.  Farley felt a strange new longing.  He wondered what it would be like to come in someone else's anus.


He gingerly approached the bed, and very, very softly touched the firm, hairy round globes.   They were really very pretty.   Farley took his two hands, and manually spread the globes apart.  And there was Timothy's little hidden eye, winking at him.  It seemed very beautiful to him.  He climbed on the black sheets between Timothy's legs and leaned down.  He snaked his tongue down between the two resilient mounds and found the soft flesh between.   Even in his drunken stupor, Timothy must have felt something, because he started making little mewling sounds, and even began raising his bottom up against Farley's tongue.


Farley's peter had become so hard, he thought he would just die if he didn't have an ejaculation.  Cautiously he knelt between Timothy's thighs, and positioned the knob of his peter in the well-licked groove.   He eased it in.  Ever so gently.  Ever so gently.  He was praying that Timothy would not wake up and discover what he was doing, and beat him to a pulp.


But all was going well.  He got it all in, and he stretched out comfortably on Timothy's back.  He grabbed one of Timothy's wide shoulders in each hand, and  began stroking his peter in and out of the hot hole.  It felt lovely.  And unconscious as he was, Timothy was responding.  His ass was rising and falling and fucking the cum out of Farley, and he was humming and keening even in his sleep.


Farley could stand it no more.  He shot his load inside of the slim handsome cruel Timothy, and then tried to push Timothy's body into a different position so that there would be room for him on the black sheet.   He cleared a very narrow space and crawled into it, his back to Timothy and his legs raised against his chest in a fetal position.  It was not comfortable, but it would have to do.   He fell asleep.


Suddenly the wake-up bell was clanging loudly.  He stumbled out of bed and into Timothy's shower, washing away all the dried fluids that were clinging to him from the previous night.  When he came back into the chamber and reached down for his orange uniform, he noticed that Timothy was still fast asleep.  He had slept even through the loud wake-up bell.   Farley was glad that he could slip from the chamber without speaking to Timothy, who, he still feared, might subconsciously know of Farley's intrusion into his posterior.


"Take off your orange and put this on," said Horace Hatty, when Farley came into his office, after knocking and receiving permission to enter.  Hatty stood up from his desk and handed Farley a folded black garment.   Farley opened all the folds.  It was exactly like his one-piece orange orphan uniform, with the same slit in the front, and the same flap in the back, except that this one was black.


"What is this?" asked Farley.


"It's your release uniform.  It's more proper and formal.  We can't have you going into the city dressed in your oranges, now can we?  What would people say?"


"My release uniform?"   Farley was totally puzzled.  He understood nothing.  Why was he being released?


"Yes.  According to our records from the County, today is your eighteenth birthday."   Farley had forgotten all about birthdays.  In all these years, no one had ever wished him happy birthday, or sent him a card, or bought him a cake, or given him a candle to blow out.


"My eighteenth birthday?"   He was trying to let the fact register in his brain.


"Yes.  And according to County law, you are a man now.  You get no more free bed and board from this County.  So on your way."


Slowly Farley changed from the orange to the black.  He turned away from Hatty while he was stripping, but he could feel the man's hot eyes burning into his exposed bum.


"You'll need this for the bus, which comes along the main road in three hours," said Horace Hatty, handing him a five kroner bill.


Farley went out the front door of Mossberrry Manor for the last time.  Never to return.  As he walked down the long winding path to the highway, he looked back at the large gray forbidding building which loomed like a crouching monster behind him.  He felt a pang of nostalgia.  Some of the most miserable nights of his life had been spent in Mossberry Manor, but so had some of the most wonderful and exciting nights.  He remembered all his long-gone forgotten friends with great affection.  Particularly the hunky athletic blonde, Finch.   Ah. To be young and innocent again.  To start it all over.  To be Bambi just one more time.  He shook his head ruefully and walked along the highway where he found the bus stop and waited.


Where would he go in the city?   What would he do?   He didn't know.  If only they had sent him to some sort of half-way house, but to be suddenly set upon his own resources for the first time in his life.  He was afraid.   But then he remembered.  There was somebody he knew in the city, who lived in a building where he also had once lived.  He thought if he found a few familiar landmarks, he might be able to find his way there.


Josiah Pettibone was puttering about his flat, watering his plants, feeding the two pussycats, Elvis and Emily, when he heard a rapping at his front door.


"Now who could that be?"  he wondered.


"Meow," responded Elvis, while Emily just unconcernedly continued licking her nethermost regions.


There it was again.  Someone was rapping on his door.  He walked to the door and opened it, and could hardly believe his eyes.  It was his own dear boy.  His own dear Farley.


"Farley, lad.  What are you doing here?  Did you escape from Mossberry Manor?"   Josiah was full of concern.


"I'm released," said Farley simply.  "It's my eighteenth birthday and I'm released."


"Well come in, lad.  Don't just stand in the hall.  Sit down.  Sit down."


"Oh, Mr. Pettibone, sir.  I am now truly all alone in this world.  Where shall I go? What shall I do?  What shall I eat?   Where shall I sleep?"


"Why right here, lad.  In your old room where you used to sleep when you were a little boy.  Where else would you sleep?   And I shall clothe you and feed you and take good care of you, the way I wanted to lo these many years ago."


Farley was overcome with gratitude, and started crying into his hands.  Josiah went over and put his strong arm around the boy and squeezed his shoulders.
"Now. Now.  Don't cry.  Everything will be all right.  You'll finally be the son I always wanted you to be.  Josiah will make everything all right."


Gradually his tears stopped and he leaned his head against Josiah's strong chest, and he was comforted.


"Meow," said Elvis again.


