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When I was a kid, my family and I lived in Brooklyn, NY. My dad had a female cousin, who lived in the Bronx, NY. For those of you who might remember, and for those of you who may never have known, they might as well have lived at opposite ends of the planet. This was especially true during the austere days of World War II. I was a pre-teen in those days, but I remember gas rationing. My dad didn’t use our car unless it was absolutely necessary. A trip to the Bronx in those days involved several transfers on the New York City transit system, making it a very long and arduous trip.
I think my dad spoke to his cousin at least once a week on the telephone. We were lucky enough to have obtained a four family party line during those war years, only because my mother had given birth to twin boys on Pearl Harbor Day so we had infants in the house. My parents had no idea who the other three families were. As a kid I delighted in picking up the telephone as quietly as possible and listening to phone conversations, which were none of my business. It was a fun thing for a young boy to do, and I never heard anything I shouldn’t have heard.
I know my dad’s cousin, Millie, had a son my age and a daughter two years younger. I had met Millie’s son, Bernie, once or twice. You just couldn’t ignore Bernie. He definitely stood out in a crowd. His looks were ordinary as was his body, but Bernie had the bluest eyes and the reddest hair I had ever seen, and his entire body, including his face, was covered with freckles. I knew Bernie very, very casually from the occasional family get togethers.
When Bernie and I were about twelve years old, some cousin of ours got engaged and we ran into each other at her engagement party or her wedding; I can’t remember which. Maybe it was her wedding, because I remember that we were at a catering hall somewhere in Manhattan.
There were a lot of kids at the wedding, but Bernie and I were the only boys the same age. Sometime during the dinner, Bernie whispered in my ear to follow him. I got up and followed him into the lobby of the catering establishment. There was a big couch in the lobby and we were alone. Everybody else was eating and dancing.
“Wanna see some dirty pictures?” he asked me.
“Sure,” I answered more than eagerly. Bernie reached into his hip pocket and took out a little undersized paper back book. The book was about three inches by three inches and a half inch thick. Bernie opened to the first page and there was an animated picture of a man and a woman about to make love. The man’s cock was enormous and he was entering the woman. The remainder of the book contained animated picture after animated picture of the two of them fucking. Bernie flipped the pages with his thumb, and the effect was that of a silent motion picture. I was fascinated and very aroused.
“I got a boner,” Bernie announced. “How about you?”
“Yeah,” I answered simply. “How’d you get this?” I asked. I was truly fascinated that a kid my age could come into possession of such a treasure.
“There’s a guy in my building that has lots of these. I let him do things to me and his friend takes pictures. They give me five bucks for the pictures, and one time he even gave me this book.”
“What kind of things?” I asked, thinking of the five bucks.
“He takes my weenie in his mouth. It feels so good that sometimes I think that I should give him the five bucks. After a while I get the greatest feeling in my body. It feels so good, I usually scream out and cry.” He lets me do that to him also and I just keep on going until he gets that feeling in his body. When he gets that feeling, he gushes this stuff in my mouth that comes out of his weenie, and it tastes like honey. Sometimes he puts his weenie in my ass, and sometimes I put mine in his, until we get that wonderful feeling. It feels so good.”
I was completely fascinated by his story. All I could think to say was, “Wow!”
“If you can get to my place on Saturday, he wants me to do it with another boy, and he said he’d give both of us five bucks. What do you think?”
“What time?” I asked. I was more than anxious.
“About two in the afternoon. Don’t come to my apartment. Go straight to 2A.”
In those days a parent didn’t think twice about letting his kid take the NYC subway unattended by an adult. At twelve years old, I was considered a responsible person. I just told my folks that I was going to visit Bernie. “Have a good time,” my father said and continued to read his newspaper.
I was sweating as I rang the bell to 2A and I had a raging boner. The door was opened a crack and I could see an eye peeping out at me. “Is Bernie here?” I asked. “I’m his cousin Jimmy.” The door opened and an arm pulled me in and locked the door behind me.
Bernie was sitting on a man’s lap. They were both naked. The man was kissing Bernie on the mouth and stroking his boner. The man didn’t repulse me, but he was old, maybe thirty, and he was grossly overweight. When he saw me, he said, very kindly, “Get undressed kid. You’re a good looking one. Let’s have some fun.”