"I just fed you," scolded Josiah.  


""Meow," said Emily, not having liked the tone Josiah had taken with Elvis.


Josiah fixed a light dinner which they ate facing each other across a small wooden table, lit by a single candle in the center.   It was delicious.  It was real meat.  He didn't remember ever eating real meat before, and Josiah was a wonderful cook.


After dinner they sat in the parlor in two armchairs, and Josiah read to him passages from the good book, `A Tale of Two Cities'.  And Farley became so interested in the fates of Lucy and Charles Darnet, and Sidney Carton, that even though it was very late and it had been a very long and soul-wrenching day, and he was very tired, he wanted to stay up to hear how it ended.  But Josiah said,


"We'll continue tomorrow.  Time for us to be off to bed."  He led Farley to the small room next to his own.  "Goodnight, lad," he said.


"Good night, sir.  And thank you, sir, for everything."  Impulsively he leaned forward and gave Josiah a quick peck on the cheek.  Josiah reddened, and said again,  "Goodnight, lad."  Then he went into his own room.


Farley stepped out of the utilitarian black one-piece and climbed into the little bed he had slept in for two weeks many, many years ago.  He closed his eyes.  This was the first night he remembered being entirely alone.  It was peaceful, yes, but also a little unsettling.   He kept thinking of dear Josiah in the other room.  So near.  He wished he could be with Josiah.  He liked Josiah so much.  Maybe he even loved Josiah.


Would Josiah be angry with him if he went to him?  He decided to find out.  Nothing tried, nothing gained.   He got up and walked to Josiah's doorway, standing there uncertainly.  He saw Josiah's head on one pillow, and he saw Elvis curled up on the other pillow.   Josiah must not have been completely asleep because he sensed something and sat up.  He saw the boy standing in the doorway.


"What is it, lad?  What's wrong?"


"I feel so alone.  So alone."  Farley started to sob.  "Can't I stay in here with you?"


"Of course you can, lad.  The bed is plenty big enough.  Climb in.   Elvis.  Move your ass."  And he pushed Elvis off of the pillow and onto the floor.


"MMMMEEEOOOWWW," screamed Elvis, really pissed now.


"Quiet, Elvis.  I'll make it up to you tomorrow.  I'll buy you some catnip," said Josiah soothingly to the cat, who seemed to understand, and jumped back up on the bed, but stayed down near the bottom next to Emily. 


Farley climbed between the silky sheets.  What a nice feeling.  He faced toward the window.  Though his back was toward Josiah, he felt the comforting presence of the kindly older man, and he was happy.  He fell asleep.


They went on for several weeks like this.  Josiah bought him some city clothes, because he looked rather foolish in the County uniform.  But they spent the days together, and they spent their nights side by side in the big bed, and everyone was happy, except perhaps for Elvis, who was still a little pissed.


Farley had gotten in the habit of lying on Josiah's outstretched arm, which forced the man to turn and lie alongside his back.  His right arm went around Farley's chest.  It seemed so natural.  So comfortable.


But with every night, Farley became more and more aware that Josiah was a handsome older man, and that Josiah's peter was erect and touching his bare bottom.  It became so he could hardly stand it.  He was bursting with desire for his benefactor.


One night, as they were cuddling, Farley threw back the coverlets and moved down on the bed.   He gently placed his hand on Josiah's stiff peter.


"What are you doing, lad?" asked Josiah.  He was a little surprised, but not unpleasantly surprised.  His peter was really begging for some attention, which he could not give it with the lad sleeping in the same bed as he was.


"I want to polish your knob, sir."


"What?"  Josiah could hardly believe his ears.


"I want to polish your knob, sir."


"But you can't.  It's not proper.  It's not right.  I can't have a sweet young lad like yourself commit such an indecency on my behalf.  I would never forgive myself."


"But I want to, sir.  You've made me so happy, it would make me even happier to make you happy."


"Well, if you're sure it's what you really want to do........"stuttered Josiah, pondering the proposal.  "Have you done this type of thing before?"


"Yes.  At Mossberry Manor."


"Really?" asked Josiah, he was appalled and excited at the same time.  "Did you do it often?"


"Yes.  Very often, sir."


"And do you like polishing men's knobs?"   Josiah winced at his own phrasing.


"Very much, sir.  Especially when I really like someone, the way I like you."


"I see," said Josiah.  "Well.  Very well then.  You may polish my knob." 


Farley was deliriously happy about this new turn of events.  He was going to be able to repay this wonderful man for all his kindnesses over the years.  He lowered his head and began to polish.


"Aaaaagggghhh?"  moaned Josiah, who had never known this type of pleasure.


"What is it, sir?  Am I hurting you?"


"No, lad, no. It feels so wonderful.  I have never felt such sensations before."


Farley smiled.  This was what he had been hoping for.  He was giving his dear friend unimagined pleasure.


He licked Josiah's hairy heavy sac, and took each egg separately into his hot mouth to warm it.  Then he returned his attention to the rigid and fully expanded pole.


"AAAAGGGGHHHH," screamed Josiah, clutching at the bedclothes and pulling, completely undoing the neatly made bed.  But he could not help himself.  This dear boy was giving him the most exquisite physical pleasure he had ever experienced in his entire life.   He felt suddenly that something was about to happen, and felt compelled to warn the boy.


"Take your mouth off, lad.  I'm about to squirt."


This was just what Farley had been waiting to hear.  And instead of withdrawing his mouth, he increased the pressure of the vacuum his mouth was creating around Josiah's peter, and then it happened.  The hot sticky liquid came flooding out, flowing on to his tongue, spattering even the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat.  He swallowed it.  He was jubilant.  He had Josiah's essence within him now.