The man who let me in seemed to be in his early twenties. He was naked also and very good looking. My boner got stiffer. The younger man had a camera. He helped me get into various poses and snapped my picture while Bernie and the fat man looked on. Then the younger of the two told me to sit on a chair. Bernie was then instructed to get on his knees and kneel between my legs.
“Suck his cock until he cums,” the photographer said. Bernie did as he was requested.
I was totally unprepared for what came next. When Bernie took me into his mouth, and I felt his moist lips and his tongue caressing my raging dick, I thought I would swoon. I moaned loudly only once, and came in his mouth. There was just a trickle of boyish jism which I suppose got absorbed in his mouth. I certainly didn’t think he had anything to swallow.
The photographer kept switching back and forth between a still camera and a movie camera, but I was too much in rapture to notice much. The two men had Bernie and I pose in various suggestive poses, and in explicit acts of sex. Bernie and I were up to any of their suggestions, and we sucked and fucked each other all afternoon. When we were exhausted, they fed us and let us rest.
Then the adults began to have sex with us, one at a time, while the other took the pictures and the movies. I remember sitting on the fat guy’s lap as he fucked me. He was well lubricated but it hurt like hell at first. After a while I began to enjoy it and I started to bounce up and down on his lap, much to his delight. When he came up my ass and I felt his warm cum invading my body, I was filled with a sense of serenity.
But the best part of the afternoon, as I remember it, was when the younger man came in my mouth. I drank his juice and it tasted as good as any milk shake I had ever consumed. I kept on sucking him until he pulled away from me in obvious discomfort.
I was reluctant to see the session end, but eventually we were instructed to dress and the adults dressed also. The fat guy handed us both a five dollar bill and sent us on our way.
“I’ll let you know when I need you again,” he said. Apparently he had a stable of boys and rotated us regularly. Bernie and I were on the menu about once a month after that for almost two years.
One Saturday I approached apartment 2A for our session, only to find Bernie standing at the door. “Look,” he said to me as he opened the unlocked door. I peered in to see an empty apartment. There was not a single piece of furniture to be seen. Just then the landlord came in with a young couple.
“What are you boys doing here?” he asked sternly. “I’m showing this apartment and you two are trespassing.”
We ran out as quickly as possible and walked to a small park about a street or two away. We sat on a bench and discussed the situation from all angles.
We were fourteen now and we had become very street wise New Yorkers. We knew that the two guys (we had named them Moe and Joe) were dealing in child pornography. We also knew that it was a crime, but now we were getting ten bucks each for a session and we didn’t care if it was a crime or not. For us it was a blessing. We also knew that we enjoyed male sex, and neither of us could conceive of fucking a female. Yuck!!! We had already admitted to ourselves that we were fairies. The word gay had not come into wide use yet.
We knew that we enjoyed each other and we weren’t ready to give it up, but we had a dilemma. We lived too far apart for week day (school day) visits, and over the weekends our folks were home so where could we go to have sex?
We knew that Greenwich Village in lower Manhattan is where the homosexuals hung out. We were too young for the bars, but Bernie reasoned that if we hung out in front of the bars, we could pick up an older man, who would take us to his apartment, and we could all have sex together.
It worked out better than we could ever have dreamed. We spent almost every Saturday night in the apartment of an older man and in his arms. We made each other happy, but we always made sure that our host was even happier. Invariably the host marveled at how experienced we were. This went on for several weeks until one night the host du jour made us an offer we could not refuse. He offered us $25 each if we would come to his apartment in The Village every Saturday night. We accepted and visited him almost every Saturday night until we were eighteen.
As much as he wanted us to stay the night, it was impossible. Always between 10:30 PM and 11:00 PM Bernie and I would go down to the subway station, and I would take the train to Brooklyn and Bernie would take the train to The Bronx.
During the week I would dream of making love to Bernie. I counted every hour until Saturday night when I could meet him in The Village at Jerrold’s apartment. Truly, I enjoyed having sex with Jerry, but it was Bernie I obsessed over. At the time I could not conceive of the fact that two men could love each other, but looking back on it now, I realize how much I loved Bernie.