"Oh, lad.   Oh, lad, "Josiah kept saying, and pulling Farley up beside him, he cradled the boy in his arms.  "Thank you.  Thank you."  He pulled the rumpled bedding over their naked bodies, and after another `thank you', they fell asleep in that position, with Josiah's body literally wrapped around young Farley.


Of course after this, their relationship could not ever be the same.  The affection between the two of them bloomed the way a garden blooms in the sumertime.   When they passed each other in the flat, they could not help embracing.  Just a little hug.  A small peck on the lips.   And routinely now in bed, Farley would give his beloved benefactor's knob a good polishing.


But one night, Farley further surprised Josiah.   He did not scoot down between his lover's large parted thighs.   He folded himself into Josiah's arms, and backed himself against Josiah's erection.


"Sir......"  he began.


"What is it, lad.   Don't feel like it tonight?  Well, you don't have to do it, you know.  You never have to do that if you don't want to."


"No, sir.  It's not that.  I always want to.  But I want something more tonight.  We have become so close, I want to feel as if we are really one."


"And how would we do that, lad?" asked Josiah, pressing his lips against the boy's silky hair, and kissing it.


"I want to feel you inside me."


"How's that?"


"I want you to put your peter in me.  I want you to fuck me."


All Josiah's proprieties and inhibitions now arose.   He had never contemplated doing such a thing.   "Well, lad.  I don't know.  I don't know that we should really do that."


"Please, sir.  I want it so badly.  I want to feel your peter in me.  Please, sir."


Josiah's inhibitions were no match for the helpless pleading of this beautiful young boy, lying so deliciously in his strong arms.  He didn't answer verbally, but reached down and began to feel of the boy's bottom hole with his index finger.  It was a little dry, so he spit on his finger, and now it was better.  Lying side by side, he took his knob and guided it to the hole that his finger had opened into the boy's body.  He pressed forward, ever so slowly, and he felt the boy's hot internal walls clutching his knob.  My god.  What was this?   Who had invented this marvelous thing?    When it was in all the way, his passion overcame him, and almost roughly he pushed the boy over on his stomach and lay heavily on top of him, as his knob descended into the very depths of the boy's anal canal, which was gripping his member, and giving him the most exquisite pleasure. 


"Ahh, lad.   Lad.  Lad. Lad," he crooned as his hips took on a new movement all their own.  He was no longer even in control of them.  So many years wasted before this.  How could he not have known?   He loved fucking.  He absolutely adored it.  Just as he adored the beautiful young boy in his arms, whom he had always adored, but hadn't realized how much.


And then his seed was spurting into the depths of his young lover, whose buttcheeks tightened around his spurting stalk, trying to milk it, trying to keep it inside him forevermore.

They lay there wrapped together all night long, even with Josiah's peter still plugging Farley's hole.


"Oh, sir," breathed Farley.  "That was so wonderful.   Thank you.  Thank you."


"It is I who must thank you, my dearest boy.   But you must no longer call me `sir'.  You must call me `Josiah' henceforth, for you are no longer a little boy, but you are a fully grown man, as am I, and we must be as equals to each other.


"Yes, Josiah," said Farley.  He took Josiah's hand, which was warming his chest, and held it in his own two hands.  Then he brought it to his mouth and kissed it.
Then they fell asleep.


Their life had become a honeymoon.   Despite the difference in their ages, each had found this missing half of his own soul, and they laughed together and cared for each other in every possible way.  And as glorious as each day was, each night was ever more wonderful as Josiah began to experiment with wondrous new positions for making love to Farley.   But Josiah always approached the boy from the rear.


One day, sitting across the wooden table from each other over dinner, the candle flickering between them, Josiah took his hand. 


"We have to have a serious talk, lad."


"What kind of talk?"


"A talk about the future."


Farley suddenly felt a tingle of fear flutter against his heart.  Whatever was Josiah driving at?


"I'm much older than you.  I won't always be here for you, you know."


"No. No. No.  Don't even say such a thing," cried Farley placing his hands over his ears.  He was not going to listen to this kind of talk.  His happiness would last forever.  It just had to.


"We have to be realistic," said Josiah.  "It will be for your benefit, should anything happen to me."


He explained to Farley that while he had never been a wealthy man, only a poor landlord, recently due to gentrification in the neighborhood, the real estate values in the County had simply skyrocketed to unheard of figures.  The rents he was now collecting on his room and flats were astronomical.   The funds, if judiciously invested, would keep them more than comfortable for the rest of both their lives.  But of course Farley had no claim on this income.  Josiah would have to arrange for the property and the funds to revert to his young companion in the case that.............


If Farley had been a young lady, he could have married her, and Farley would have automatically inherited everything.  But Farley was not a young lady.  He was a young man.  What to do?  What to do?  The answer was so simple.  It was what he should have done so many years ago. After all, Farley was an orphan.  He would simply adopt him as his son, and thus the right of inheritance would be guaranteed.

  

The next morning they took a cab over to the County Clerk's office and filled out many papers.   And two months later, after a short court hearing, permission was granted, and it was now official.  Farley was not only Josiah's young lover, but his adopted son and heir.  They celebrated by going to see a musical on the stage, and having several beers in a nearby pub afterward.


Both slightly drunk, they made mad love all through the night, teasing each other and giggling the whole time.  Elvis and Emily were completely put off by their behavior.  The two cats abandoned the bottom of the bed and retired into the boy's old room, where there were nice clean unslept-upon pillows to shed their fur thereon.


But time marches on for all of us.  There is no escape.  First Emily died, and then Elvis.  Josiah buried the two dear little animals in the back garden and carved a wooden headstone for each of them.   And now Farley was beginning to notice changes in Josiah.   A graying in his beard, a slowing in his step, a flabbiness in his belly which had not been there before.  Why did time have to keep marching on so relentlessly?  Why couldn' t it just leave the two of them alone, so that they could forever be just as they were now?



Every morning, when they shopped for fresh meats and cheeses, they would bring the county newspaper back to the flat to keep up with all that was happening.  Mortgages were still coming down.  Real estate prices were absolutely going through the roof. Josiah decided that he would double the rents of the several stores on the ground floor of his building, when their leases came due.  He would leave Farley more than comfortable.  Farley would never have to work again, for after all, what work could Farley do?  He had been trained to chisel license plate numbers, but now that work was all being shipped off to third-world countries, and being done by machines, run by workers making starvation wages.  His future was here in the apartment house.  He would be the next landlord.   Josiah would prepare him.  Josiah would teach him all the things he would ever have to know about building ownership.


But this morning, when they got home, and spread out the County Sentinel on the wooden table, large headlines concerning a familiar institution immediately assaulted their eyes.


SCANDAL

SCANDAL

SCANDAL


COUNTY CLOSES MOSSBERRY MANOR


MAJOR FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES DISCOVERED AT COUNTY ORPHANAGE


SUPERVISOR HORACE HATTY, AND HIS 3 ASSISTANTS: SONS TIMOTHY HATTY, HARRY HATTY AND HENLEY HATTY UNDER ARREST.


It seemed that the Hattys had been providing the County Council with fraudulent financial figures for many years.  They had claimed to be providing the boys with name-designer clothing, both under and outerwear, and not the mass-manufactured cheap orange one-piece step-ins that an inspector had found all the boys wearing on a visit to the premises, These uniforms moreover, had all been purchased in a foreign country and made by non-union workers who were in fact slave laborers.  In addition, the Hattys had billed the county for the finest meats, fruits, cheeses, and vegetables, and even bakery-made deserts, and it was discovered that the orphans had been given no more than meal and fish heads to eat.


The County Bureau of Investigation was at this moment tracing down every lead in an effort to locate the millions in missing funds.   


Two days later, new headlines revealed that vast fortunes had been discovered, hidden in off-shore numbered accounts.  Further criminal investigation revealed that many of these accounts had been opened by Mr. Horace Hatty, the superintendent of Mossberry Manor.   Other accounts were easily connected to Mr. Timothy Hatty and Mr. Harry Hatty, Horace's Hatty's two older sons.


A trial was scheduled.


Josiah followed all the news reports with the same avidity as Farley.  Now, more than ever, he felt guilty at not keeping the boy with him those many years ago.  He had thought he was doing the right thing sending him to the orphanage.  Who would ever have thought that a County institution would be corrupt?


Farley would have liked to go down to the courthouse and witness the trial, but he had too many bad memories of certain things that had happened to him, and did not want to see the Hattys again.  He wanted to forget all that.  He had Josiah, and he was happy now.


One afternoon, however, while Josiah was busy in the kitchen, dicing many vegetables, potatoes, and meats for a stew they would be eating that evening, Farley went out for a little walk in the fresh air by himself.   He hardly ever did that, but now he felt himself being drawn to the business district.  He was only a block away from the County Courthouse when he saw a familiar face a few feet away.


It was a handsome, stocky man, maybe ten years older than Farley.  He had a well-groomed full moustache and beard, and was nattily dressed and carrying an umbrella, as they had predicted rain.  He looked so familiar.  So familiar.  But it was hard to distinguish facial features under all that beautifully-barbered facial hair.  But then Farley recognized the man.  He felt a thump in his chest.   The blonde bearded man was none other than his old friend, Finch, from Mossberry Manor.  He didn't know if Finch would even remember him so he approached him timidly.


"Finch?"


The man turned in surprise, and looked at Farley.  "Yes.  What is it?  Well, I'll be.  I think it's young Farley, once of Mossberry Manor.   How are you, Farley?"


"Very well, Finch, and you?"


"Couldn't be better.  Say.  Why don't we have a glass of ale and catch up on everything?   What do you say?"


"I'd love to," said Farley.   Finch was still very handsome.  His suit was very stylish, and Farley clearly remembered the muscular chest and thighs that were even now bulging within that suit.  Standing next to him, Farley found the aroma of Finch's expensive eau de toilette intoxicating.   


They crossed the street and entered a small pub, and took a table at the back.  Farley told Finch that he was staying with an old friend, he had known since childhood, and who had in fact legally adopted him, so that he was no longer an orphan.


Finch, it turned out, upon leaving the orphanage had met a beautiful young girl from a highborn wealthy family.   The young couple became affianced, and the girl's parents had put Finch through University.  Finch was now an extremely successful and wealthy Hedge Fund Manager, with a beautiful wife, Belinda, and three adorable children, whose photographs he carried around in his wallet and now showed Farley.  They were indeed beautiful children.  The oldest boy was blonde and hunky, very much like his father had been.


"I remember those good old times we had together back at Mossberry," reminisced Finch fondly, a smile on his face.   "Do you remember, Farley?"


"Yes, Finch.  Of course, I remember."


"The way you used to polish my knob for me.  Never had a polishing like that.  Not before.  Not after.   My wife, Belinda.  She won't polish it at all.  She thinks my peter is a dirty and disgusting thing, only good for making babies.   I dearly miss getting my knob polished."