After high school graduation, I went on to attend Brooklyn College, and Bernie got a space in Bloomingdale’s executive training program. We saw little of each other after that, but we spoke on the phone at least once a week. Bernie told me that Bloomies was a hotbed of homosexuality, and that from day one guys were coming on to him. He was getting laid regularly, and having the time of his life. I grew insanely jealous and even considered quitting college, and trying to get a job at Bloomingdales. But I thought better of it.
At the end of my second year, I realized that I had made a terrible mistake in choosing my major. I had chosen the sciences, and was nearly flunking out. I had no talent for the sciences, especially physics. I needed time to think, so I quit school and joined the navy.
Years and years later, my gay friends who had been in the navy, told me what a great time they had, and how readily available gay sex was to anyone who wanted to have it. Where the fuck was I? In four years I had one experience and I was so drunk, I don’t even remember if I enjoyed it. I just know that when we woke up in the morning, the room was a shambles, and we spent an hour trying to get it to look decent before checking out.
About half way through my hitch, I got a rare letter from Bernie. He had told his folks that he was gay, and they were on his back constantly to change his ways. Yeah, fat chance. He was pretty well ostracized from the family so he made a decision. He had a steady boy friend, and the two of them decided to move to Los Angeles, far away from their families, where they could live life on their own terms.
I could not believe how jealous I was when I read that. I vowed to visit Bernie and his “friend” as soon as I got out of the navy. Bernie never even wrote again to give me his address in LA, but I figured his parents would have it if I wanted it.
By the time I got out of the navy, I wasn’t aching so much to visit Bernie, and I re-enrolled in Brooklyn College, majoring in Business Administration. I discovered I was much more successful in school now than when I had been a science major. Unfortunately, I had to resume living in my parents’ home and I found myself being someone’s little boy again. I had to listen to my father constantly reminding me that my friend Bernie turned out to be a prissy little fairy.
Thank God, for Saturday night’s in The Village. I tried looking up Jerrold, but he had moved and I couldn’t find him in the phone book. No matter, I had no trouble getting laid at least once a week on Saturday night. I made lots of friends now that I was old enough to go to the bars, and most of them lived in their own apartments. It was much easier getting laid now.
Then one day tragedy struck. My dad hadn’t heard from his cousin Millie in years. He assumed that she was too embarrassed about Bernie to call and make small talk. One Sunday morning as we were all reading some section of the New York Times, Millie called. My father turned ashen as he listened. “You’ll call me, then, when you get back,” he said as he hung up the phone.
“Millie and her husband are going out to Los Angeles,” he said sounding very sad. “Bernie’s got leukemia and he hasn’t got much more time. They are going out there to be with him and bring his body back for burial.”
I jumped up and ran to my bedroom. I shut the door and cried for hours. Unfortunately I never saw Bernie again. I guess Bernie’s family was still so ashamed of him that they never called us when he was buried, and we found out too late for me to attend his funeral. His parents did not even permit his partner to attend, and as far as I know he remained behind in Los Angeles.
Over the years I had often wondered what had happened to Moe and Joe. I wished I had asked for their real names, but then I figured they wouldn’t have told me anyway. I was actually able to put some closure to that era of my life when I was about 28 years old.
I had a good job with a major marketing firm and I had my own apartment in Manhattan. It wasn’t in The Village, but it was near my office. I discovered quickly enough that one of my co-workers was gay. The two of us knew that there would never be anything between us, but we rapidly became frequent fuck buddies. More than that we hung out together and went places together. Because I lived so close to the office, we usually ended up at my place after work. One night after an evening of bar hopping we found ourselves in Brad’s apartment.
Out of the blue, he said to me, “How would you like to do a threesome with some teenie boppers?” Immediately I thought of those wonderful days with Joe, Moe and Bernie and without thinking I blurted out, “Hell yeah, but it’s dangerous. We could go to jail if we get caught.”
“Look,” Brad said, “I’ve been buying kiddie porn from a friend of mine for years, and for a price I can have any of his boys. It’s all very discreet and believe me, the boys love it. They’ll never tell, and they aren’t about to cut off a good source of income.”