Farley didn't know how to respond.  He felt that Finch might possibly be making overtures to him.  It seemed that Finch longed to have a class-reunion of sorts.
Farley sipped his ale.  Finch was so handsome.  He was so manly.  And those strong muscular thighs.  And those beautiful balls.  And that perfect peter.  He remembered every detail clearly, and felt himself harden as the images filled his mind.   It would be such fun to have another go-at-it with Finch.  Perhaps many go-at-its, as Belinda was not inclined to satisfy her husband in the way Farley so expertly could.


"Many a night, I think of my sweet little Bambi.  What a delicious tight little hole she had.  My peter would think he was in heaven if he found himself inside his little Bambi again."


"Finch......" Farley, began.


"We can go down the street to the Barton Plaza.  I'll check in at the front desk and get a room.   You'll be sitting in one of the armchairs, and I'll come over and whisper the room number into your ear.  And you'll wait about five minutes, and then you'll come up in the elevator, and knock on my door.  And I'll be waiting for you.  How does that sound?"


"It sounds wonderful," admitted Farley.  It did sound wonderful and exciting and thrilling and he longed to do it.  He longed to be in Finch's strong arms, and to smell his cologne, and to brush his smooth face against the whiskers.  He longed to taste that lovely peter again.  One more time.  Finch's peter had been his first peter.  He had loved that peter.   But no.  He couldn't.


"No," said Farley.


"No?" asked Finch.  He had been sure that Farley would succumb to his manly charms.  He was more than disappointed.  "Why ever not?" he asked.


"Things are different now.  We are not children any longer.  We are both grown men and have our commitments.   If I sucked your peter, I would have to hide it from my adopted father, who, most certainly, would not approve.  And I hide nothing from him.  I don't want to be forced into the kind of life where I am sneaking and lying.  It would be wrong for me.   And you, yourself, Finch are bound by the legal bonds of matrimony.  Thou hast pledged to love and honor and to not commit adultery."


"What utter bullshit, Farley.  Tell me you are joking.   I just want to get my gun off in your nice tight little hole.  This is no earth-shaking big deal.  And you know how you love it when I plow your little ass.  Come on, Farley.  Let's go down the block to the Barton Plaza.   We'll have a splendid time together.  I promise you.  You won't regret it."


Farley got up from his chair, and leaning down embraced Finch, and kissed his cheek whiskers affectionately.  "I so wish I could, Finch.  I really do.   But it wouldn't be right."   And then he left the tavern.   He walked back home and found his dear Josiah still preparing dinner.


"And where have you been off to, my lad?" Asked Josiah.


"Just walking the city streets," said Farley.  He did not tell Josiah about meeting Finch.  Already he was lying, just by omission.   He had really done the right thing by refusing to polish Finch's knob in the Barton Plaza.   "Dinner smells wonderful," he said brightly.


Daily they read the reports of the trial in the County Sentinel.   The government had all the proof it would ever need.   Bank Books.  Deposit Slips.   Dates of major deposits in the different accounts corresponded exactly with each payment the County had made to Mossberry Manor.   The Hattys had been caught.  They were convicted of Fraud and Grand Larceny and sentenced to prison for a very long time.   That is.  Horace Hatty, Timothy Hatty, and Harry Hatty were convicted.  Henley Hatty was exonerated due to lack of evidence against him.   And so the case was closed.  Mossberry Manor was now a thing of the past.  It existed no more.   Farley put it all behind him, and decided he would never think of it again.   He had a new life now, and only the future to look forward to.


The next years were a joy.  Josiah and Farley were together day and night.  They did landlord things during the day, and at night they cuddled together in the big bed, and Farley never tired of polishing Josiah's lovely knob, and feeling it going up his bum.   But time does take its toll.   There were many nights now, when Farley polished and polished, but the staff never became stiff enough to gain entry into Farley's bottom hole.   Farley loved Josiah so much.  He missed having his peter inside him terribly.   And polishing a limp knob was not nearly as exciting as polishing a rigid randy knob that wanted to fuck you.


Josiah felt so guilty that he was no longer able to provide his beloved boy with the pleasure he had become accustomed to.  This was the most heartbreaking thing that had ever happened to him.  No matter how much he wished or tried otherwise, he was failing his young lad.   One night after a frustrating and ineffectual attempt to get Josiah hard, they gave up and just cuddled together.
Farley was missing the feel of the pliable plug stuffing him from behind, and Josiah was planning to remedy the situation.


The next morning, leaving Farley to tidy up the flat, he went downtown to Durnley Street where all the doctors were.   He had read ads on public transportation regarding a Dr. Jason Jasper, who claimed to be an expert on a condition called `E.D', which he had learned was a polite way of saying erectile disfunction, which was a polite way of saying impotence.


Dr. Jasper was a healthy young Doctor only just starting up practice, who obviously never had any problem getting it up.  But he was schooled in the condition and the latest methods of treatment.   He was warm and sympathetic, and Josiah liked him.  He gave Josiah a prescription for some pills, which he would have to get filled at a pharmacy.   "Just take one of these, an hour before," instructed Dr. Jasper.  You'll be stiff as a flagpole.   But remember, if your erection lasts longer than four hours, get right to a hospital emergency room.  Okay?"


"Okay," said Josiah, not even being able to imagine having a four-hour erection.
And since the County provided no universal medical insurance, nor did Josiah have even the kind of meager group coverage which one usually gets from an employer in this day and age (the policies with the large deductibles and the even-larger co-payments), Josiah wrote out a check to the doctor for a very substantial amount.


He went to the drugstore and waited till they filled the prescription, which was for thirty pills and renewable.   He almost choked when he saw the price.  He wrote out another check.


That night around ten o:clock, Josiah put down his book and went into the kitchen where he poured himself a little grapefruit juice and swallowed a pill.
He went back and read for another hour, and began to feel something happening in his loins.  He knew it was time for bed.


"Farley, lad.  Let's hit the sack.   What do you say?"


"Okay, Josiah.  I'm ready whenever you are."  They went into the bedroom and took off their clothes, and Farley, glancing at Josiah's naked body, saw that he had a gigantic iron-hard erection.   "Josiah!" he exclaimed, happily.


"I need you, boy.  Tonight you're going to give my knob a good long polishing and then I'm going to stick it up your bum."


"Oh, Josiah."


"I really want to fuck your ass, lad," said Josiah with unaccustomed crudity.


Farley's heart was gladdened.  They could go back to the way things were.  They could go back to the good days.  Josiah's peter was stiff again.


As Farley licked and tongued his knob, all the while running his gentle fingers over the rigid staff, Josiah lay there with a happy smile on his face.  His lad was happy and he was happy.   He desperately needed to fuck Farley now, but the boy was enjoying polishing him so much, he didn't want to interrupt him.  Finally, he put his hand on Farley's shoulder.


"I think now," he said.


"Really?"


"Yes.  I want to stick my peter in your bum.  Now.  Turn over."


Farley turned over on his belly and raised his bottom a little up into the air, like a sex-crazed nanny goat offering her cunt to a wild and determined billy goat.
Josiah entered him, and it was heaven.  It slid in so very easily.   It was home where it belonged.  Sheer heaven.  Josiah pressed in and Farley could feel his dear friend's heavy balls hitting against his own.


But then Josiah began to fuck him like a madman.  Like he had never fucked him before.  Never had Farley felt such an urgent passion.  It was exhilarating.   Farley was inspired to rise to new heights of passive activity.  Josiah was smashing into him, and Farley was moving his bottom up to meet every thrust.


"Oh, lad.  Oh, lad," groaned Josiah.


"Josiah," keened Farley, in the greatest passion he had ever felt.


And they just kept fucking.  Fucking.  Fucking.  Fucking.  Groaning.  Moaning.  Screaming.  Laughing.  But the most significant sound in the room was the slap, slap, slap of flesh.  The sound of two bodies slapping against each other in the act of fornication.   Farley could feel the sweat pour out of Josiah, who was really doing the hardest of the work.   Josiah was breathing so loudly now.  Breathing loudly and raggedly, almost like gasping for breath, but still pounding. Pounding and pounding into Farley's bottom.  And then abruptly everything stopped.


Josiah lay flat on top of him but there was no movement.  The loud sound of his breathing could no longer be heard.  


"Josiah?" asked Farley, suddenly frightened.   But there was no answer.   He lay there under the heavy weight not knowing what to do.   In his heart he knew what had happened.  He knew that Josiah had left him.  The one good thing in his life.  He lay there under the heavy weight and cried and cried and cried.   He felt the warmth fading from that wonderful, heavy, sheltering body.   


Eventually he was able to roll them both over, so that Josiah was on his back.  His kindly eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling, and his mouth gaped in the midst of gasping for his final breath.   Oh.  What heartbreak.  What heartbreak.   Josiah's peter was still stiff.   Farley closed Josiah's eyes, and his lips.  Then he leaned over and kissed those dear lips, which were now cold.  Just one last time.  Just one last time.  But then he bent down and bestowed a final kiss upon the still-stiff peter, before pulling the blankets over Josiah's body. 


He sat up all night in the living room staring into space through teary eyes.   The next morning he called the mortuary.


Now that he was alone, Farley devoted all his time and energy to landlord business.  He collected the rents.  He paid the property tax.  Etc. etc.
And he was a good landlord.  He always made sure his tenants had plenty of heat and hot water despite the high price of heating oil.   He learned to do many of the repairs himself, and soon became a master plumber and electrician.  He was beloved in his building.  But he was lonely.   He had lost the one great love of his life and when would such a love come again?


Often he went out walking on the County streets.   But alone now.  Always alone.  He looked in shop windows.  He studied the different people he saw and wondered what their own lives were like.  Occasionally he would want to say something to somebody.  Like the time he was looking at a watch in the jewelry store window, and another fellow came up and stood beside him, admiring the same object.   Farley so wanted to communicate with the other man and say something like, "Nice watch."   But he didn't dare.  And then the man left.  And then Farley continued his walk.


It was on one of these many walks that something occurred that at first seemed most unpleasant.  He was standing on a corner where there was heavy vehicular traffic in the streets.  He wanted to cross the street, but the signal was still red and reading `DON'T WALK.'   And it was so crowded there.  He wanted to cross the street and continue on his way back home, but he was trapped.


Out of nowhere, this filthy beggar man approached him.


"A kroner for a cup of coffee," he begged, his hand outstretched.  "Just a kroner."


Farley usually looked past such people and pretended they weren't even there.  As if he neither heard them nor saw them.  It was just too depressing.  And he couldn't give to them all.  He was not a millionaire.   But he glanced into the beggar's eyes, and he got a jolt.  The beggar's eyes were such a brilliant blue.


There was something so familiar about the beggar.   His was covered in filthy tattered rags and his hair and beard were so unkempt, there was no way you could tell what the facial features beneath all that hair looked like.  But there was something in the man's blue eyes.  Such a brilliant blue.   Where had he seen such eyes before?   


Farley looked at him fully now and tried to place him.  When had he ever known a derelict?   Never.   But why did the man seem so familiar to him?   And then the man said


"Is it you, lad?"


Farley looked again, and thought and tried to remember, and then a terrible realization came to him.


"Henley?" he asked.   It couldn't be.


"Yes, lad.  It's me.   And I know that it's a sorry sight that I am.  I hate to have you see me like this.  I'm truly sorry for bothering you.  I'll go now."