Now I thought that Brad was about 25 years old so I said to him, “You couldn’t be buying from him for too many years. You’re not old enough.”
Brad started to laugh. “I’m certainly old enough. I’m 37.” I couldn’t believe it. He looked younger than I.
“Should I be calling you Dorian Grey?” I quipped. He laughed, and pulled two picture albums out of a dresser drawer.
“This one,” he said, pointing at one of the albums “is full of vintage pictures. Some go back fifteen or more years and they are mostly black and white. The other one contains more recent pictures mostly in color. I also have some super eight movie film, and those really cost me a bundle. I’ll show you some of the pics, and then we can look at one of the films.
“Great,” I said. I was tenting my pants and more than anxious to start the viewing. We sat down on his bed side by side, our thighs touching lightly. He opened the first album. On the first page there were pictures of Moe and Joe with young boys enjoying various acts of sex. I could not believe that my two old friends were Brad’s source of kiddie porn. In every picture Moe, Joe and the young boys are smiling broadly at the camera.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, and he turned the page. I nearly fainted dead away. The next two pages contained pictures of Moe, Joe, Bernie and me, taken over the few years we “worked” for them.
I put my hand on Brad’s so he wouldn’t turn another page. I pointed at my “baby” picture and asked, “Do you recognize this boy?” Brad looked intently at the picture.
“No,” he said finally. “Should I?”
“Look harder,” I said, and he did.
“Well,” Brad said finally, “he looks like he could be your kid brother.” Then the light hit him. “My God, it’s you.”
“Bingo,” I said. “Do you know how I can reach these guys?” I’ve been wondering about them for years. Are they still in the porn business?”
“They sure are. They’re partners, and they live right around the corner. I still buy stuff from them.”
“Please,” I begged, “invite them over.”
Brad looked up their number in his private directory, which he kept next to his phone, and made the call. “Are you guys able to come over here? I’ve got a surprise for you, if you do. I have someone here who is more than anxious to renew old acquaintance.”
“They should be her in a few minutes,” he said as he hung up the phone.
“What are their names?” I asked. Bernie and I always referred to them as Joe and Moe.”
“Pretty close,” Brad said. The big one is Frank Morris and people often call him ‘Mo.’ The younger one is Larry Jamison.”
About fifteen minutes later the doorbell rang and Brad ran to answer. Thirteen years had made a big difference. Frank was almost twice as fat as he had been and Larry seemed anxious to catch up to him. Before Brad could say anything, I approached both of them and stuck out my hand. “I’m Jimmy,” I said.
They both looked at me without recognition. I picked up the picture album and pointed to my picture.
“Oh my God,” they said together.
“I’ve thought of you guys so often,” Larry said. “The cops were on our backs, and we had to get out of the building so quickly, we couldn’t warn you and Bernie. How is that cutie?’
“I’m afraid he died of leukemia,” I said sadly.
“That sucks,” Frank said.
Brad made coffee and the four of us chatted for a couple of hours. During that time, Brad excused himself to make a telephone call. When Larry and Frank left, they made me promise to stay in touch. As soon as they were gone, Brad and I hopped into bed and fucked for a couple of hours more. Before I left and took a cab uptown to my apartment, Brad informed me that he had lined up a thirteen year old to join us on Friday night. I was so aroused at the thought that even though we had just finished making love, I got as hard as a rock. I couldn’t wait for Friday night. At work the next day, I begged Brad to describe the boy, but he insisted that it be a surprise.
“How did you get his number?” I asked. Remember this was a whole generation prior to the internet.
“From Larry and Frank,” he answered simply
The plan was for me to go home with Brad after work on Friday, but on Thursday, Brad took me aside in the office. “I’m going to play hooky tomorrow,” He announced. “I want to buy some toys for our little outing tomorrow evening. I arranged for the kid to get there at about 5 PM. He doesn’t know there will be two of us, and I don’t want to risk scaring him away, so you take your sweet time coming over after work, and I’ll have him all warmed up for both of us.”
I considered the updated plan, and nodded my head in agreement. I was so excited at the prospect of having sex with a young boy that I couldn’t sleep all Thursday night. It was hard work, but I also refrained from whacking off. I wanted to save it all for the thirteen year old cherub.