"No, Henley, wait," he said.  What had happened to Henley Hatty?   How had he come to be in this deplorable condition?


"I should go," said Henley, already turning away.


"But where do you live?   Where can I get in touch with you?"


"I have no home, lad.  I live on the streets.  I'm one of the homeless they talk about."


"But that's terrible."


"No.  I'm used to it now.  It's all right.   I'll get by.   All I need is a kroner for a cup of coffee every now and then."


"I'm taking you home with me, Henley."


"No, lad.  You mustn't go out of your way for me."


"Nonsense," said Farley.  "I can't leave you out on the streets in this condition.  Now come with me."


"If you're sure?"


"Yes.  I'm very sure," Farley insisted.


Farley knew that all eyes were upon him when he led the disheveled man up to his flat, but he didn't care.   He didn't want Henley to actually sit on any of his chairs or anything, so he thought quickly and said,  "First thing.  A nice bath and hairwash."


He ran a tub for Henley and opened up a bar of anti-bacterial soap.  He waited till Henley stripped off his filthy rags and climbed into the water.  Then he gingerly bagged the dirty garments and threw them down the chute for incineration.  He rushed back into his flat, and heard Henley splashing in the tub. 


When Henley was finally decontaminated, Farley pulled the plug and let the dirty water gurgle down the drain.  He ran another tub of clean water for Henley to sit in for a while.  It was kind of like a rinse cycle.   Then he brought in a large towel, and Henley stood on the bathmat in front of the tub and let Farley dry him all over.


Farley got out the scissors and the clippers and the shaving gear.   Off came all that hair.  Henley got a close haircut.  He was just short of being a skinhead now.  And all of that shaggy beard was shaved off.   Now you could finally see that this was indeed Henley, who was slim, and muscular, and very handsome.  More handsome than he had ever been.  It seemed that the little lines of age and experience that had crept into his face, had given him a look of wisdom and character.   A look that had not been there in the earlier days.   And then Farley looked into Henley's brilliant blue eyes, which seemed to drill holes right through him.   He had to look away.


Farley went into the other room and brought out one of Josiah's suits for Henley to put on.   It was far too large for him, but it would have to do for now.  Tomorrow he would buy Henley some proper garments.


Farley fixed them dinner, which they sat eating across the little wooden table with the candle burning in the center.  Farley told Henley about the wonderful man who had been like a father to him, and had adopted him and had bequeathed him the real estate he now possessed.   Henley recalled the trial, which had convicted his father and his brothers but had exonerated him.  Yet even though he had been exonerated, he could not find employment.  No one would hire a Hatty.  And he had not a coin in his pocket, so he ended up living on the streets and begging for kroner.   "You saw what I had become," said Henley, ashamed. Farley felt pity for Henley, and reached across the table to give his hand a reassuring clasp.  


Henley's brilliant blue eyes surveyed him, and looked into his own eyes.  "You're still the same innocent, beautiful, young boy that I remember," said Henley.


"Hardly, Henley," said Farley.  "I am no longer an innocent little boy.  I have been through too much."


"You are still that same little boy to me.  Those beautiful warm brown eyes gazing at me, and your delicate facial features and your small stature and your slim build.  You haven't changed so much, you know.  And the chiseled lovely shape of your lips, which I used to like to kiss.  Do you remember that?"


"Yes," said Farley.  "I remember."


"I loved holding my little man in my lap and kissing him the way I did."


"I'd almost forgotten that," said Farley.  But now he was remembering, more and more.


"I wish I could hold you on my lap again and kiss your lips the way I used to."


"I'm a little heavier now," laughed Farley, blushing.


"You are very small.   I don't think you are that heavy.  Come and let me see.  Come over here and sit in my lap."


"Henley," protested Farley.


"No.  Please come and sit in my lap.  I am sure you are not so much heavier than I remember."  He reached a hand across the candlelit wooden table and gently took Farley's arm, guiding him around the table, until Farley was sitting in his lap, unsure of how to behave.  He was letting Henley guide him.


"No.  You are not very heavy at all.  I could easily lift you and carry you in my arms."  He had both arms around Farley's waist and was holding him close, and now pressing him down as he moved up against his bottom.


Henley was coaxing back the lost memories of all those walks in the woods, when Henley would sit on a tree stump and hold the boy in his lap, just as he was now doing.   And under his bottom, Farley could feel that it was all happening as it used to. Henley was stiffening inside of Josiah's too large trousers.


"I wish I could kiss you now, as I did back then.  Would you be terribly offended if I kissed my sweet little boy?"


"No," said Farley, hesitantly.  "I guess that would be all right."   What was he getting himself into?  He let Henley move his head down until their lips met.  At first it was a gentle lip kiss, but Henley was not satisfied with that.  His tongue moved out and parted Farley's lips and was soon exploring all the hidden recesses of Farley's mouth.  The taste of lemon.   And then Farley felt the peter under him.  The one that he was sitting on.   One of Henley's hands moved down to his bottom cheeks and began to tantalize them.


"You had a little bottom flap, that I used to unbutton so that I could feel your tender skin against me.  Do you remember that?"


"Yes," said Farley, and laughed at the memory.  "But I have no bottom flap now for you to unbutton."   


"I long to feel you against me.  Could you lower your pants a little?"  His voice was almost pleading.  Farley didn't answer he just undid his belt, and rose slightly, only enough to pull his trousers and underpants down to pool around his ankles.   Then he sat himself back in Henley's lap, suddenly realizing that Henley had used that short moment when he had lifted off of him to extract his member from the fly of the baggy trousers.   Farley's naked butt was pressing against Henley's exposed instrument, as it had so very many years before.


This was all sending Farley into a sexual frenzy, and his head was spinning.  He hadn't had any physical contact for so long now.  And Henley was very, very handsome.  Strong and handsome.  He had always liked Henley.  He had always enjoyed their walks together, and those lemon kisses, and the feeling of Henley's hot sticky liquids covering his bottom.


"Oh, my dear boy," said Henley.  "I can't believe I have found you again.  I have always loved you.  Did you know that?  Always.  Always."


"Really?" asked Farley, because now he was remembering other things.


Henley knew what was going through the young man's mind.  "I know my father and my brothers did terrible things to you.  They stuck their pricks into your dear little bottom and raped you and fucked you, and I stood by, watching, afraid to do or say anything.   I was frightened of them too.  But I never raped or fucked you.  Do you remember that?"


"Yes," said Farley.  He remembered everything now.


"I loved you too much to do those things to you.  I never wanted to hurt you, as they were hurting you.  I didn't want you to think I was one of them.


"I always thought the reason you didn't rape me and fuck me was because you didn't love me," said Farley.   Henley had been the one person who had been kind and gentle throughout the ordeals, who had kissed his mouth, but never penetrated him.  "I thought you didn't want me." 


"I wanted you so very, very much.  I was so in love with you that I could not add to the suffering they were causing you.  I wish I could have saved you, but I didn't dare to go against them then.   Can you ever forgive me?"


"Yes," said Farley.  "I forgive you."  And he did.


"I feel your hot bottom against my peter.  I don't deserve the happiness that I am feeling at this moment."  And again he drew Farley's head down and kissed him, and again Farley was savoring the feel and taste of Henley's insistent tongue.


"My darling, darling boy.  My peter longs to feel the warmth inside of you."


"Oh, Henley," he protested.  Was this wise?  "I don't know."


"I still love you so terribly much.  I want to make love to you as I have never wanted anything before."  They kissed again.


Dazed, Farley stood up and walked stumbling and tripping towards the bedroom. His pants and underwear were still around his ankles, hindering his ability to walk properly.  He held Henley's hand, and Henley followed him with his long prick sticking out of the fly of Josiah's pants.


They went to the bed and wordlessly took off all their clothing.   Henley lay down on his back, his long upright peter standing tall, straight as a flagpole.  He drew Farley down on the bed.


"Oh, my boy.  I want to be inside you.  I just want to be inside you."


"I want you inside me," said Farley.  "But first let me polish your knob a little."


"Yes.  Yes," said Henley excitedly.  Polish my knob."


And Farley began the sweet labor.  He licked Henley's clean soapy tasting hairy balls, so recently out of the bath.  He licked around Henley's balls and tickled his thighs with his tongue.  And he took the lovely peter in his mouth, and savored the taste and feeling of it, his tongue lashing the smooth knob, as his lips slid down the long shaft.  It was wonderful.  How Farley had been missing this.  The thrill of a peter in his mouth.   He couldn't get enough of it.


But Henley said.  "Enough, boy.   Any more of that and I will be letting loose my liquid which I want to spurt deep inside of your beautiful body."  He gently positioned Farley on his belly and mounted him.  His prick moved easily inside.  Even after all this time of abstinence, Farley had not tightened up.


They began a slow even rhythm of coital union.  Henley was in no hurry.  He wanted this to last as long as ever it possibly could.  Farley closed his eyes and felt the subtle sensations in his posterior.


But then Henley withdrew himself, and Farley was confused.  He had not yet spurted his liquid.


"What is it?" asked Farley in concern.


"I want to kiss your sweet mouth as we fuck.  Turn over, my love.  We shall face each other."


"I have never done that," said Farley.  He was confused.  He had always been taken from behind.  How could they possibly face each other and kiss at the same time that Henley's peter was fucking his bottomhole?


"I shall show you," said Henley.  And indeed he did.  He positioned Farley on his back and knelt between his legs.  Henley seemed like a handsome giant towering over Farley, about to overpower him with passion.   Henley took a pillow and put it under Farley's bottom, and then he raised up Farley's legs, bending them at the knees, so that the little opening was now facing straight up to the ceiling.  Farley's upper torso was curved like a `C'.   


He felt Henley fit the prick into him again, and as it slid down inside him, Henley shifted his weight until they were chest to chest, their arms around each other, with the prick of the one stroking into the hole of the other, and they kissed and kissed and explored each other's mouths, until finally the inevitable moment came, and Henley's hot juices flooded out of him and into Farley.


"That was lovely," breathed Henley, kissing him lightly on the mouth.  


"Yes," agreed Farley.


"Thank you.  Thank you.  I love you so very much, my dearest boy.  I have finally done what I longed to do so very many years ago.  But you were so young.  I didn't dare.  It wouldn't have been proper."


"Oh, Henley.  My dear Henley.   We have found each other again."


Again they kissed, and they fell asleep for a little while, their arms wrapped around each other.   But they awoke many times during the long night and made love.  Neither could get enough of the other.


Well.  As you may imagine.   The next day, Farley took Henley out and bought him some proper clothing, and Henley moved into the flat to stay with Farley.  
Eventually they became co-landlords of the building, and did everything together.  They walked together.  They worked together.  They ate together.   Obviously some higher power had meant it to be this way.  And they were happy together.  And every time they would go out into the street, whenever they saw a beggar, they would give him a kroner for a cup of coffee.  They made magnificent love night after night, week after week, month after month, year after year, until finally one of them, by that time very, very old, passed away peacefully in his sleep.  No. It could not last forever.
  


  








   





 

























 

 
  


 

 


 








 












  


 


   