As promised, I took my time getting to Brad’s apartment after work. I even refrained from taking a cab, and instead I walked thirty-three city blocks to arrive at my destination. Standing in front of Brad’s door I was already as hard as a rock. I knocked quietly on the door, but nobody came to the door. I waited impatiently for awhile and knocked again. There was still no response, so I rang the doorbell.
After awhile I tried the door handle and to my surprise the door opened wide. The apartment appeared to be empty. I even checked the bedroom. The bedroom door was open. The bed was made up neatly, and no Brad nor a teen in sight. I was confused, disappointed, and a little bit in a panic. I saw Brad’s personal phone directory near the phone. I thumbed through it until I found Frank Morris. The names were entered randomly, in no particular order. The phone book was as disorganized as Brad.
I dialed Frank’s number, and Larry answered. I told him who I was, and he muttered something about how nice it was to hear from me. I filled him in on the situation to date. “I’m really worried that Brad has come to some harm. He told me that he got the boy’s number from you.”
“Are you nuts?” Larry asked incredulously. “We would never reveal one of our boys and put him in harm’s way. Hell, what I should say is, put Frank and me in harm’s way. Brad never got that number, or any other boy’s number, from us. I can’t help you, Jimmy.” He said, and he hung up.
I didn’t know what to do. The only thought that occurred to me was to call some of Brad’s close friends, but I realized that I didn’t know any of his friends, or if he even had any besides me. I decided to go home. Sooner or later, Brad would try to reach me at home, because he couldn’t reach me at our office until Monday morning.
My phone was ringing as I entered my apartment. I rushed to answer it and much to my relief it was Brad. He was sobbing and I could hardly make out what he was saying. Finally I got him to calm down. He was in jail and needed desperately to be bonded out. He had been arrested for soliciting a minor for sex. He told me what precinct he was at, and urged me to hurry.
Brad’s thirteen year old turned out to be a forty year old vice squad cop. Brad had been entrapped. He told me later that he couldn’t sleep one night so he went down to a gay bar in Chelsea. He met a guy there, and he admitted how much he liked to fuck young boys. The guy he was talking to was the one who gave Brad the boy’s number. I can only suppose he was a cop also, out to entrap the unsuspecting. You better believe that I never looked at another kiddie porn picture (still or moving) again. Better yet, I never lusted after a young boy again. Brad’s arrest had cured me. I even looked back at the speedy flight of Moe and Joe, so many years ago, and that put the final crutch to my resolution.
Brad’s bail wasn’t too high and I was able to get him out of jail. His life was ruined forever. He got a ten year sentence, of which he served seven years, and was then paroled, for good behavior. He told me, when he got out, that he might write a book someday, describing how sexually abused he and so many others were in prison. He tried in vain to get a job, but he couldn’t even get a job washing dishes in a restaurant. Nobody would hire an ex con. Finally, he was able to get a waiter’s job in a greasy spoon. They didn’t ask about his past. He gave me as a reference, and they never even called me.
I did what I could to help him out, but I couldn’t let him live with me. He rented a room in a boarding house, and I gave him money to supplement his rent until he got on his feet again.
I was now partnered with a truly great guy, whom I met in the lobby of the Metropolitan Opera during an intermission. We were both of us just standing there doing nothing when our eyes met. What can I say? We walked toward each other and as easy as saying ABC, we introduced each other and left the opera. We had coffee in a nearby coffee shop, and slept together that very first night. I never believed in love at first sight, and I never thought I would ever fall in love, and be partnered with anyone, but it really happened to me.
I am sympathetic to pedophiles. I can attest to the fact that usually the young boys encourage the union. I was lucky enough to be able to turn my back on what was a mere fetish. I realize, however, that the urge can be so strong that it can become an illness. If anyone reading this feels that he might be ill, I urge you to seek professional help. Don’t let your life be ruined like Brad’s.
Author’s Note: In reading this little piece over, I realize that it sounds like non fiction. I assure you that it is totally a work of fiction, and should you recognize anyone, alive or dead, it isn’t I, and it is strictly a big coincidence.